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.

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.

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

The Floating Islands – Rachel Neumeier

Publisher’s Summary:
“When Trei loses his family in a tragic disaster, he must search out distant relatives in a new land. The Floating Islands are unlike anything Trei has ever seen: stunning, majestic, and graced with kajurai, men who soar the skies with wings.

Trei is instantly sky-mad, and desperate to be a kajurai himself.  The only one who fully understands his passion is Araene, his newfound cousin.  Prickly, sarcastic, and gifted, Araene has a secret of her own . . . a dream a girl cannot attain.

Trei and Araene quickly become conspirators as they pursue their individual paths.  But neither suspects that their lives will be deeply entwined, and that the fate of the Floating Islands will lie in their hands. . . .”

Who are you? If someone were to ask me that question there are books that I would go to, that I would pull down from the shelf, hold out and answer: You’ll find a piece of me in here. The Floating Islands is one of those books.

From the moment I turned the first page there was no question: I had found my way home. I was among characters I loved, in a world I wanted very badly to explore, and reading writing that painted vivid and vibrant pictures, that pulled my strings; writing that was so right to and for me.

“There were a dozen of them – no, Trei saw as they approached: fourteen. Fifteen. They flew as geese fly in the fall, in a formation like a spear point. At first the shape the winged men made was stark as a rune against the empty sky, but as they approached the ship, they broke their formation, wheeled, and circled low. The morning light caught in the feathers of their glorious wings, crimson as blood, except for one man whose wings were black as grief.” [p. 4]

The Floating Islands is told in the alternating voices of Trei and Araene. One of the many strengths of the novel is how well and skillfully it was accomplished and that each was equally captivating. As I read, I never found myself wanting to be done with a chapter, not once did I want to skim or skip ahead to get to the other character. Trei and Araene were both living lives full of heartbreak and discovery, but their individual paths were woven together tightly. What’s more, each chapter built one upon another, assuredly drawing the reader closer to the story’s resolution.

Regarding character more specifically: I wanted to hug Trei and not let him go throughout the entire book, and Araene, well, she reminded me a bit of Tamora Pierce’s Alanna, exhibiting a forthright, courageous nature that won me over in short order. There were several among the supporting cast that helped cement my love for this title in their own way, too. These were people I’d want to meet, I’d want to study with, fly with.

Another strength is the world-building and perhaps for a surprising reason: what is laid out in the story only scratches the surface of the Floating Islands. Araene walks the streets of Second and Third City, and you just know that if she were to turn down this alley rather than that one she’d find something remarkable. There was a strong dose of history and culture, and the scent of enticing foods wafted on the air; I was satisfied completely with what I found on the page, but appreciated that there was still so much I could learn about the Islands, the kajuraihi (winged fliers), and the hidden school.

So what does that leave? The pace. I raced through this novel – though not so quickly as to not enjoy each word – and only hit one small lull where the story slowed a bit. Beyond that the only thing I can say is that I loved this book, that I will re-read it over and again, and that it has found a permanent spot on my keeper shelf.

Should you read The Floating Islands and, further, Rachel Neumeier’s other novels? Yes. Wholeheartedly, yes.

Revolution ~ Jennifer Donnelly

Publisher’s Summary:
“BROOKLYN: Andi Alpers is on the edge. She’s angry at her father for leaving, angry at her mother for not being able to cope, and heartbroken by the loss of her younger brother, Truman. Rage and grief are destroying her. And she’s about to be expelled from Brooklyn Heights’ most prestigious private school when her father intervenes. Now Andi must accompany him to Paris for winter break.

PARIS: Alexandrine Paradis lived over two centuries ago. She dreamed of making her mark on the Paris stage, but a fateful encounter with a doomed prince of France cast her in a tragic role she didn’t want—and couldn’t escape.

Two girls, two centuries apart. One never knowing the other. But when Andi finds Alexandrine’s diary, she recognizes something in her words and is moved to the point of obsession. There’s comfort and distraction for Andi in the journal’s antique pages—until, on a midnight journey through the catacombs of Paris, Alexandrine’s words transcend paper and time, and the past becomes suddenly, terrifyingly present.”

Praise for Donnelly’s Revolution built up around me; it was, many said, moving, heart-breaking, a must read. Having read and fallen hard for the lyrical beauty of Donnelly’s A Northern Light, I concurred: Revolution was a must read. And so I dug out the ARC I had received and seventy-eight pages later nearly put it down. I’ll explain why – or try to – but I can’t end this paragraph on a seemingly negative note because a little time and distance has allowed me to draw the conclusion that despite any personal reservations I may harbor, in the end, I liked Revolution.

Andi, the story’s contemporary protagonist, is uneasy company to keep. Especially early on, before she reaches Paris, and then even a bit during her time in the city. In those first chapters, the reader has a superficial understanding of Andi’s past; we know she’s on medication to stem the grief that flooded in after her brother’s death, and we know she’s thought of taking fatal measures to end that pain. It was easy to see that her emotional wounds (self-inflicted and otherwise) ran deep – her attitude and behavior telegraphed that loud and clear – and yet sympathy was surprisingly absent. There was a wall between Andi and me, one that didn’t come down for a very long time.

And then came Paris. And Alexandrine’s diary. And the revolution. And the story shifted for me. I still wasn’t engaged by Andi’s narrative, but I was drawn into Alexandrine’s. For all of the parallels between Andi and Alex, it was Alex’s honesty that won me over; her ambition was damning, her willful disbelief of the facts in front of her selfish, and she knew it. There’s more to it, but without the benefit of knowing the story, to talk about any of it here would serve no purpose. Suffice to repeat, I was riveted by Alex’s diary, her tribulations and her fate, and that more than anything pulled me into the story. But then just as I felt that the tide had well and truly turned, the story took a turn that was not hard to see coming – the summary even hints at it – but was too obvious a ploy and one that, unfortunately, did not work for me.

Throughout the entire book I felt like I was in a game of tug of war. There was certainly plenty to applaud: The history, how rich and detailed it was, the music, the present day genetic research of the heart thought to belong to the lost dauphin, etc. But there was just as much that got under my skin: Andi and some inconsistencies in her character, that one section I mentioned in vague terms, secondary characters that sat on the page, and so on. And, too, my own expectation worked against me; I thought to find the same beautiful prose that marked A Northern Light, but Revolution delivered a different kind of poetry, one that took me a while to appreciate.

As soon as I finished the book, I went online to look up some of the players mentioned in the story. It was then that I realized it got to me, that, at least on some level, I was moved. Moved enough to want to know more. To keep the story close a little longer. And it was even later that I examined the idea of an internal revolution and how it applied to the characters, how Donnelly successfully carried out the theme. After all that, I can honestly say I liked it, and can see how others loved it.

Reviews: Steph Su Reads The Compulsive Reader Reading Nook

Author Website | Book Trailer

Fixing Delilah ~ Sarah Ockler

Publisher’s Summary:

“Things in Delilah Hannaford’s life have a tendency to fall apart.

She used to be a good student, but she can’t seem to keep it together anymore. Her friends are drifting away. Her “boyfriend” isn’t a boyfriend. Her mother refuses to discuss the fight that divided the Hannaford family eight years ago. Falling apart, it seems, runs in the family.

When Delilah must spend the summer helping to settle her estranged grandmother’s estate, she’s suddenly confronted by her family’s painful past. Faced with questions that cannot be ignored and secrets that threaten to burst free, Delilah begins to doubt all that she’s ever known to be true.”

Sarah Ockler’s debut, Twenty Boy Summer, tugged all of my emotional strings. It was a story I thought about long after, earning its spot on my keeper shelf with its sincerity and depth, and so it was with high expectations that I picked up Fixing Delilah. And you know what? Though it dealt with grief, family, and first, true love, it was a vastly different story, and oh-so-close to being just as remarkable as its predecessor. In simpler terms, I loved it.

For those who don’t know me or my reading habits, that previous statement may seem casual; in actuality, it’s not. I don’t read realistic fiction or books with a heaping helping of issues. Rather, I stay far, far away from them whenever possible. But Sarah Ockler has a knack for creating stories that, while dealing with painful, heartbreaking moments, never feel too heavy to bear. There’s always this hope, this lifeline, for the characters and the reader to cling to.

Which leads me to my next point: The characters, in both books, are remarkable. Ockler’s female protagonists are self-aware and mature, but still make mistakes. Delilah, this story’s titular character, acts out, seeks solace in the wrong places, but she is aware of what she is doing every step of the way. She knows why she’s doing it, even knows she maybe shouldn’t be doing it, but she never crosses the pity-me line, and her actions (or reactions) are honest enough that you – I – never felt aggravated or annoyed by her. Instead, she’s this wonderful balance, able to see past her pain and problems, for the most part, to really look at the world and the other people around her. How she dealt with that insight showed how complex and dynamic a character she was. I realize I’m blabbering on about this, but…it’s an important point for me as a reader, and it may be for you too. In any event, the other characters that populate this book are wonderful (or wonderfully flawed) in their own right, especially Patrick, but I won’t say more because you’ll see for yourself once you meet him.

As I mentioned earlier, Fixing Delilah deals with grief. It also looks at the wounds that fester when secrets are kept, the way families can break you apart and pick up the pieces, and how important it is to look to yourself first when trying to “fix” your problems and not rely on others to do it for you. There’s friendship and romance, a lovely Vermont setting, music and antique sales, and…So much.

Once I picked up Fixing Delilah I didn’t put it back down until it was done. I have a feeling that that will always be the case with Ockler’s books because her voice, her characters and stories work for me on every level. Hands down, I am a fan. If you try her books, and I hope you do, I also hope you find as much to love about them as I did.

Fixing Delilah is set to be released by Little, Brown Books for Young Readers on December 1st.

Jane ~ April Lindner

“Forced to drop out of an esteemed East Coast college after the sudden death of her parents, Jane Moore takes a nanny job at Thornfield Park, the estate of Nico Rathburn, a world-famous rock star on the brink of a huge comeback. Practical and independent, Jane reluctantly becomes entranced by her magnetic and brooding employer and finds herself in the midst of a forbidden romance.

But there’s a mystery at Thornfield, and Jane’s much-envied relationship with Nico is soon tested by an agonizing secret from his past. Torn between her feelings for Nico and his fateful secret, Jane must decide: Does being true to herself mean giving up on true love?

An irresistible romance interwoven with a darkly engrossing mystery, this contemporary retelling of the beloved classic Jane Eyre promises to enchant a new generation of readers.” [Publisher's Summary]

I’ll begin this review with an ending: In the end, when the last few pages of Jane were turning under my hand, butterflies gathered in my stomach and flew. My reaction was immediate and visceral and twofold: On the one hand, I wanted to hold the book to my chest, and on the other, I wanted to get it into someone else’s hands so that they could experience it too. In short, I adored April Lindner’s Jane.

I can – and do – love and admire feisty heroines. It’s a distant sort of admiration, wistful even, because those girls and I do not share a similar reflection. But Jane, she resonated. I recognized her scars, her quiet strength, her halting but unshakable determination, and it made all the difference in the world. Invested in her as I was, my reading experience was imbued with pleasure and nearly painful tension; I knew Jane would encounter trials, just as I knew she’d find her happiness. The getting there set my emotions swinging. Every once in a while I need a Jane, someone truer to myself, not only in the books I read, but in the stories that move me.

Obvious divergences aside, Jane is a faithful retelling. It surprised me, actually, how true some of it was to the original, and where it slipped off the path, the logic of its contemporary issues made perfect sense for its modern setting. Casting Nico as a rock star was a stroke of brilliance. His passion for music struck me; the complications that came with his fame lent his character an appropriate edge; and the difference between his position and Jane’s gave the “forbidden love” aspect credence. Nico was sexy and disarming, arrogant and self-aware, tender and domineering; he was a million shades of shouldn’t-be-but-is wonderful.

I can’t claim to be a fan of the original Jane Eyre; that might simply be put down to reading Bronte’s novel at the wrong time in my life. But Jane is a novel that my younger self would have cherished as surely as I do now.

What Others are Saying: Angieville See Michelle Read Book Harbinger

Author Web Site | Jane‘s Facebook Page

What Alice Knew ~ Paula Marantz Cohen

“An invalid for most her life, Alice James is quite used to people underestimating her. And she generally doesn’t mind. But this time she is not about to let things alone. Yes, her brother Henry may be a famous author, and her other brother William a rising star in the new field of psychology. But when they all find themselves quite unusually involved in the chase for a most vile new murderer-one who goes by the chilling name of Jack the Ripper-Alice is certain of two things:

No one could be more suited to gather evidence about the nature of the killer than her brothers. But if anyone is going to correctly examine the evidence and solve the case, it will have to be up to her.” [Publisher's Summary]

I must confess to knowing very little about the lives and work of the James brothers prior to now. Their roles in the story, however, and also that of Oscar Wilde and other contemporaries of the time, had a hand in drawing me to What Alice Knew, a novel that blends historical fiction with a mystery angle, pitting writers, psychologists and the police against Jack the Ripper.

There are those who prefer to keep real life individuals out of fictional tales they undertake; I am not one of them. Rather, part of the enjoyment I take from novels that insert historical figures into the plot is the opportunity to learn more about them. While I read What Alice Knew I allowed myself short forays online to flesh out my very basic knowledge of the James family, and found that Alice James’ diary was published after her death, that Ralph Waldo Emerson was William James’ godfather, and that I really must read Henry James’ Washington Square. That said, within the context of the story, Cohen makes it possible to know these people by providing pertinent background information, and she does so without it ever feeling heavy-handed or like unnecessary exposition.

I’ve mentioned before that I’m a sucker for partnerships in my fiction, and so part of the appeal here was that the James siblings, vastly different in terms of personality and beliefs, formed an investigative team, each bringing their individual strengths to the table in order to put a stop to the Ripper’s crimes. Watching them discuss their suppositions was, perhaps, my favorite aspect of the novel; it paired the deductive process I love so much with sibling squabbles, insecurities, and (mostly) affectionate put-downs. If that’s not your thing, though, don’t worry; there’s plenty else to recommend this novel.

There’s the setting; the story takes the reader from the streets of Whitechapel to Wilde’s drawing room, from Scotland Yard to the men’s clubs of England’s esteemed colleges. There’s fine historical detail, too. What Alice Knew looks at spiritualism, art, emerging psychological theories, the suffragette movement in England, the ethical treatment of individuals confined to mental institutions, the aristocracy of the old world opposed to the individualism of the new world, and, of course, Jack the Ripper.

And doesn’t that name just conjure up an ominous atmosphere in its own right? In Cohen’s hands, his crimes are gruesome, but they’re looked at, not so much from a horrified observer’s view, but by someone who is trying to rationalize the horrific. It’s a distinction to take note of if the Ripper’s brand of violence puts you off.

To sum up, there is one word that, despite how clichéd it’s become to use in this context, applies nonetheless: fascinating. From learning more about the James siblings and the times they lived in, to watching clues and evidence being assembled and argued over, the novel offered up fascinating tidbits and cameos. Additionally, I enjoyed the writing style, thought the pace was consistent with historical fiction rather than a mystery, and will definitely be keeping an eye out for what Cohen does next.

A few favorite passages from the ARC to end on; the first because it is irreverent in its way and wonderfully captures Henry James’ personality in the novel, and the second because it resonated with me:

“…the prospect of bones in the fish immediately set Henry’s nerves on edge. He had once been at a dinner where an elderly gentleman had choked on a chicken bone, and the idea of a choking death in the presence of Jack the Ripper struck him as particularly infelicitous.” p. 233

“…who could know another in any essential way? It was the great advantage of the writer to create characters and thereby know them fully. But with regard to real human beings, one saw only the outer shell.” p. 336

Reviews Around the Blogosphere: Scandalous Women Book Girl of Mur-y-Castell CelticLady’s Reviews Disclosure: ARC received from publisher.

Author Website | Publisher’s Website (which includes an excerpt)

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*Fangirl Note: I was thrilled – and yes, fascinated – to see that Scotland Yard, quite like my beloved White Collar division, used criminals to try to unmask the Ripper. From the ARC: “Abberline’s ‘experts’ were a ragtag troop of petty forgers who had traded a year in prison to assist on the Ripper investigation. These individuals, some of whom had proven more competent and astute than many on the police force, had sifted through the hundreds of letters sent to Scotland Yard and the Central News Agency…” (p 240)

I Am Number Four ~ Pittacus Lore

“Nine of us came here. We look like you. We talk like you. We live among you. But we are not you. We can do things you dream of doing. We have powers you dream of having. We are stronger and faster than anything you have ever seen. We are the superheroes you worship in movies and comic books—but we are real.

Our plan was to grow, and train, and become strong, and become one, and fight them. But they found us and started hunting us first. Now all of us are running. Spending our lives in shadows, in places where no one would look, blending in. we have lived among you without you knowing.” [Publisher's Summary]

Going into this one knowing that there’s a movie in the works starring Alex Pettyfer and Timothy Olyphant, I had high hopes. I realized early on that those hopes were going to be half-dashed.

I Am Number Four is certainly readable; the premise is interesting, the pace quick. To an extent, it’s even enjoyable. But the thing is: the writing lets the premise down, the characterization is shallow, the problems with the plot plenty.

The writing is very much about point A, point B, point C. Bogged down by mundane, irrelevant details, the majority of the story comes across as though it were written as a list, which was then transcribed into something closer to prose. Here’s an example from the ARC (which may not be final):

It takes him twenty-five minutes to ride his bike the four miles to my house. I hear him ride up the drive. He jumps off of it and it crashes to the ground while he runs through the front door without knocking, out of breath. His face is streaked with sweat. He looks around and surveys the scene.

It almost has a rhythm. But what it lacks is a true sense of atmosphere; it’s all too rote to make me feel like I’m living it as opposed to reading it. To be fair, the storytelling takes a sharper visual turn when John, also known as Four, begins to realize what happened on his home planet. And so to label it as ‘bad’ writing would be incorrect; it was inconsistent.

As for the characters, their motivation is spelled out across the page. You know what drives the two central characters – John and Henri – and the secondary cast is transparent, almost stereotypical. John’s growing desperation to stay in one place, his bid at love and friendship, endear him to the reader on a very basic level. Unfortunately, his first person narrative doesn’t deepen the connection much. I liked him, I did, but in an I-just-met-you-and-think-we-have-friend-potential kind of way. It seems reasonable to expect a stronger reaction after 440 pages.

Plot problems may prove trickier to include here; I don’t want to spoil anything for those of you inclined to pick this one up. Let’s just say that the reader is asked to take leaps of logic for granted, that the characters make decisions that go against everything they’d said to date, that some things just didn’t work in light of other plot points, and call it a day.

Again, I’m not saying the book was ‘bad’; I read the whole thing, and quickly at that. I was mildly entertained by it. My hope that it be awesome probably wrecked any chance the book had to actually live up to that expectation. And regardless of the fact that the book didn’t quite do it for me, I’ll more than likely take in a matinee of the movie when it’s released. Did I mention Alex Pettyfer and Timothy Olyphant? That’s a pairing I just can’t resist.

I Am Number Four will be on shelves on or around August 3rd.

Not Just My Two Cents: Empire of Books review 25 Hour Books review

Website | Movie