YA or STFU

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) | TrackBacks (0)

Godbersen, Anna (2007). The Luxe. NY: HarperCollins. 448 pages.

I was wary of this Alloy Entertainment produced historical fiction novel, if only because the author info. on the jacket flap indicated that a sequel was in the makes. Imagine my surprise when the book actually turned out to be not only good, but almost compulsively readable. It is clear that Godbersen is intending The Luxe to function as a turn-of-the-century "Gossip Girl" and I'll be damned if it doesn't work. In fact, the novel plays into all of our contemporary romantic fantasies about life among the upper class in very late 19th century (1899, to be precise) Manhattan and might work even better as a "novel of manners" than the 21st century Gossip Girl series does.

The Luxe follows the Holland sisters--the blond and demure Elizabeth who is hiding a secret and scandalous love, and darkly beautiful Diana, the younger sister who aches for rebellion--the only children in an old-money family who discover their finances are not quite as solid as they thought. In an effort to secure the Hollands' place in society, Mrs. Holland brokers a marriage deal with the father of Henry Schoonmaker, the good-looking cad-about-town, to marry Liz and Henry, whether the betrothed desire each other or not. Of course, neither are pleased about this arrangement and neither are several other young society maidens, most notably Liz's frenemy Penelope, and her own sister, Diana, who is rapidly falling for young Hank.

Each chapter opens with either a fictionalized excerpt from the New York society pages, the contents of notes sent between characters, or quotes from nineteenth century books of manners and advice. These set the tone of the novel quite well, and provide both foreshadowing as well as glimpses into 19th century life. It would be nice if there were a bibliography of the books of manners (that is, if these are, indeed, legitimate publications and not fictionalized pieced like the newspaper clippings and notes), though the lack of a reference list doesn't ruin the novel.

Perhaps because this book was created by Alloy and because it does bear so many traces of "Gossip Girl," I found myself noting real similarities between the lives of the 19th and 21st century richies. Across centuries, the wealthy sneak smokes, drink expensive champagne, and relish secret and personal communiques. We Victorians, indeed (did anyone get that deliberate Foucault reference?).

Posted by Amy P. at 07:02 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Haddix, Margaret Peterson (2007). Uprising. NY: Simon and Schuster. 352 pages.

Is anyone besides me relieved that the "Shadow Children" series has finally concluded? I've got to say, if it was the completion of that series that kept Haddix from writing fiction like this, I blame the publisher who insisted that the series continue as long as it did for Haddix's lack of recent literary winners.

This new historical fiction title by Haddix is pitched a bit older than the "Shadow Children" and follows three young women of the early 20th century as they become involved in the workers' rights movement. While this sounds like a pretty boring premise, Haddix situates two of these characters within the group of strikers and would-be union members from the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory, so our extra-textual awareness of the factory's eventual fate becomes part of the suspense that moves the story. Bella and Yetta are immigrants from Italy and Russia, respectively, who work at the factory and become involved in the labor movement. Haddix details the young women's struggles as each tries to be loyal to the union but must temper their desire to strike with their very real need for jobs and the meager paychecks factory work provides. When Jane, a wealthy debutante, learns of the workers' struggle, she becomes involved in the movement and eventually turns her back on her family and its privilege to become part of the group.

Narrated in the third-person from the alternating perspectives of each girl, this novel provides a clear picture of the time period. At times, the narrative drags a bit; since we all know what's going to happen with the factory and the fire, we kind of want it to go ahead and burn already. When the inevitable does happen, however, Haddix's description of the panic and confusion, as well as of the young women who jumped from the upper floor windows of the factory to escape the smoke and flames, evokes eerie memories of 9/11. This resemblance (whether intentional or not) brings the struggle for workers' rights to the present in what I judged to be a very effecting way.

A concluding description of Haddix's research and recommendations for further reading follow the fictional narrative.

Posted by Amy P. at 12:52 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

Updale, Eleanor (2007). Montmorency's Revenge. NY: Orchard Books. 304 pages.

This is the fourth book in a smashing historical fiction series that, to be honest, I can't get enough of. The series is set in late 19th century Europe and follows the adult character of Montmorency, a onetime crook who, by adopting some rather dubious and self-interested Robin Hood behaviors, manages to infiltrate high society and live among the upper class. He develops a close friendship with some minor royalty and a physician and the men engage in some undercover detective and spy work. At the end of the last book, Montmorency and the Assassins, a tremedous act of personal terrorism has occurred and Montmorency has vowed revenge.

Disturbed by the terrorist acts of anarchists in Europe, Montmorency and his gang are put on the trail of the anarchist leader responsible for the death of one of their friends. Although they are working under the auspices of the British government, Montmorency and his young friend Frank are more thrilled by the prospect of exacting bloody revenge. With Frank disguised as "Jack" to avoid detection, Montmorency notices the thrall this new, undercover personality has on Frank/Jack. It appears as if Frank may be as seduced by the dark side as Montmorency one was.

I've never really been one for historical fiction; however, Updale's series is so great! I love the character of Montmorency and his perpetual struggle with his dark "self" and I'm especially excited that we'll see this conflict play out in another character as well. Updale evokes the nineteenth century in a distinctly non-pedantic way (we even get to witness the assassination of William McKinley!), a technique that all too many children's and YA authors seem to ignore in favor of didacticism. The surprise and brutal ending of the last book had me drooling for more and damn if the promise of future depravity doesn't have me again waiting eagerly for Updale's next installment.

Posted by Amy P. at 04:33 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)