YA or STFU

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)

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)

Block, Francesca Lia (2008). Blood Roses. NY: HarperTeen. 129 pages.

Francesca Lia Block's newest book is a collection of very short stories that engage broadly with the theme of transformation. As per Block's usual style, the "transformations" affected in each magically real narrative range from the typical (for a transformation story, anyway) to the unusual to the outrageous. The first story, the titular "Blood Roses," reminds me the most strongly of one of Block's earlier collections, The Rose and the Beast, and of "Bones," the Bluebeard story therein. In "Blood Roses," sisters invited to view a collection of photos taken the week before the death of a favorite singer arrive at the photographer's house and find themselves in a strange, frightening, but compelling place. "My Mother the Vampire," the story of a beautiful girl with a deceptively young looking mother, is reminiscent of The Rose as well. "It is hard to be a pretty girl in this world. It is hard to be a woman growing old," are the last lines of "My Mother" and, to me, really capture the magical, semi-autobiographical, and enchanted feminism of Block's work in general.

A short, short story collection doesn't get as many lines as a novel. I don't want to give any more away, so I'm stopping here.

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

Bloor, Edward (2007). Taken. NY: Alfred A. Knopf. 247 pages.

I don't think I'm alone in judging Bloor's Tangerine (1997) the best of his growing oeuvre; however, I do maintain that Crusader (1999) didn't get nearly enough acclaim. Taken, Bloor's fifth novel, probably ranks number three of his books, at least in my reckoning. This comparatively (to Crusader, at least) slim speculative fiction offering describes a future United States in which the wealthy and impoverished classes are clearly divided. A young teen in the year 2035, Charity Meyers is a member of Florida's upper class; she and her family--her alcoholic, ex-inventor father and her ex-stepmother, a reality video television host--live in a guarded community with two servants cum security guards. Charity attends school via classroom video screen where she is taught, along with the typical three "R's," how to react to a potential kidnapping. This kind of lesson is depressingly de rigeur in a world of extreme have's and have-not's in which kidnapping is a primary means of underclass advancement. When Charity is kidnapped, she slowly learns that the plans for her taking are a bit less conventional and she begins to reconsider the life of privilege to which she has grown accustomed.

No spoiled-girl-gets-kidnapped-and-learns-to-sympathize-with-the-poor narrative here; Bloor's novel is a bit more complex and includes a couple of surprising (to me, at least) twists. There is clear social commentary here, which sometimes threatens to overwhelm the book; however, the flashbacks that pepper the captivity narrative, in which Charity recalls Christmas with her family, are sharp satire. As most good speculative fiction does, Bloor's novel doesn't so much tell us about the new and future world imagined within the novel's pages; instead, the details of this class-divided society are slowly revealed to us in scenes illuminating the social dichotomy the author imagines. The story's emphasis on healthcare and equal access to it make the novel timely, and, though Bloor's comments are apt (in my opinion, at least), I wonder if this topical content won't date the novel. That is, while we expect speculative fiction to address contemporary issues, the fact that this novel does so with such specificity almost limits its application. That said, good speculative fiction requires a compelling narrative in order to really "work," and the kidnapping drama at the core of the story is nicely suspenseful.

Posted by Amy P. at 11:44 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Flinn, Alex (2007). Beastly. NY: HarperTeen (Harper Collins). 300 pages.

The ninth-grade son of a famous (and wealthy) New York newscaster, Kyle is, simply put, an asshole. He's rich, he's good looking, and he knows it. Which is probably why he's so mean to kids who aren't in his "league" and definitely why he hatches a plan to humiliate the kind of nerdy, semi-goth-y, girl at school who challenges him. After he makes plans to meet this girl at the big school dance (where he is a shoe-in to be crowned ninth grade prince), he publicly shames her by showing up with his sexy girlfriend and announcing that he had never intended to escort her at all. Turns out, this girl--Kendra--is actually a witch, and she exacts revenge by putting a transformation curse on Kyle, changing his appearance from studly teen to hairy beast. The one cure for this spell: Kyle must find a girl to love him--beastly appearance and all--within two years; otherwise, he'll spend the rest of his life a monster.

Because Kyle's father can't handle Kyle's make-under (and because Kyle's father, like the pre-beast Kyle, is an appearance-obsessed ass), Kyle is sent to live in Brooklyn where he stays indoors and is tutored by a blind man. He does, however, discover a passion for growing roses in his walled backyard. Can you see where this is going? With Beastly, Flinn tells the "Beauty and the Beast" story from the point of view of the beast and sets it in contemporary NYC to boot.

Flinn's novel is mostly successful and Kyle's first-person description of life as a beast--albeit a rich beast--is surprisingly sympathetic. The only problem: I had a hard time believing in the Kyle we meet at the beginning of the story. The rich, good-looking asshole who sets up the school outcast, Carrie-style, is just a little too common. I'd rather read a more subtle portrayal of teen jerkiness; however, because the story is really about the internal transformation effected after the physical one, this trope can be excused. The chat-room excerpts that pepper the novel in which other contemporary "victims" of fairy-tale curses vent about their uncommon plights are less excusable. The whole novel would benefit without these secondary characters' input.

That said, the 300 page novel moves quickly and, in spite of the fact that the bones of the story are familiar, manages to change things up enough to keep the heart of the tale fresh and even incorporate some surprises.

Posted by Amy P. at 11:40 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Nelson, Blake (2007). They Came From Below. NY: TOR/Tom Doherty Associates. 299 pages.

OK, I think I'm just going to have to stop expecting Blake Nelson to write another Girl. It's unfair to him and it's unfair to me; we both just have to realize that that moment of brilliance can never be reproduced. That said, Nelson's new novel, a semi-fantasy, semi-science fiction, is pretty fucking cool. When I describe the premise it's going to sound a little lame, but, believe me, this book works.

It's the beginning of another summer and Emily is heading for Cape Cod to spend time with her MIT professor father and hang out with her summer friend, Reese. The two girls are hoping to slip back into their routine of pizza slice specials at the local pizza parlor, days at the beach, and evenings scamming for guys. After a mysterious glowing object is washed up onto the beach and Emily's father is called to consult on its appearance and two rather unusual boys appear in town, the girls and Emily's father become involved in an alien invasion of sorts. Only these aliens are from the sea. Turns out, these new guys have morphed into humans in an effort to rescue their "alien" friend, the glowing blob that came ashore after an environmental disturbance down below.

In Nelson's semi-deadpan style, this sci-fi/fantasy-lite doesn't hit you over the head with sci-fi/fantasy details or environmental awareness didacticism, the way it could in the hands of someone less capable. It's the descriptions of Emily's interactions with these aliens and their unintended effect on humans that really captivates. There are some high-speed car chase moments in the spirit of E.T.; however, even these aren't super-cheesy. I think the thing is, you can read this book and really believe in it, which is an accomplishment in itself. In Girl-style, Nelson leaves the ending a little open; however, as with Girl, we never know if the story will be continued by the author, himself, or by us readers, in our heads.

Posted by Amy P. at 05:57 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)