Shadowfell – Juliet Marillier

Publisher’s Summary:
“Sixteen-year-old Neryn is alone in the land of Alban, where the oppressive king has ordered anyone with magical strengths captured and brought before him. Eager to hide her own canny skill—a uniquely powerful ability to communicate with the fairy-like Good Folk—Neryn sets out for the legendary Shadowfell, a home and training ground for a secret rebel group determined to overthrow the evil King Keldec.

During her dangerous journey, she receives aid from the Good Folk, who tell her she must pass a series of tests in order to recognize her full potential. She also finds help from a handsome young man, Flint, who rescues her from certain death—but whose motives for doing so remain unclear. As Neryn struggles to trust her allies, they both hint that she alone may be the key to Alban’s release from Keldec’s rule. Homeless, unsure of who to trust, and trapped in an empire determined to crush her, Neryn must make it to Shadowfell not only to save herself, but to save Alban.”

Juliet Marillier is one of my favorite authors for myriad reasons, but the one that summarily expresses why I love her writing has everything to do with her uncanny ability to weave spells with words, transporting me to the vibrant world her characters inhabit; without fail, she leaves me longing for more time spent in their company. I should have known better, then, and experienced not a moment’s worry when I felt myself being put off by Neryn’s repetitious exclamation of “gods” in the first couple of chapters. I should have trusted Marillier, because after firmly setting aside that pet peeve and moving forward I was rewarded with a wonderful, absorbing read that sang quietly in my blood after reaching its temporary conclusion.

From early on it’s clear the story being told is the surface of a very deep well, one that Marillier descended to the bottom before she began writing Shadowfell. Imparted to the reader is the sense that she knows the lay of the land, the history and mythology beyond what’s presented on the page at hand, and as a result the world-building is seamless. Rich with layered details, I might have been treading the rough, uneven ground beside Neryn, experiencing the perils of the landscape with her, that’s how tangible the world was.

I’ve not read all of Marillier’s books, not yet, but based on those I have it’s evident her heroines share similar traits: strength, determination and compassion chief among them. Neryn fell in line with those that’ve come before her, demonstrating wisdom beyond her years and enviable courage. I liked her very much, as I did several secondary characters, most of them being Good Folk Neryn encounters on her journey to Shadowfell. And then there’s Flint, who quickly won a spot next to Red and Stoyan as a favorite Marillier hero. He’s…he’s…classic Marillier. Tortured and steadfast; stealing quietly into your heart and making his home there. Here’s a little taste of him, because I can’t help myself:

“There is a choice. You are weary; now is not the time to speak of it.” After a moment he added, “You have a long road to tread before you are well enough to travel again, even accompanied. You don’t like it that I am the one you need to keep the wolf from the door; that comes as no surprise. But I am the one you have. At some point we’ll both have to risk telling the truth.”

I sat down with Shadowfell, promising myself I’d read one hundred pages before setting it down to get on with other things I wanted and needed to do. You can imagine what happened: one hundred pages turned quickly, and I thought, fifty more. So went my evening until I’d read the entire book without pause. And now I’m left to eagerly and impatiently wait for Raven Flight‘s July release.

Out of the Easy – Ruta Sepetys

Publisher’s Summary:
“It’s 1950, and as the French Quarter of New Orleans simmers with secrets, seventeen-year-old Josie Moraine is silently stirring a pot of her own. Known among locals as the daughter of a brothel prostitute, Josie wants more out of life than the Big Easy has to offer. She devises a plan get out, but a mysterious death in the Quarter leaves Josie tangled in an investigation that will challenge her allegiance to her mother, her conscience, and Willie Woodley, the brusque madam on Conti Street.

Josie is caught between the dream of an elite college and a clandestine underworld. New Orleans lures her in her quest for truth, dangling temptation at every turn, and escalating to the ultimate test.”

The pull of 1950′s New Orleans was too strong to resist, prompting me to add Out of the Easy to my must-be-read list after the summary was released. When the opportunity to read the novel in advance of its publication date presented itself, well, I’m not ashamed to own up to the speed with which I clicked on ‘request digital ARC.’ That was good on me, because I liked Out of the Easy a whole lot, and loved one Jesse Thierry even more than that.

I’ve encountered lousy mothers (and fathers) in YA literature before, but Josie’s mother takes the cake, a dubious honor that owes nothing to her chosen profession. Louise Moraine is abusive in every application of the word: her temper would snap and so would she, physically lashing out at Josie; she chose words that stung like a slap, accusing Josie time and again of ruining her life and the body Louise used to make her money; and she preyed on her daughter’s wilting trust, using observed knowledge of Josie’s habits to strip her of hope. But where Louise failed Josie, others stepped in to fill the void. These various relationships and the hand these unlikely people extended towards Josie helped her become the smart, practical and determined individual she was, and offered a reasonable and realistic balance to her mother. Rather than a character so downtrodden by her life’s experience she became unbearable to be around, Josie was someone to admire for her self-reliant spirit and backbone. Like any dynamic character, she made mistakes and questionable decisions, and experienced moments of doubt and weakness; all of that made me like her that much more.

On the whole, Sepetys created a cast of interesting, flawed individuals, and I liked several alongside Josie, but none hooked me so much as Jesse Thierry, who caught my attention from his introduction and held it wholly for the rest of the novel. His appeal was strong and vibrant, overcoming the limited time the reader spends in his company. More on that after this brief snippet, taken from my uncorrected eGalley.

“Okay, tired girl, let me tell you a secret.”

I didn’t need any more secrets. I had enough of my own. I looked up at Jesse.

“Uh-huh. There you are, all tired, standin’ in your boyfriend’s clothes, but here’s the secret.” Jesse moved in close. “You like me.”

“What?” I moved my face from his, trying to restrain what felt like a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. My body seemed to react involuntarily around Jesse. It made me nervous.

“Yep, when you were in trouble, you went running, but not for your boyfriend. You came runnin’ for me.” Jesse backed away slowly, smiling. “You like me, Josie Moraine. You just don’t know it yet.”

Jesse was right; Josie didn’t know it yet. So he gave her time to figure it out, no pressure applied or condition leveled. Don’t mistake me; his interest was always clear, even if Josie was initially blind to it. Quietly present for Josie in a way that defied her expectations of boys and men, he won me over hugely. Like, I’d read an entire novel about him building the Merc he mentions working on in this book and just talking. Oh, and before I move reluctantly on, though I suppose this could verge on spoiler territory…If you’re worried that there’s a love triangle, there’s really not. In spite of Jesse’s boyfriend comment.

My expectation was that the city of New Orleans – the landscape, the heat, the physical and figurative atmosphere – would be a larger than life character in the novel, and while it played a sizable role, it wasn’t what I expected. More is made of the distinction between rich, “Uptown” folks and those who lived in or around the Quarter, enmeshed in crime or in the shadow of the mob. In that way, the setting informed the plot, as Josie is trying to distance herself from one world to enter the other.

There’s so much to be said about this book that it feels like I’ve only scraped the surface, but the thing is, a lot of the threads, interesting as they were, took a backseat to Josie’s efforts to carve out her own identity, independent of her mother and the legacy the woman left her, and make a better life for herself. For readers who like character-driven stories about strong but still vulnerable heroines, there’s not a lot more you can ask of a novel than that.

The Lazarus Machine – Paul Crilley

Publisher’s Summary:
“An alternate 1895… . A world where Charles Babbage and Ada Lovelace perfected the Difference Engine. Where steam and Tesla-powered computers are everywhere. Where automatons powered by human souls venture out into the sprawling London streets. Where the Ministry, a secretive government agency, seeks to control everything in the name of the Queen.

It is in this claustrophobic, paranoid city that seventeen-year-old Sebastian Tweed and his conman father struggle to eke out a living. But all is not well. …

A murderous, masked gang has moved into London, spreading terror through the criminal ranks as it takes over the underworld. As the gang carves up more and more of the city, a single name comes to be uttered in fearful whispers. Professor Moriarty.

When Tweed’s father is kidnapped by Moriarty, Tweed is forced to team up with information broker Octavia Nightingale to track him down. But he soon realizes that his father’s disappearance is just a tiny piece of a political conspiracy that could destroy the British Empire and plunge the world into a horrific war.”

I could cast about for a proper introduction to this review, but why bother when what I really want to say is simple and straight to the point: I liked The Lazarus Machine a whole hell of a lot. That out of the way, I can move directly to the reasons why, and a good starting point is with the supremely likable detective team of Sebastian Tweed and Octavia Nightingale.

When you take two characters, strong and interesting in their own right, and put them together, well…I don’t know about you, but I want chemistry that sparks and burns (romantically or platonically); I want balance, an equality built on a foundation of mutual respect and earned trust; and that (and then some) is what I got from Tweed and Octavia’s fledgling partnership. Both Tweed and Octavia brought unique traits and qualifications to the table, including stubbornness, a fraying thread of arrogance and opposite life experiences, and their initial wariness of one another was…delightful. Sharp minded and sharp tongued, Tweed and Octavia challenged each other from the moment they met; preconceptions, opinions and plots were examined, weighed, and occasionally scorned, but it was never a question of one or the other not being up to the task. The bond between them built slowly, and was realistic because it was tested, proven under quiet and explosive conditions. Folks, I adored these two. And their banter easily ranks high among my favorite things about the novel.

Take this (long) example, when Tweed and Octavia are standing in front of a clock tower that’s been erected in front of Big Ben:

“Sorry, but I kind of like it,” he said. Then he frowned. “Why am I apologizing? I like the bloody thing. I think it’s going to be magnificent.”

“That’s because you have no taste,” said Octavia. “Or style. It’s not your fault. It’s what comes from being raised in an all-male household.”

“I resent that,” snapped Tweed. “I have lots of taste. And I’m incredibly stylish. This coat is a collector’s piece, you know.”

“Yes,” said Octavia, “you can tell. It belongs in a museum.”

Tweed straightened up and pulled his jacket tight across his chest. “You, madam, are a…a buffoon!”

That didn’t have quite the effect Tweed wanted. Octavia burst out laughing. “A buffoon, you say?”

Tweed turned haughtily away. “That’s right.”

Octavia grabbed him by the shoulder. “Wait, don’t walk off. What about a scallywag? Am I a scallywag as well?”

Tweed pursed his lips. “Right now? Yes. You are.”

“What about…What about a dollymop?”

Tweed frowned. “I wouldn’t go that far.”

She sniggered. “A strumpet?”

Tweed sighed. “No.”

“A flap dragon?”

“N–What does that even mean? You just made that up!”

As smart and mature as they are, they’re still teenagers; they have their moments, like the round of name-calling above, and I liked that aspect of the story and their character. I liked that they were prone to being irreverent and silly on occasion, and could find moments of amusement in the midst of a situation that was bigger than both of them individually, but together didn’t seem quite so harrying.

Populated with many secondary and minor characters, the most notable of them are Jenny and Carter, a married couple and friends of Tweed’s father, who are bright lights of personality and charm, and serve as a possible conclusion for what Tweed and Octavia could be and have if they choose to pursue a romantic connection. There’s also a young hacker, for lack of a better word, who has a biting, no nonsense attitude that, I gotta admit, is pretty awesome. I hope there’s more of her in the next Tweed & Nightingale Adventure.

Regarding the story (read: plot) itself, I found it to be clever and imaginative, and there were twists and turns a-plenty, including a huge one nearing the end that may challenge some readers’ ability to suspend disbelief, but worked for me because I was invested entirely. The writing was descriptive and visual; the pace determined if not quick. In short, no sooner had I finished The Lazarus Machine that I wanted their next case written and delivered into my hands.

If I Stay – Gayle Forman

Publisher’s Summary:
“In a single moment, everything changes. 17-year-old Mia has no memory of the accident; she can only recall riding along the snow-wet Oregon road with her family. Then, in a blink, she finds herself watching as her own damaged body is taken from the wreck…”

Swayed by several tempting reviews and at my best friend’s persistent urging, I picked up a copy of Gayle Forman’s If I Stay with high expectations that were mostly met.

Perhaps what I enjoyed most about this novel was the tight-knit family at the heart of it. Setting aside the fact that Mia loses them for the moment, I cannot easily call to mind another YA title in which both parents are a constant, positive presence in the protagonist’s life. That for seventeen years Mia’s parents were involved in her life and choices; that they supported and challenged her was refreshing. The same can be said of Mia’s appreciation of them. Speaking in terms of relatablity that type of parent-child relationship is a closer representation of my childhood, and seems to be one not often found in YA lit. Mia’s understated grief struck me all the harder because of that closeness, and made her choice seem an impossible one; I cannot begin to imagine the strength it took to make it. For that reason and several more, I was invested in Mia and her story, and that overcame any reservation I might have had regarding other aspects of the novel.

I’m somewhat hesitant to pick up the sequel, because as Angie mentioned in her review of this title the ending is quietly affecting, so well-done as to be pretty much perfect. And as much as I liked Adam, I never truly felt the need for more of him in If I Stay. I wanted Mia playing her cello, remembering the nights she spent reading her little brother Teddy another chapter from Harry Potter, or listening to her parents talk about their rebel-rousing pasts and fashion sense. I will pick up Where She Went someday and remain happy to have read this one until then.

“I’ve had disappointments and I’ve been lonely and frustrated and angry and all that crappy stuff everyone feels. But in terms of heartbreak, I’ve been spared. I’ve never toughened up enough to handle what I’d have to handle if I were to stay.”

Crimson Frost – Jennifer Estep

Publisher’s Summary:
For a moment, a face flashed before my eyes—the most hideous face I’d ever seen. No matter how hard I tried to forget what had happened, I saw him everywhere I went. It was Loki—the evil god that I’d helped set free against my will.

I should have known that my first official date with Logan Quinn was destined to end in disaster. If we’d gotten into a swordfight, or been ambushed by Reapers, I’d have been more prepared. But getting arrested mid-sip at the local coffee hangout? I didn’t see that one coming. I’ve been accused of purposely helping the Reapers free Loki from his prison—and the person leading the charge against me is Linus Quinn, Logan’s dad. The worst part is that pretty much everyone at Mythos Academy thinks I’m guilty. If I’m going to get out of this mess alive, I’ll have to do it myself. . .

If for no other reason than it took me but one-sitting to read, I could kiss the library copy of Crimson Frost that came into my hands the first week of the new year. But, really, Gwen (the violet-eyed lovely up there) and I aren’t that close, and it is flu season; who knows who else might have felt a similar compulsion? Admittedly, a large dose of the pleasure I took from this book can be put down to the fact that I finished it (a rarity, considering the latter half of 2012), but it was still nice to be back at Mythos Academy, watching Gwen get herself into continued trouble, and to once again be in the company of Logan. Hot. Spartan. Boy. Quinn. Who was no longer called a “man-whore” by Gwen at every turn. Hurrah! (See my review of Kiss of Frost for an explanation and implied eye-rolling.)

The fourth full-length installment in the Mythos Academy series finds Gwen arrested and standing trial, which is par for the course with the way her luck runs, but was also used as an opportunity to introduce a string of new characters, including Logan’s father, step-mother, and a Russian warrior assigned bodyguard duty. More than how their roles drove the plot, I enjoyed the new light these first-time characters threw on a few familiar faces, particularly Logan’s uncle and Head Librarian, Nickamedes. In fact, my favorite aspect of the novel on the whole was the bridge being built between him and Gwen.

In some respects, Crimson Frost is more of the same: Gwen struggling under the weight of the mantle laid on her shoulders as Nike’s chosen champion; her friends being a steadfast support system, risking life and limb as they fight by her side (when they’re not being used as bait or as means to assorted nefarious ends). But there’s comfort to be found in that sameness; the world is easy to fall back into after a long absence, and the characters are just as you remember them. Plus, there’s Vic, a talking, blood-thirsty sword (because what else would swords be? Pacifists?), and Nyx, an adorable wolf pup that doesn’t get nearly enough page time.

Bottom line, the books in this series are light, quick reads populated with (mostly) likeable if unremarkable characters, and a narrative arc that has a clear and obvious end goal.

So far:
Touch of Frost (my review)
Kiss of Frost (my review)
Dark Frost

The Summer I Turned Pretty – Jenny Han

Publisher’s Summary:
“Belly measures her life in summers. Everything good, everything magical happens between the months of June and August. Winters are simply a time to count the weeks until the next summer, a place away from the beach house, away from Susannah, and most importantly, away from Jeremiah and Conrad. They are the boys that Belly has known since her very first summer — they have been her brother figures, her crushes, and everything in between. But one summer, one wonderful and terrible summer, the more everything changes, the more it all ends up just the way it should have been all along.”

Han’s The Summer I Turned Pretty tops the list of most requested books by my teen patrons by a country mile. Their interest, prompted by enthusiastic word-of-mouth promotion, proved to be contagious, leading me to purchase a copy to determine what the fuss was about. That infectious curiosity coupled with the warm, fuzzy feeling a spate of recently released YA contemporary fiction titles provoked in me upon thinking of them meant I settled on my couch, book in hand, with high hopes. The longer I read, however, the more baffled I became.

Not twenty pages in and it was a chore to turn to the next one. But I did. I kept turning them, partly because I was determined to understand what so many other readers saw in the story, the characters, and leveling a judgment on either based on a paltry number of pages wasn’t fair; and also with the lingering hope that the tide would turn and I’d fall in line with the positive response I’d run headlong into since the book’s release. I’m sorry to say that just didn’t happen.

I cannot recall the last time I encountered a character as grating as Belly. Immature and contrary, Belly inevitably responded to the changes that go hand in hand with getting older by sticking her tongue out or pouting, which she herself readily admits to doing: “And, okay, maybe I did pout a lot, but it was the only way I could ever get my way.” (If you’re wondering if perhaps that self-awareness somehow made her behavior more acceptable to me, no, it didn’t. Because there was no move to grow, to move beyond adolescent behavior and prove that she was no longer the child she was convinced everyone else saw her as.) As I read, I began to actively track certain responses, which illustrates, to my mind, how one could easily become annoyed with Belly, but also the considerable amount of repetition in the text.

The following examples only account for those that I could easily recall the location of to backtrack to and record.

Belly exhibiting a woe-is-me attitude, bemoaning the fact that the boys – Conrad, Jeremiah and her brother, Steven – left her out of their fun:

Pg 17: “Even though it was one of the only times I was included in their fun…and it was a reminder that I was an outsider…”
Pg 26: “…but it was feeling different, like an outsider, that I hated.”
Pg. 28: “Everybody had somebody but me.”
Pg. 197: “Why was it that even when I had my own friend I still felt left out of their club?”

I’d like to note here, before moving on, that in this case I wanted to sympathize with Belly. But her desire to be included didn’t seem to stem from true loneliness or a sense of saddening isolation so much as from anger at not being included when she thought she should or deserved to be. The kind of anger that would make a child stomp his or her foot, kicking up playground sand in the process, and then retreat, arms crossed, to the sidelines. More concisely, Belly wasn’t getting her way and she didn’t like it, which often led to my next point.

Belly, the tattletale:

Pg 17: “I used to cry about it, run to Susannah and my mother…The boys just accused me of being a tattletale.”
Pg. 29: “Quickly I said, ‘Steven, if you don’t let me go, I’ll tell mom.’ Steve’s face twisted. ‘No, you won’t. Mom hates it when you tattletale.’…I’d lost my chance. Now I just looked like a tattletale, a baby.”
Pg. 101: “‘Leave me alone,’ I said defiantly. ‘You can’t hurt me or I’ll tell Mom.’”
Pg. 184: “I’m telling Jeremiah.”

I’ve already mentioned her propensity for sticking her tongue out:

Pg. 204: “I scooped out a chunk of watermelon and stuck my tongue out at his retreating figure.”
Pg. 207: “I stuck my tongue out at him and spread out my towel on a lounge chair not too far away.”
Pg. 224: “‘You can’t. It’s my birthday.’ I stuck my tongue out at him.”

It extends beyond those examples with more of the same, but also other actions and thoughts that made me grit my teeth; made it impossible for me to relate to Belly, or want to continue with her story. But, again, I did. Why? Well, there’s the fair shake thing, but there’s also the fact that in the back of my mind was the knowledge that other book bloggers had expressed delight in the romantic interest, and I thought, okay, maybe I’ll warm to him and the romance will sweep me off my feet before all is said and done. And, once more, that did not happen.

Shortly before the 200 page mark, Belly thinks of Conrad: “He made it so hard not to love him. When he was sweet like this, I remembered why I did. Used to love him, I mean. I remembered everything.” After reading that, I set the book down on my lap, combed my memory and thought for sure that there must be a hole in it, because I couldn’t remember Conrad being anything but surly and borderline rude to Belly (during the summer she turned pretty and all the ones that came before it). And in case you were wondering what prompted the line of thought above, it was “Good night, Bells.” Basically, common courtesy and a single, sentimental consonant; that’s all it took to engender an intense infatuation. Conrad’s appeal completely and unfortunately eluded me.

It’s odd, how radically different my experience with The Summer I Turned Pretty was from most everyone else’s, but it proves the adage ‘every book its reader.’ This particular book just wasn’t meant for me.

My Life Next Door – Huntley Fitzpatrick

Publisher’s Summary:
“‘One thing my mother never knew, and would disapprove of most of all, was that I watched the Garretts. All the time.’

The Garretts are everything the Reeds are not. Loud, numerous, messy, affectionate. And every day from her balcony perch, seventeen-year-old Samantha Reed wishes she was one of them . . . until one summer evening, Jase Garrett climbs her terrace and changes everything. As the two fall fiercely in love, Jase’s family makes Samantha one of their own. Then in an instant, the bottom drops out of her world and she is suddenly faced with an impossible decision. Which perfect family will save her? Or is it time she saved herself?

I’ve been sitting here, transfixed by a blinking cursor, for three, four minutes, trying to figure out how to write about this book, which, all told, I thoroughly enjoyed. And, beyond that, wrestling with how to phrase the explanation that must follow, the reasons why I loved it and the minor caveats that bear mentioning. I guess this opening gambit will have to do. As for the rest…

On my radar for a good, long while, my interest in My Life Next Door jumped the fence into must-read territory after snagging on a single line in Angie’s review of the title: “this book does have a romance in possession of the kind of heat you do not want to miss.” That – and the comparisons being drawn to Perkins’ Anna and the French Kiss – made a promising story absolutely irresistible. While I believe Perkins’ novel is a bird of a different color – albeit maybe in the same family – I am oh, so glad I took heed of the comparison and listened to Angie, because any book that makes me stop reading to immediately reread is one not to be missed.

It would be absurd to claim that I responded so favorably to this novel because of the fact that, at its heart, it’s about a girl whose coming of age was stalled, pushed back by a mother with tight hands on the rope and the girl’s own inclination to be towed along. It wouldn’t be a lie, per se. After all, I got Samantha. Certain aspects of her character and life: painfully so. But, no, it wasn’t the character that resonated; it wasn’t the charming family living next door to her (though, George? [Er, George is one of the youngest members of the Garrett brood.] I want a book about you all grown up, because you are going to be something).

It was Samantha and Jase, the palpable heat between them, the way their relationship engaged my emotions so completely, and that I actually, honest-to-goodness sighed while reading.

To go into too much detail would be to potentially spoil the experience; I can’t do that. So I’m not going to include excerpts, though my fingers itch with the desire to type out one or two, and I’m not going to say anything more about Jase except yes, please. I will, however, point out that there are at least two types of angst: delicious angst, the kind that pokes the balloons swaying in your stomach, releasing a wash of emotion that prompts your eyes to track back over the words to read them again, hoping the sensation can and will be duplicated; then there’s enough-already angst, the kind that’s uncomfortable or forced, dropped into the story like a bomb, detonating unnecessary drama. When it comes to the relationship in this book, the only angst you’ll experience is that first kind, and oh, my. Just…yes.

Ahem.

I was also engaged by a subplot involving Tim, a childhood friend of Samantha’s, who is tangled in a web of addiction and bound by a spiral of bad choices. Is his story thread predictable? Yes. But the thing about Tim is that his character works; I cared, despite knowing how his story was going to play out, and so his inevitable redemption still managed to be gratifying. Besides, there’s something about him. Take this memorable moment as a for instance:

“Do you have any idea how many times I’ve read If You Give a Mouse a Cookie to this kid? That is one fucked up story. How is that a book for babies?”

Jase laughs. “I thought it was about babysitting.”

“Hell, no, it’s addiction. That friggin’ mouse is never satisfied. You give him one thing, he wants something else, and then he asks for more and on and on and on. Fucked up. Patsy liked it, though. Fifty thousand times.” Tim yawns, and Patsy snuggles more comfortably onto his chest, grabbing a handful of shirt. “So what’s doin’?”

Now, about those caveats. Again, too much detail, in this case, is not a good thing, so I’ll just say this: I had a problem with Samantha’s best friend, how that plot line progressed (and also said best friend’s use of “mommy” and “daddy” without a trace of sarcasm [could be that I'm out of touch, but I wasn't aware that sixteen/seventeen-year-olds still called their parents that]); and I was a bit disappointed in the catalyst for Samantha’s growth, that it took something so extreme to shake her up, to get her to shrug off her indifferent attitude towards her mother’s control and take it back. Those are subjective issues, sure, but I wanted to make it clear that the book isn’t all roses, even if the romance is heady and sweet.

Samantha and Jase made a home under my skin, and I’m actually loathe to give up the library copy I read for wanting to keep them close. So, yes, a trip to the book store is in my immediate future. Because My Life Next Door? For this reader, it’s a keeper.

Code Name Verity – Elizabeth Wein

Publisher’s Summary:
“Oct. 11th, 1943—A British spy plane crashes in Nazi-occupied France. Its pilot and passenger are best friends. One of the girls has a chance at survival. The other has lost the game before it’s barely begun.

When “Verity” is arrested by the Gestapo, she’s sure she doesn’t stand a chance. As a secret agent captured in enemy territory, she’s living a spy’s worst nightmare. Her Nazi interrogators give her a simple choice: reveal her mission or face a grisly execution.

As she intricately weaves her confession, Verity uncovers her past, how she became friends with the pilot Maddie, and why she left Maddie in the wrecked fuselage of their plane. On each new scrap of paper, Verity battles for her life, confronting her views on courage and failure and her desperate hope to make it home. But will trading her secrets be enough to save her from the enemy?”

I received an ARC of this novel some time ago; the packaging was wonderfully done, hinting at the nature of the story that unfolds in its pages. I kept the Kraft paper wrapping, the twine, but set the book aside, thinking it unlikely that I would pick it back up. The reason is a bit more complicated than I’m about to let on, but essentially is tied up in the war aspect of the novel. For reasons of my own, I instinctually flinch away from stories that are set during (or examine the aftermath of) a real-world war, and while the overwhelmingly positive buzz surrounding Code Name Verity prompted me to gird myself against it and dig in, you should know upfront that my aforementioned…aversion, I guess, though that seems too strong a word, colored my response to the book. Perhaps I was naïve to think that the friendship so many readers loved and commented on could and would balance out the war – as that was the case with Something Like Normal, if for different reasons – but…I had to give it a try. (And, anyway, it’s good for me to step outside my comfort zone now and then.) So. After that much-longer-than-I-expected-it-to-be preface, a simple question: Did I “like” the book? Yes, and I’ll get to the reasons why in a bit. But I didn’t love it; I didn’t finish it and immediately want to gush, pushing my copy into the hands of any and all passers-by. And I didn’t cry at the end; instead, I struggled with thinking myself unfeeling for not being as moved as others so clearly were. You might say my relationship with this one was…complicated.

First, I’ll add my voice to those saying the book is well-crafted. The plotting is intricate, seamlessly done, and only after the novel is finished can it fully be appreciated. That last bit is good to know, or so I thought, because it kept me motivated to see the book out to its conclusion. And the writing, well, I found myself lingering over Wein’s descriptions of the landscape, characters, and other sundry things, because they were highly visual and so often lovely. Like this, taken from my uncorrected ARC:

“I am putting this down…because it proves that I know what I’m talking about when I describe what it was like for Maddie to be alone at the top of the world, deafened by the roar of four winds and two cylinders, with all the Cheshire plain and its green fields and red chimneys thrown at her feet like a tartan picnic blanket.”

Had I Post-it Notes on hand or scrap paper to rip into strips while I read, the book would be peppered with them, all marking a sentence or passage that made me want to close my eyes to sketch out the scene in my mind, to give it a moment to play out like a silent movie before returning my attention to the words. I liked the book for that reason, and because both Verity and Maddie were strong characters and did intrigue me (and, as an aside, I adored Jamie).

Beyond that is where my thoughts become harder to articulate. I’ll start with an easy to pinpoint issue then: the first three quarters of the novel went by at a snail’s pace for me. I’d look up hours after having set myself down with the book and realize that I hadn’t gotten very far at all. For a relatively fast reader, I felt the slow pace all the more keenly, likening it to walking through hip-deep mud with gale force winds pushing at me with every step. It was…frustrating. The way the first half of the story is told and the very nature of Verity’s plight (which speaks directly to the I-don’t-read-war-novels piece from above) also, I suspect, had something to do with the slow pacing.

Seeing as how this bit of plot is covered in the summary, it’s not giving anything away to say that events during the first portion of the novel are related to the reader through a series of papers Verity is writing for her captors. For me, this device had the effect of dropping a glass wall between myself and the characters. I wasn’t a part of the story, living it alongside Verity and Maddie; I was reading about it. As a result, some of the urgency was stripped away. Also, I think I reinforced that glass wall simply because of what was happening to Verity in the background of her account, things she hints at and mentions while never revealing so many details about as to truly make me sick at the thought of it. Queasy, yes, and that’s bad enough. (I can’t explain that last line or two, not without spoiling things, and that’s not how this book should be experienced. [Though you could hazard a guess and would likely be correct.]) That wall is likely the reason why the ending didn’t strike me with the same force it did other readers. I cared, absolutely, and maybe the wall cracked, but…When it comes down to it, I just can’t clinically explain the emotions – or lack thereof – I experienced as events spun out in the last quarter or so of the book.

Even more than usual, this post is subjective; so many personal factors entering into the mix. It feels as though, if you haven’t read the novel prior to reading this post, I should urge you to disregard everything I’ve said here. At least until after you’ve tackled Code Name Verity for yourself. But if you have read it and, like me, didn’t feel the same love for it that others did…Maybe it helps to know you aren’t alone.

Something Like Normal – Trish Doller

Publisher’s Summary:
“When Travis returns home from a stint in Afghanistan, his parents are splitting up, his brother’s stolen his girlfriend and his car, and he’s haunted by nightmares of his best friend’s death. It’s not until Travis runs into Harper, a girl he’s had a rocky relationship with since middle school, that life actually starts looking up. And as he and Harper see more of each other, he begins to pick his way through the minefield of family problems and post-traumatic stress to the possibility of a life that might resemble normal again.”

While I had kept a mental tally of the thumbs-up Something Like Normal was receiving from a slew of bloggers, it was Janicu’s review that pushed me over the edge, prompting me to dig straightaway through various, haphazard stacks of books to find the ARC I’d received at least a month or two prior. My experience with the book proves, once again, that listening to trusted book blogging buddies pays off more often than not.

Perhaps what I appreciated most about this story was its frankness. Travis, for instance, is upfront about the fact that pushing through the recruitment office’s door fresh off of graduation was not an act of patriotism; he was looking for an escape route, the means to walk away from his overbearing father and his own apathetic view of the future. He wasn’t driven; couldn’t rouse up the desire to go to college like his peers, and so he chose the military. A daily, steady routine and miles between him and a life he no longer wanted much to do with. He’s honest about that, just as he’s honest about the keen disconnect he feels toward his family, including his mother, who supported and worried for him since he shipped out; and he exhibits a willingness to acknowledge the stupidity of some of his actions (both pre- and post- Afghanistan). The honest, frank nature of his character engendered sympathy and, as I read, it inspired trust; Travis knew what his limits were, even if he pushed himself to the brink and beyond, and that made me like him all the more.

Admittedly, the number of novels I’ve read with a male protagonist is modest at best. That’s rather unfortunate and will soon no longer be the case, because Travis’ voice was a refreshing change of pace, one I need to pursue more earnestly. I think, in fact, it’s one of the primary reasons why Something Like Normal was a one-sitting read, and in the middle of an ongoing reading drought, no less. His voice – and here I’m going to repeat myself, which I hate to do but there’s no help for it, I guess, when the word fits – was frank, it was unflinching, it was occasionally, delightfully coarse. Need an example? Here’s a brief one that had my fingers itching to dogear the page it was on:

She beams at me and it’s almost enough to make up for the fact that I’m harder than trigonometry right now. Almost.

I read that, grinned, and thought ‘Wow, that is hard.’ [insert smirk here]

Add all of the above to Travis’ internal suffering, manifesting as it does in hallucinations of his deceased best friend and flashbacks that cut more sharply than any knife or bit of broken glass could, and to the pains and problems that accompany his homecoming, and you’ve got yourself a character that packs an emotional punch.

Then, of course, there’s Harper. She toes the line of being too good to be true, in my opinion, but I genuinely liked her, and appreciated the measure of peace her undemanding presence allowed Travis. She’s smart; self-assured in the face of gossip that has persistently followed her through life; and stands her ground, making her own decisions, for her own reasons, at her own pace. Once Travis and Harper leapfrog over the hurdle of past mistakes, it’s easy to see how they might work as a couple, and by the novel’s end I wanted what they had to last.

For all that the book is small in stature (216 pages make up the ARC), Doller managed to incorporate and address a lot of life’s complications, be they the result of coming home from war or untangling the brittle threads that tie disparate family members together. And, for the most part, it all comes together to work as a cohesive, engrossing story.

Something Like Normal will be released on June 19th.

Black Dawn – Rachel Caine

Publisher’s Summary:
“Ever since the draug – mysterious creatures that prey on vampires – took over Morganville, the lives of Claire Danvers and her friends have been thrown into turmoil. Most of the residents have evacuated, but Claire, Shane, Eve, and Michael have chosen to stay and fight.

By using the town’s water system to spread, the draug have rapidly multiplied. Things in Morganville look grim, especially since vampire Amelie – the town founder – has been infected by the master draug’s bite.

If Claire and her friends don’t figure out how to cure Amelie and defeat the draug, it looks as though Morganville will become little more than a ghost town…”

Twelve books into the Morganville Vampires series and I still love Claire and Shane, Myrnin, and Rachel Caine’s ability to up the ante at nearly every turn. While those appeals (along with lightning quick pacing) are holding strong, the series has, regrettably, begun to fray. (For me, I should add; other readers, going by their reviews, are not experiencing a decline in enjoyment.)

It is nearly impossible – or so I’ve found – to include salient plot points in any written discussion of the individual books because the series is rather like a house: each book is a brick that supports the one set on top of it. Stripping away the metaphor, while you may not be spoiling the book you’re actually recording your thoughts on, the likelihood of ruining a minor or key event from a previous one is highly probable. So, that’s my long-winded way of saying that I’m going to skip talking about the story itself. Though, really, I could sum it up by saying that nothing is ever going to go right or easy in Morganville for anyone.

Why is the series beginning to fray for me? It’s highly subjective, but…One reason is the recent inclusion of multiple points of view. While experiencing things through the eyes of other characters is nice and all, I find it…discombobulating? Because why these additional POV’s are written in first person while Claire is still being told through third is just…odd to me.* Not jarring, per se, because the transition is smooth. And then there’s whose voice gets added to the mix and the regularity with which they’re given the stage. Shane, Eve, Michael, Oliver (very briefl), Naomi (very briefly) – and if there’s anyone else, I can’t recall – get a chapter or two, but not, for instance, Myrnin. Naomi is relatively new to the scene, and, honestly, I’m not invested enough in her character to revel in having her first person perspective. Basically? I’m not sure why they’re necessary now. Why not have done it from the beginning? Annnnd I’m just rambling on here, so I’m going to be quiet, but I’d be happy to discuss in the comments!

Additionally, while plausability was never a factor with these books, recent events – or non-events, actually – have begun to really strain credibility. Other readers have expressed frustration with the fact that the core four refuse to leave Morganville no matter what awful things befall them. Which leaves one to wonder why. Is it some odd form of Stockholm Syndrome? Blind, likely-to-get-them-killed-violently stubbornness? It’s not out-and-out stupidity because Claire, at least, is a very smart girl who knows what it’s like to live outside Morganville, and therefore has tasted a life devoid of vampires who would as soon betray her as pat her on the back for helping them out in a pinch. There was once a point in the series when the characters addressed this more directly, but it’s become something of a moot point recently, and…if there’s been an explanation, it wasn’t one that stuck with me.

So. After all that, I will continue with the next book and see how it goes. I might even, if Caine throws us a bone and gives Myrnin** a chapter or two, end up loving it.

_______

*I’ve admittedly not visited Caine’s web site to search for an explanation – if there’s one to be found – behind the who and why. Even if I did, it wouldn’t change the fact that the inclusion of these new POVs only works marginally well for me.

**Myrnin, next to Shane, is the only character I would be interested in reading a first person POV from. Myrnin makes everything okay – even the inclusion of new POVs after nine or so books. (And I’m going to stop writing ‘POVs’ now because, wow, is it getting annoying.)