Uncommon Criminals – Ally Carter

Publisher’s Summary:
“Katarina Bishop has worn a lot of labels in her short life: Friend. Niece. Daughter. Thief. But for the last two months she’s simply been known as the girl who ran the crew that robbed the greatest museum in the world. That’s why Kat isn’t surprised when she’s asked to steal the infamous Cleopatra Emerald so it can be returned to its rightful owners.

There are only three problems. First, the gem hasn’t been seen in public in thirty years. Second, since the fall of the Egyptian empire and the suicide of Cleopatra, no one who holds the emerald keeps it for long — and in Kat’s world, history almost always repeats itself. But it’s the third problem that makes Kat’s crew the most nervous, and that is . . . the emerald is cursed.

Kat might be in way over her head, but she’s not going down without a fight. After all, she has her best friend — the gorgeous Hale — and the rest of her crew with her as they chase the Cleopatra around the globe, dodging curses and realizing that the same tricks and cons her family has used for centuries are useless this time.

Which means, this time, Katarina Bishop is making up her own rules.”

Once again I’m playing catch up and [insert appropriate apology for any forthcoming memory loss, incomplete impressions, or brevity to be found in this post here]. There are two reasons it’s taken me so long to write a review of this book: 1) My reviewing mojo has been mojoing somewhere without me lately, and 2) I didn’t love Uncommon Criminals quite as much as its predecessor, Heist Society, and I can’t objectively articulate why. Which isn’t to say that I didn’t enjoy the ever-lovin’ out of it, because I did.

[A quick behind the scenes: I’ve written that introductory paragraph, and have sat staring at it for, oh, a good ten minutes. Well, that and at the cover of the book. I keep thinking no self-respecting con-girl would be caught red-handed in that Cleopatra’s necklace mocking purple top. It’s messing with me in an “Anderson, face the other way, you’re putting me off” kind of way. Soldiering on.]

As I see it, there are two points of concentration for the purpose of this post: 1) the heist(s) and 2) the infernal swoony relationship between Kat and Hale.

Since the first offers firmer ground, I’ll start there. As with Heist Society, I was fully engaged by Kat and crew’s attempt to pull off an unpullable heist. I would willingly walk the floor with Kat, theorizing on the best way to rappel here or slither out there, discounting “look, it’s a bird!” as a viable means of distraction; and that’s something to take note of, because it’s not often that the plot of a novel engages me in nearly the same way as characters do. [But, in this, I think Neal Caffrey - and the insatiable love I have for that beautiful, fedora wearing, sharp-dressed con-man - should shoulder some of the blame. All things con seem far more attractive now.] Add a curse to the potential dangers of a heist, and really, you can’t go wrong.

So there’s the excitement of the heist itself, the wonderful, take-me-there locale – Monaco – and the inclusion of a twist in the form of a wot’s-this?! character. And then there’s Kat. And Hale. Kat and Hale. And this is where I would blow out a breath heavy enough to flounce hair out of my eyes.

But this is all I’m going to say: I’m still fanning the flames of the Hale-crush that set in during Heist Society. He’s a wonderful character and, what’s more, a wonderful match for Kat. He respects her, worries about her, and is there for her despite his feelings regarding certain subjects and aspects of their maybe-relationship. Hale even gives in to a bit of angst in this book and, yes, it went a far way towards melting me like a candle. It’s because I like Kat so much, and because Hale is so Hale, that I want something GRAND for them. That’s it; that’s all I’ll say.

I may have liked and enjoyed Heist Society a wee bit more than Uncommon Criminals, but this second book is no slouch in the entertaining, read-faster category, either. And I hope, really hope, that these two books are only the beginning of a long, lasting relationship with Kat, Hale and the rest of their crew.

Touch of Frost – Jennifer Estep

Publisher’s Summary:
“My name is Gwen Frost, and I go to Mythos Academy — a school of myths, magic and warrior whiz kids, where even the lowliest geek knows how to chop off somebody’s head with a sword and Logan Quinn, the hottest Spartan guy in school, also happens to be the deadliest.

But lately, things have been weird, even for Mythos. First, mean girl Jasmine Ashton was murdered in the Library of Antiquities. Then, someone stole the Bowl of Tears, a magical artifact that can be used to bring about the second Chaos War. You know, death, destruction and lots of other bad, bad things. Freaky stuff like this goes on all the time at Mythos, but I’m determined to find out who killed Jasmine and why—especially since I should have been the one who died. . .”

This is going to be a quick one, folks, not to mention woefully inadequate due to the length of time that’s passed since finishing Touch of Frost. It’s also one of those cases in which, niggling in the back of my mind, there’s this sense that something about the book frustrated me; like a splinter that constantly caught and pulled at my favorite sweater, I’d acknowledge the source’s existence while reading, but carried on anyway. That I can no longer recall exactly what it was means two things: 1) it must not have been too bad and 2) it didn’t overwhelmingly and negatively impact the overall enjoyment I took from the story.

And I do enjoy novels that invoke mythology – Greek, Norse, it doesn’t matter – but it seems that consistency is a problem: some are wonderful, others are…not. Touch of Frost finds a middle ground: it’s fun and highly readable, but it doesn’t take or twist the mythological elements in a “new” or surprising direction. What the story does do is incorporate a mystery angle that may not have kept me guessing, but succeeded in keeping me entertained and onboard. Basically, if you’re looking for a few hours of light, escapist fun with the added bonus of a hot Spartan, well, Touch of Frost may do the trick.

Quick thoughts:

• It took me a while to warm up to Gwen; she seemed a little slow on the uptake at times, for one, and I wasn’t entirely convinced she was the nerd girl she professed to being (the type that has superhero posters on her wall, carts around comic books in her backpack, and wears Wonder Woman t-shirts. Oh, she did all of those things, but it almost, sort of felt like an act).
• The first few chapters were somewhat repetitive, with Gwen going over her ability in pretty much the same detail over and over to the point that I felt like snapping, “Yes, okay, I’ve got it.”
• I liked a few of the secondary characters: Daphne, Carson, and Vic. Wait until you meet Vic. *grin*
• I will definitely be picking up the next book, Kiss of Frost, because…Logan? There simply wasn’t enough of that hot Spartan in this first Mythos Academy outing, and I’m looking forward to learning more about him.

Eon – Alison Goodman

Publishers’ Summary:
“Sixteen-year-old Eon has a dream, and a mission. For years, he’s been studying sword-work and magic, toward one end. He and his master hope that he will be chosen as a Dragoneye – an apprentice to one of the twelve energy dragons of good fortune. But Eon has a dangerous secret. He is actually Eona, a sixteen-year-old girl who has been masquerading as a twelve-year-old boy. Females are forbidden to use Dragon Magic; if anyone discovers she has been hiding in plain sight, her death is assured. When Eon’s secret threatens to come to light, she and her allies are plunged into grave danger and a deadly struggle for the Imperial throne. Eon must find the strength and inner power to battle those who want to take her magic . . . and her life.”

For the sake of this introductory paragraph, think of days in terms of dog years. In that respect, it’s been ages since I finished Eon (and its sequel, Eona). Too much time has gone by for me to recapture my immediate reaction to either book, but one thought has stuck: I didn’t love it as much as I anticipated.

Several aspects of the book(s) worked for me: I loved the idea and depiction of the dragons; the political machinations whirring behind the scenes, manipulating and motivating every character that crossed the page, kept the slow and steady pace on track, upping the stakes at each turn; and I heartily appreciated the main antagonist’s palpable menace, his changeable charm, in spite of the too simple reasoning behind his actions. Eon’s world-building was nicely crafted; the setting was refreshing; and the story told in a manner that engaged nearly all of my senses.

My primary sticking point with the books turned out to be Eon/Eona herself. As a general rule, I enjoy reading about deeply human characters, which is exactly what Eon/Eona was. Attempting to navigate a torn, obstacle-ridden inner landscape, the result of a painful, some might say curse-struck childhood, Eon/Eona’s sense of self constantly seemed to stretch like a rubber band that might snap between one decision and the next. Every troubled thought, every defiant action, and the way she bore up under the criticism, hostility and derision cast her way because of her disability, provided plenty of fodder for sympathy and appreciation. Not far into the novel, however, I realized that my appreciation wasn’t transitioning into like; I wasn’t wholly sympathetic to her plight, and some elusive thing was frustrating me. Without being fully invested in her character, the highs and lows she experienced were viewed from a distance; it was like witnessing an earthquake without feeling the tremors. And the side effects didn’t stop there: the romance, which transpired moreso in Eona, and was, I think, purposely understated, didn’t stir me in any real way because I couldn’t connect with one half of the pair. As always, keep in mind that every word of this paragraph is based on a personal reaction, one that is definitely in the minority going on the glowing reviews I read prior to picking up the book.

Why so many readers loved this duology is understandable; I can recognize the books’ merits, despite my feelings (or lack thereof) toward the main protagonist, and agree that the story-telling was strong and ultimately well-done. On that positive note, I will assuredly pick up Alison Goodman’s next offering.

The Goddess Test – Aimee Carter

Publisher’s Summary:
“It’s always been just Kate and her mom—and her mother is dying. Her last wish? To move back to her childhood home. So Kate’s going to start at a new school with no friends, no other family and the fear her mother won’t live past the fall.

Then she meets Henry. Dark. Tortured. And mesmerizing. He claims to be Hades, god of the Underworld— and if she accepts his bargain, he’ll keep her mother alive while Kate tries to pass seven tests.

Kate is sure he’s crazy—until she sees him bring a girl back from the dead. Now saving her mother seems crazily possible. If she succeeds, she’ll become Henry’s future bride, and a goddess.”

Hello. My name is Chelle. I am a Hades fangirl. Not the Persephone-stealing, eat-my-damn-fruit, no-you-can’t-see-your-mother Hades of the original myth. But the misunderstood and lonely Hades? The darkly brooding, sexy and sensual Hades? The persuasive and powerful Hades? Even the at-times ruthless Hades? That Hades makes me want to–

Well. Nevermind that.

The Goddess Test is a quick read, light as an air-whipped confection, and ultimately prepossessing. If you know that going in and, what’s more, you’re looking only for a few hours respite or escape, you could do worse than to pick this one up. If, like me, you want it all – including depth of character and attention paid to the story’s details – you’ll likely still enjoy The Goddess Test, but the odds of it lingering in your thoughts are slim.

That said, three reasons why it won’t stay with me:

The tests. First, you must realize that Kate’s life, or soon to be lack thereof, is dependent on passing seven tests. No parameters are set; she’s given few rules, the big one being, if I remember correctly, that she can receive no assistance. The tests are, in short, a big deal. But once revealed? They were nothing short of anticlimactic. The tests demanded little of Kate; her very nature, in fact, made it impossible for her to fail. This plot point was ripe with character growth potential, and it was never realized.

Regarding Kate’s nature, she was a bit too sweet for my taste. Too…good. I know such people exist; I’m not that jaded. Yet. But Kate’s lack of emotional conflict – barring the grief she felt over her mother’s condition – made it impossible for me to truly care about her.

And Henry. Prone to internalizing and nurturing his pain, Henry knew how to brood; his sadness was crafted to reap heaps of cooing sympathy. And, I’ll admit, he almost got to me. But. He was ineffectual. He allowed other characters to disregard him. He was almost too gentle, too patient, with Kate. At times, he resembled something closer to a kicked puppy (for shame!) than a powerful, charismatic god. My Hades-loving heart was – and still is – unwilling to accept such a diluted rendering.

Will I read the next book? Yes. It was no great hardship to read The Goddess Test, pleasant is in fact the word I’d apply to it, and the ending stirred a measure of curiosity that I see no reason to leave unsatisfied.

Divergent – Veronica Roth

Publisher’s Summary:
“In Beatrice Prior’s dystopian Chicago, society is divided into five factions, each dedicated to the cultivation of a particular virtue—Candor (the honest), Abnegation (the selfless), Dauntless (the brave), Amity (the peaceful), and Erudite (the intelligent). On an appointed day of every year, all sixteen-year-olds must select the faction to which they will devote the rest of their lives. For Beatrice, the decision is between staying with her family and being who she really is—she can’t have both. So she makes a choice that surprises everyone, including herself.

During the highly competitive initiation that follows, Beatrice renames herself Tris and struggles to determine who her friends really are—and where, exactly, a romance with a sometimes fascinating, sometimes infuriating boy fits into the life she’s chosen. But Tris also has a secret, one she’s kept hidden from everyone because she’s been warned it can mean death. And as she discovers a growing conflict that threatens to unravel her seemingly perfect society, she also learns that her secret might help her save those she loves . . . or it might destroy her.”

If much-hyped books were pyramid-stacked bottles in a carnival arcade game, my hit or miss ratio would be about even. (The way I approach the game remains constant: warily, but with a healthy sense of anticipation.) Consigning Divergent’s overwhelmingly positive reviews to the periphery, I began the book with the expectation that it would fall into line as one or the other – a hit or a miss – only to draw up short when, at the end, it defied placement in either category.

The premise of Divergent begs one simple question: If given the same choice as Tris, which faction would you choose? As I read, in the back of my mind, I wrestled with my answer. My inability to claim a faction for my own nails down one of the things I appreciated most in the novel: Despite this dystopian world’s black and white leanings, shades of gray were myriad. Individuals within several of the factions confronted doubts or challenged the faction’s ideals either secretly or overtly; each one responded to manipulation and propaganda in radically opposing ways. Watching the cracks appear and shift further and further apart provided a backdrop of tension and anticipation that appealed to me in a way that in your face action never can. On the whole, the striving for abstract perfection, unreasonable-at-heart world of Divergent numbered among my favorite aspects of the novel.

Where the story stumbled for me is best summed up in two parts: the first focusing on Tris herself and the second on a particular development at novel’s end.

From the beginning, I wanted to rally behind Tris; I wanted to experience her pain and pride, her uncertainty and exhilaration, but felt removed from her instead. That sense of withdrawal had nothing to do with disliking her; Tris was a strong, stubborn heroine who was determined to justify and prove herself. It had nothing to do with her narrative voice, which was uncluttered and honest. But it had everything to do with the fact that her character didn’t engage my emotions. I’d love to be able to provide a reason why, or to give examples to validate that feeling, but I can’t. Tris and I, we just didn’t click.

Regarding that development at the end: you’re going to wonder what I’m nattering on about in this upcoming paragraph. I can’t tell you. In the words of Doctor Who’s River Song: “Spoiler.” Bear with me (and for those of you who’ve read the novel, you’ll likely identify what I’m referencing. I hope.) On one hand, there was a great deal to appreciate about the ending, namely that it showed considerable plot advancement. The cliffhanger was marginal, barely even worthy of the title, which is refreshing in the first of a trilogy. But there was one interaction at the very end that felt…rushed. That was, to my mind, somewhat out of place. Not unreasonably so; not enough to make me cringe or want to toss the book. Just enough to take the oomph out of one of the story arcs, though I’m likely in the minority with that opinion.

There’s plenty more to say – like that Tris’ initiation into her faction, which accounts for the majority of the novel’s page count, kept my interest for all that it felt like a familiar, tired plot-friend – but why? When it comes down to it, I won’t hesitate to pick up the second in the trilogy, and perhaps that’s all that really needed to be said.

Flawless – Lara Chapman

Publisher’s Summary:
“Sarah Burke is just about perfect. She’s got killer blue eyes, gorgeous blond hair, and impeccable grades. There’s just one tiny-all right, enormous-flaw: her nose. But even that’s not so bad. Sarah’s got the best best friend and big goals for print journalism fame.

On the first day of senior year, Rock Conway walks into her journalism class and, well, rocks her world. Problem is, her best friend, Kristen, falls for him too. And when Rock and Kristen stand together, it’s like Barbie and Ken come to life. So when Kristen begs Sarah to help her nab Rock, Sarah does the only thing a best friend can do-she agrees. For someone so smart, what was she thinking?”

The premise of Rostand’s Cyrano de Bergerac stirs up my shy, hopeless romantic tendencies; it also punches my buttons, namely those labeled exasperation and anger derived from sympathy. Lara Chapman’s Flawless, a role reversing, modern retelling of the Cyrano story, was a most welcome change of pace from the typical trio of Austen, Bronte and Shakespeare, conveying a healthy dose of charm if not depth.

Sarah Burke’s perceived imperfection is true to Cyrano form: she has a large nose. As a young girl, Sarah made a conscious decision to embrace her nose, opting to deflect taunts and teasing with bold humor or cultivated ignorance of the offender. If a slight slipped under her armor, Sarah drew on her reserves: her ambition, her love of literature, or her longtime best friend, Kristen. Like Cyrano before her, Sarah is the type of character that will resonate with a varied selection of readers. And of Flawless’ small cast, she is the most well-defined, the only one to experience growth and, as a result, the only one that came across as a complicated, flawed individual.

One of the few issues I had with Flawless was the slight emotional heft of other key players, namely Kristen and, to a lesser extent, Rock. Kristen is gorgeous, smart if not driven, and devoted to defending her friend. The reader is aware of each tick in Kristen’s pro column because we are told as much, only witnessing the latter on a few occasions during the course of the story. The one instance that could have peeled away the superficial to reveal Kristen’s depth of character for good or ill was unfortunately glossed over; it was shoved under the rug too quickly to take note of as anything more than a missed opportunity or a ploy to show off Sarah’s buried self-doubt to its best advantage. Maintaining a friendship isn’t always a clean, easy affair; occasionally a mess will clutter the path, a mistake will be made, and realigning the pieces that broke apart as a result strengthens the bond. Sarah and Kristen’s friendship read as too sweet, unreasonable even, leaving me to struggle with the exasperation and anger I felt over Sarah’s willingness to go to such lengths for Kristen, which in turn has forever been the one aspect of the Cyrano story that poked me with a stick, and that despite the fact that I understand why it needs to happen for the Cyrano character to achieve epiphany in the context of the story. <deep breath>

As for Rock, his role was to play the catalyst for Sarah’s emotional growth, and as such I could accept that he was smart and compassionate, the gorgeous golden boy able to look past a big nose to see the whole person and not only like the entire package but appreciate it.

At this point you may be thinking Was she lying when she mentioned that “healthy dose of charm”? No, I wasn’t. Call me contrary if you will, but the romance – bolstered by palpable longing, sweet written exchanges, and the anticipation of Sarah’s happily ever after – worked. That’s the magic of the Cyrano story: It may get under my skin, but it never fails to make me sigh in the end. Also, Sarah’s growth was realistic; she connected motivation to action, pulled off her blinders, and earned her happy ending. There’s something to admire in Sarah, and I appreciated it. At the end, my own inner Cyrano smiled and, yes, there was that sigh.

Ghost Town – Rachel Caine

Publisher’s Summary:
“While developing a new system to maintain the town’s defenses, genius student Claire Danvers discovers a way to use the vampires’ powers to keep outsiders from spreading news of Morganville’s “unique” situation.

But when people in town start forgetting who they are-including the vampires-Claire has to figure out how to pull the plug on her experiment before she forgets how to save herself…and Morganville.”

After the first eight books in the Morganville Vampires series, two things remained true: 1. Its high ranking among my favorite young adult urban fantasy series didn’t budge, and 2. It continued to please with quality story-telling, fast pacing, and consistently good plot advancements. Moving into Ghost Town, the series’ ninth installment, my enjoyment didn’t dim so much as my reading took a critical turn.

From where I sit, the strongest selling point of this series has always been the four foundation characters: Claire, Shane, Eve and Michael. Defined by distinct personalities and identifying traits, each is comfortingly familiar, an old friend; for the very first time I found that familiarity chafing. To be clear: I adore the dynamic of their friendship; I love the romantic relationships and how the pairings make the group stronger as a unit. If either aspect were to change, I would be upset. But when it comes to character development, they’ve…stagnated. Each is locked into a specific role that’s been set on repeat for eight novels. But that actually, and perhaps surprisingly, is not where my frustration lies.

What has begun to bother me is the fact that Claire, Shane, Eve and Michael struggle and fight, and they prevail – for the most part – in each book, but only ever gain tenuous ground. Recent installments have seen a bleak tone settle in, which makes me wonder: Is peace and lasting happiness possible for them? The group appears to be resigned to their fate: being threatened is nothing new, and they’ve long since adapted to looking over their shoulders. But as a reader who has come to care about them, I’m not. I’d like to see the ground they gain after each victory – however small – begin to mean something.

Another first: the narrative voice took a step back with minor inconsistencies and annoying parenthetical asides. I’ll start with the latter and an example:

“Mom wasn’t in the bathroom, but Claire was relieved (no pun intended) to get there anyway.”

The following example illustrates both points:

 “…she didn’t know what good it was going to do her to know Amelie had once filed a complaint against a man who owned a dry-goods store (what was a dry-good store?) for cheating the human customers.”

Claire – smart, quick on the uptake, early college enrollment Claire – was suddenly asking what a miasma was and had no clue what a dry-goods store might be. Because of who she is – and what she is continuously asked to do – for either of those things to catch her up is too hard to swallow. And each time I encountered an aside, I wondered why it was there as there never seemed to be relevance attached to it.

My reading experience wasn’t all doom and gloom, though. Myrnin, in all of his delicious, unstable glory, was a key player once again, and lit up every scene he was in. He is quickly climbing the rungs to be one of my favorite vampire characters in fiction. There was an interesting development (or two) between Amelie and Oliver. And there’s always Shane, who never fails to please.

Ghost Town was good if not great, and was as quickly read as all the rest. The premise of Bite Club, however, which looks to introduce a change of plot pace, has ensured my anticipation for its release next month.

Forbidden – Tabitha Suzuma

Publisher’s Summary:
“Seventeen-year-old Lochan and sixteen-year-old Maya have always felt more like friends than siblings. Together they have stepped in for their alcoholic, wayward mother to take care of their three younger siblings. As defacto parents to the little ones, Lochan and Maya have had to grow up fast. And the stress of their lives–and the way they understand each other so completely–has also also brought them closer than two siblings would ordinarily be. So close, in fact, that they have fallen in love. Their clandestine romance quickly blooms into deep, desperate love. They know their relationship is wrong and cannot possibly continue. And yet, they cannot stop what feels so incredibly right. As the novel careens toward an explosive and shocking finale, only one thing is certain: a love this devastating has no happy ending.”

In the aftermath of reading Forbidden, I was gutted. My heart felt like a tissue being torn at; one tiny piece at a time falling to the floor. I was so unaccountably shaken by the ending that I had to make it impossible for myself to dwell on it: I pushed through one menial task after the next; I forced myself to pick up another book, something light and comforting. And whenever I lapsed, thought back to a scene, to one of the final scenes, I slammed a mental wall down. There was finally no other option: I had to  move the book, innocuous and unpretentious in appearance, from my line of sight.

But I would not take back reading this book for anything.

Forbidden is not about incest. It is, because it’s there, but to hold up that one subject as the pivot on which the story turns would be wrong. The story shines a painful, bright light on neglect: the totality of one parent’s absence; the emotional withdrawal and mental abuse of the other. It holds a magnifying glass over teenage social anxiety and stress. It demonstrates how responsibility, however willingly shouldered, can slowly suffocate dreams and what-might-have-beens. And it accomplishes all of that and more utilizing a dual narrative that is distressingly hopeful at times, but aching and tense and hopeless more often.

There is a lot of repetition of thought in Forbidden; that’s something that would, in any other novel, itch at my skin like a new wool sweater. In this novel it wound me up; pulled me into the moods, fears, happiness and longing that Lochan and Maya sheltered and attempted to conceal. I had moments of certainty: I couldn’t continue reading. In the pit of my stomach, which felt both weightless and coiled, I knew I couldn’t – wouldn’t – stop. I was almost too emotionally engaged with these characters, this fictional family. My wrecked self was the result.

It needs to be said that whenever a rational, intellectual argument against a few of the events in the story rose in me, the visceral, emotional pull of it choked it back. It also needs to be said that the story brought me to a point in which I was hoping – with some desperation – for there to be a way for Lochan and Maya, a mistake or loophole that would allow them to be. Having since read several other reviews of this title, I know I wasn’t alone in that.

Tabitha Suzuma’ s Forbidden offers up powerful, gripping storytelling and unforgettable characters in Lochan and Maya.

_______________________________
Forbidden is available in the UK now (I purchased my copy from The Book Depository, though it looks like the book is no longer available there); it will be released in the US this June.

Hourglass – Myra McEntire

Publisher’s Summary:
“One hour to rewrite the past . . .

For seventeen-year-old Emerson Cole, life is about seeing what isn’t there: swooning Southern Belles; soldiers long forgotten; a haunting jazz trio that vanishes in an instant. Plagued by phantoms since her parents’ death, she just wants the apparitions to stop so she can be normal. She’s tried everything, but the visions keep coming back.

So when her well-meaning brother brings in a consultant from a secretive organization called the Hourglass, Emerson’s willing to try one last cure. But meeting Michael Weaver may not only change her future, it may change her past. Who is this dark, mysterious, sympathetic guy, barely older than Emerson herself, who seems to believe every crazy word she says? Why does an electric charge seem to run through the room whenever he’s around? And why is he so insistent that he needs her help to prevent a death that never should have happened?”

Having lately burnt out on the glut of vamps and weres that populate YA paranormal fiction, Myra McEntire’s Hourglass, which blends a paranormal variation and sci-fi with seamless strokes, provided a much needed, refreshing break.

Brief digression: Writing this post has me feeling wobbly as a tightrope walker: If I don’t tread carefully I’ll have it bouncing on a spoiler-strung net. Because much of the story’s strength is tied up in the way the pieces come together, that’s a fate I’d like to avoid. Moving on, vaguely.

Emerson Cole took a self-guided crash course on period fashion and hairstyles to be able to separate the living from the apparitions that have plagued her since just before her parents’ death four years prior. Physically harmless, these apparitions nevertheless wreaked havoc on her life; the ability to see them alienated her from her classmates, drove her to a medicated, near-to-catatonic state, and made any hope of a normal future an impossible dream. If there’s one thing Emerson is tired of – beyond the Southern Belles and jazz trios of the incorporeal world – it’s the revolving door of “professionals” that her brother hired – with the very best of intentions – to help her. That is, of course, until he hires Michael Weaver, the epitome of tall, dark and handsome. That Michael doesn’t think her crazy and, what’s more, won’t let her think of herself as crazy, is a definite bonus.

Emerson is a sympathetic character; her past is layered in traumatic events, her loneliness is like a blanket she tries unsuccessfully to shrug off, and though she doesn’t dwell on it, her reasonably bleak outlook on the future tugs at the empathetic heartstrings. Her narrative is clean and concise, her personality strong, fierce even, and because of that I liked her. I liked her, but I didn’t love her. *Cue subjective positing* Heroines who take charge of their lives and refuse to be left in the dark are wonderful, they are, but there are so many of them. Who act without thinking. And while I understand that their willingness to charge into dangerous situations, fingers in their ears, often creates tension, or quickens the pace, or furthers conflict, it still occasionally sets my teeth on edge. Emerson fell into this category. If not for the fact that she demonstrates how able she is to take care of herself, it might have lessened my enjoyment of her. I also know that this isn’t an issue for many readers, so pay this bit no attention if you’re one of them. *Done now*

And then there’s Michael. And Kaleb. And a love triangle that was underplayed – throughout the course of which Emerson stayed true in thought and purpose – and didn’t frustrate the bejeezus out of me. Both are stand-up, likeable guys. The way I read it, Michael nursed a hero complex – which, in the context of the story, is not a criticism of his character – while Kaleb, courtesy of a specific plot element, had more emotional depth (and got the awesome lines).

Despite the fact that I’ve spent an awful lot of words on character, Hourglass is not a character driven novel. The latter half of the story shapes around a solid mystery, and the science fiction element drives, well, everything that happens, really, and does so in a manner that doesn’t make your head spin. Several loose threads will lead me to eagerly pick up the sequel.

…And that’s really all I can say about that.

Hourglass turned out to be a read-it-in-one-sitting book that delivered enjoyable, flawed characters and a fresh premise. It’s definitely worth checking out when it’s released on June 14th.

The Girl Who Circumnavigated Fairyland in a Ship of Her Own Making – Catherynne M. Valente

Publisher’s Summary:
“Twelve-year-old September lives in Omaha, and used to have an ordinary life, until her father went to war and her mother went to work. One day, September is met at her kitchen window by a Green Wind (taking the form of a gentleman in a green jacket), who invites her on an adventure, implying that her help is needed in Fairyland. The new Marquess is unpredictable and fickle, and also not much older than September. Only September can retrieve a talisman the Marquess wants from the enchanted woods, and if she doesn’t . . . then the Marquess will make life impossible for the inhabitants of Fairyland. September is already making new friends, including a book-loving Wyvern and a mysterious boy named Saturday.”

The Girl Who Circumnavigated Fairyland in a Ship of Her Own Making is infinitely clever. It is gorgeously written; a dog-ear-every-other-page-for-the-wonder-of-this-line-or-that-image type of story. It is a just-out-of-the-oven batch of cookies, the scent released by the laundry vent when clothes are tumbling in the dryer; it is the first firework in the sky and the last, the day before your very first vacation. It twists and turns and wraps back around and makes you giddy with delighted dizziness. It is a book that needs to be read and thought about and held and cherished. It is a book that I, in very short order, came to love with my whole being. So I am going to say now, before I say anything more: Get yourself a copy of this book.*

Have you ever read a story that made you feel like you were wearing the skin of your younger self? A book that brought back the joy of discovering magic in words and the pictures they give shape to, reeling in your mind like a film made only for you? The Girl Who Circumnavigated Fairyland… was just that kind of book for me.

This entire post could be comprised of quote after quote, and that would be that. It would go on for days and your finger would tire from scrolling. Because, while it’s not habit, I dog-eared the advanced reader’s edition I read within an inch of its papered life; every page, it seemed, presented something remarkable, a sentence or paragraph that glinted like a new penny under the summer sun. And because of that, I’m going to break protocol and include a couple of bits that caught my fancy -  I simply cannot not share – but keep in mind that said agonized-over-which-bits-to-choose bits are coming from an uncorrected proof and may change in the final copy.

“I came for you, September. Just you. I wish you the best that can be hoped for, and worse than can be expected.” He leaned in close and kissed her cheek, courtly, gentle, dry as desert wind. The Leopard licked her hand passionately.

“Close your eyes,” he whispered.

September did. She felt a warm, sunny wind on her face, full of the smells of green things: mint and grass and rosemary and fresh water, frogs and leaves and hay. It blew her dark hair back, and when she opened her eyes, the Green Wind and the Leopard of Little Breezes had gone. In her ear floated his last airy sigh: check your pockets, my chimney-child.

***

The sun hitched up her trousers and soldiered on up into the sky. September squinted at it and wondered if the sun here was different than the sun in Nebraska. It seemed gentler, more golden, deeper. The shadows it cast seemed more profound. But September could not be sure. When one is traveling, everything looks brighter and lovelier. That does not mean it is brighter and lovelier; it just means that sweet, kindly home suffers in comparison to tarted-up foreign places with all their jewels on.

Of this book, Tamora Pierce said: “September is a clever, fun, stronghearted addition to the ranks of bold, adventurous girls.” Yes, she is all that. Until you meet September for yourself, however, it’s a difficult task to point to any one or even two things that make her all that and more. And beside, as wonderful as September is, she would not shine quite so without all the heart-grabbing characters that surrounded her: the Green Wind, the wyvern A-Through-L, Saturday, and Mr. Map in particular wormed their way under my skin and refuse to budge. Not that I’d try to oust them; I’m quite content to keep and revisit them.

Characters and world-building aside – and though I haven’t and won’t go into the world-building in any depth, believe me, it’s sugar and spice and all things amazing – The Girl Who Circumnavigated Fairyland… is also an example of metafiction at its most clever, charming and effective best. The kindly, beneficent narrator pulls back the curtain at precisely the right moments, allowing the reader to glimpse and overhear, and gently explains when doing so would be akin to spoiling a good shiver or losing a delicious indrawn breath of anticipation.

There is so much I’d like to say about this book, so many things I’d like to hold up and say look, look at this!, but can’t for fear of robbing you of the discovery of those very things. As it is, I feel guilt over those quoted bits above, which I included with the very best, See. Right? intentions. Even if you don’t tumble heels over head for this book as I did, I’m willing to lay odds that you will find something that will make you smile or coo, something that you will adore and want to polish and put out for your friends and neighbors to see. And so with that in mind I’ll urge you again: Get yourself a copy of this book.

Sink in and enjoy.

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*When it finds its way onto shelves on May 10th, that is.