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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

The only thing that sucks about this book is that, on its last page, it reveals itself to be "Book One" in a series of as yet unestablished length. This means that, while much of the plot of The Hunger Games is resolved, the central conflict--and the one that would seem to motivate the series--has just been established. A dystopian science fiction story (light on the sci-fi, heavy on the dystopia), Collins' novel is set in the country of Panem, a future United States divided into 13 districts (one of which has been destroyed) and ruled by a West Coast Capitol. As a means of exerting control over its citizens, the government has established "The Hunger Games," a Survivor-like elimination game involving 24 youths, chosen by lottery from each of the 12 districts, that pits citizens aged 12-18 against each other in a fight-to-the-death competition staged in a large, wild arena. When 16-year-old narrator Katniss's sister is picked to compete in the Hunger Games, Katniss offers herself as her district's female participant in her sister's stead.

The bulk of the novel follows Katniss as she is prepared for and participates in the Hunger Games against and sometimes alongside her district's other representative, a boy named Peeta. Katniss is well-equipped to participate in the games, as she has supported her family through illegal game hunting in the wilderness surrounding her district. Temporary alliances with other players and uneasy truces abound during the dangerous game and Katniss learns that she must play to the audience of Hunger Games viewers and sponsors to succeed.

I love me some dystopian fiction and it had been a while (since I read Cherry Heaven) since I had been so enthralled by a novel of this type. The juxtaposition of the "futuristic" and the archaic worked well here (and I recognize that this is not a "new" way of presenting the dystopian future) and Collins expressed this in the tension Katniss felt as she struggled with the unfamiliar (and often uncomfortable) luxury of The Capitol. Interestingly, although this novel is definitely dystopian sci-fi (or fantasy), there is a romantic feel to the whole thing, in both the generic and the Northrup Frye senses of the word. Throughout the novel, Katniss's partner intimates his affection for Katniss and Katniss learns to manipulate this affection to the pair's benefit in the Games. In the larger scheme, there is a certain reverence for Katniss's skill in the Games and what might be exhilaration in the competition. This exhilaration is downplayed, likely for the implied audience of YA readers (and the adult critics of the same). After all, what kind of YA book would this be if it allowed its teen character to glory in her deadly victories? And yes, I'm asking that question with deliberate irony.

After reading (or attempting to read) this book, I realized that I had lost precious hours of my life that I could never, ever get back. I was drawn to this title's promise of a "choose you own adventure" story: the cover and back matter indicated that this romance/realistic novel would adhere to the choose your own adventure trope and that readers would be called upon to make decisions for the book's main character, Hayley. Maybe it's because I didn't read the first book in this multi-book series, but, by the time I got a chance to choose whether or not Hayley went to the popular kids' New Year's party or hung out with her alterna-friends, I didn't really care. The protagonist and secondary characters were so underdeveloped, it was hard to make good (read: perverse) choices. Unlike the old fashioned "Choose Your Own Adventure" novels, which were told in the 2nd person and featured you as the main character, this book (and probably this series) assumes we care about the main character in at least as significant a way. Not so. Additionally, unlike the old "Choose Your Own Adventure" series, the consequences of "wrong" choices were not nearly as dire. While, in the old "CYOA," choosing a wrong door could lead to your tragic and painful death, in this novel, a bad choice required merely that you "hang your head in shame" (yes! These are the exact words from many of the stories' endings!). The only reason I'm hanging my head is because I invested several hours in this lame title.

Written almost ten years after Hard Love, this latest novel by Wittlinger is a sequel to the 1999 title. Set during the summer following the fateful prom this novel's narrator, Marisol, attended with Hard Love's narrator, John, Love and Lies provides a more sympathetic portrayal of both characters.

Following her graduation from high school, seventeen-year-old Marisol Guzman decides to defer her admission to Stanford in favor of living on her own in Cambridge, Ma, where she plans to work and write a novel. Her dreams of a quiet garret in which to work are dashed when her roommate Birdie brings home a would-be boyfriend and invites him to move in with them. Birdie and Damon take over the apartment with their mess and constant bickering and Marisol finds solace in a weekend adult education writing class taught by a sexy young author named Olivia Frost. In spite of the fact that Marisol's old friend John is in the same class, Marisol falls quickly and obviously for Olivia, who readers will--as the other characters in the book do--suspect is something of a cad. In traditional romantic fashion, the character who would be Marisol's perfect girlfriend is sadly ignored, and thus, the romantic triangle is established.

I'm probably the only person in the YA world who didn't like Hard Love (What can I say? I thought the zine stuff was "poserish." Then again, I'm probably a poser for thinking so.) I did, however, enjoy Love and Lies. As I mentioned before, this novel seemed to offer a more sympathetic rendering of the characters I found somewhat one-dimensional in Hard Love. The latest novel paints Marisol--typed as the brash, over-confident, out-and-proud teen lesbian in HL--as both confident and naive; while her hubris definitely gets her into trouble with both her shoulda, coulda, woulda girlfriend, her naivete with regards to Olivia provides an appropriately tragic check. The secondary characters--including Marisol's roommate Birdie and his boyfriend Damon--are well-drawn and provide comic relief, though not in a "Will and Grace" kind of way, which is nice.

While you don't have to have read Hard Love to "get" what's going on in the sequel, it would probably help. I relied on my faulty memory and got through just fine.

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.

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.

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.

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 . . .

Pearson's book begins two weeks after its protagonist and narrator, the titular Jenna Fox, has woken from a one year coma. Following an accident about which she remembers nothing, Jenna is beginning her life anew, living with her mother and grandmother in California, far away from her home in Boston. Jenna must slowly put together the details of her former life and, as she idly watches the videos her parents have taken to document their daughter's youth, she struggles with the anxiety emanating from her mother and the disdain and suspicion she feels with every encounter with her grandmother. The central questions: who is Jenna and what has she (or someone else) done?

As a fan of Peter Dickinson's Eva, I was pretty sure I knew what was going on in Pearson's novel. Turns out I was half right; the novel does deal with the third-party control and sustenance of the body and the concomitant medical ethics attached to the same, but there are no monkeys in this one. Rather, the novel gradually reveals connections between characters and incidents in a surprising way (I hadn't predicted them, anyway), making the reading of the book a bit like the experience of the narrator: sudden "clicks" and discoveries.

The book moves quickly, not because it is breezily written, but because its premise and telling are so compelling. Brief poems meant to encapsulate Jenna's dreams, thoughts, and subconscious musings punctuate the book and I wasn't really a fan of those; however, when one of the twists is revealed near the end of the book, it made me wonder if it was really the voice of Jenna-the-narrator I was reading. If, indeed, I was reading the words of the character I suspect, the last poem kind of blows it out of the water. Then again, it's still kinda possible (and I hope I'm right).

P.S. I'm not normally a proponent of the book trailer, but there's a good one for this novel here: http://www.whoisjennafox.com/

When I saw this one on the new book shelf at the library, I was like, "Finally!" I felt like everyone had read the Pfeffer's sequel to Life as We Knew It except me. This latest novel employs the same premise as Life--an asteroid has hit the moon, causing it to move closer to the Earth, which leads to devastating changes on the planet--but describes the aftermath in the New York City setting, rather than the rural Pennsylvania in which the first book is set.

When the moon is knocked out of its typical orbit, seventeen-year-old Alex Morales is at work in a Manhattan pizza parlor. His father is in Puerto Rico at a family funeral and his mother is at work in a Queens hospital, so Alex is the only one left at home to care for and comfort his younger sisters, Briana, fifteen, and Julie, twelve. As the city begins to deteriorate in ways predicted by Life as We Knew It--the electricity and phones fail intermittently, supplies dwindle, and flooding from high tides wipe out Lower Manhattan--Alex and his sisters begin to lose hope that their parents have survived and they try to make it on their own.

The city setting of this novel distinguishes it from the first and adds elements of unpredictability to the familiar storyline. Interestingly, The Dead ends up addressing class issues in a way never tackled by Life; though he is a rare scholarship student among the wealthier boys at his Catholic school, Alex witnesses and, in some cases, benefits from the advantages of the richer students. We learn that the government--both local and national--is taking care of its elite and is working on relocating the Fortune 500 company leaders to a safer zone where the United States' government will be re-established. Additionally, some of the higher ranking and necessary city employees are being cared for at city centers while the rest of the citizens (read: the less privileged ones) have to take their chances at poorly maintained evacuation centers.

This is another riveting novel in a semi speculative fiction vein from a classic author of young adult literature (anybody besides me have a copy of Fantasy Summer?). My one critique of this one involves the novel's expectation that the reader will have read and remembered much of Life as We Knew It. In the second book, there's not nearly the same amount of explication related to the moon's shift and its effects; rather, the floods and volcanic eruptions happen, and are sort of blamed on the moon, but never really scientifically justified. It's not that I need some kind of Nature essay, here, but I would have liked a little more explanation than I got (and that I remembered, just not so clearly, from the first book). That said, it's clear that lack of information is and would be a problem in a situation such as the one described in the book; therefore, the characters'--and our--lack of full understanding might be more of a literary device. That said--again!--it seems like the characters would be very interested in finding out exactly what was going on and what scientific folks predicted would happen, so I don't get why some of the information Alex learned during his regular sessions with the battery-operated radio weren't made public to us readers.

Seventeen-year-old Eddy is known as something of a player, but he's too wrapped up in filmmaking with his guy pals to consider the consequences of his actions. See, Eddy and his two friends have entered a contest sponsored by MTV and, by making it past the first cut, now have to submit new installments of their dramatic series "Riot Grrl 16" to the channel's site every week to be voted upon by the viewing public. A semi-satire of the "Lonely Girl 15" phenom, "Riot Grrl" is pretty popular among voters until some anonymous commenter who seems to know Eddy starts flaming the voting boards with bitchy accusations and starts lowering the series' vote count with his/her lowball judgments. Meanwhile, Eddy is certain that "Riot Grrl" is the thing, even though the series "star" is an unpredictable former hookup of Eddy's who's still a little pissed about the diss she suffered at his hands. Eddy's moved on, however, and is cruising a hot tennis player who seems to like him back. Could this be the girl who turns him around?

While the description makes the novel sound like just another Alloy-esque dramatic romance, I assure you, Ruby's second book is richer than that. I didn't even mention Eddy's kind of fucked up family situation (his mom left them when he was young and acts on a CSI type show) and his hitch-your-wagon-to-a-star dreams of entering the film business right after high school. Then there's the meeting with MTV, which the adult in me recognizes as an homage to Tom Petty's "Into the Great Wide Open." Rebel without a clue, indeed.

Ruby writes Eddy, who also narrates the novel, with a compelling voice completely ignorant of what we, as readers, recognize as inevitable bravado. And that's what makes the book so hard to put down. Eddy's dreams are ones we want to believe in; but, as cynical realists, we recognize the fall that poetic justice demands.

My one complaint has to do more with the marketing and paratext of the novel than the writing, itself. The back matter reads like the book is going to be about a "playa" who gets "played" and, to a small degree, the novel engages with this concept. There's a lot more here than that--this book is no Played by Dana Davidson--and I feel like the promo material is selling the novel a bit short.

On other thing (and this is kind of a complaint, too): we never find out who the online flamer is! As in Ruby's first novel, Good Girls, which deflated a bit when the mystery that motivated the main action was revealed (I don't want to spoil the story, so I won't say much more), I wanted more of a conclusion to the very small mystery element that appeared in this book as well. That said, I'm a real mystery fan, and my reading of YA lit (and the world, if you can believe Jerome Bruner) is colored by that interpretive lens.