Archives for February 2012
Help a librarian out: a survey on teen/ya library services
I don’t like to talk too much librarian shop over here, but I know we reach a big librarian readership, so I’m taking the opportunity to tap that.
I’ve got a survey about teen/young adult library services on my other blog, and it’s focused on providing reader’s advisory and collection development. If you’re a librarian, can you spare a few minutes and fill it out? And whether you’re a librarian or not, if you know someone who could fill it out for me, please spread the word!
I appreciate your help so much!
Drowning Instinct by Ilsa J Bick
Jenna Lord’s given a voice recorder by the detective working on her case. She’s just woken up in the hospital, and he wants her to tell the truth of the story about what happened. Why she’s there. Why and how she almost died. Again.
She agrees, and we’re thrust into something much, much darker than expected.
Jenna’s family life is anything but pretty. Her father’s a surgeon and he’s exceptionally controlling and demanding. Jenna’s mother works long hours at the bookstore she’s in charge of, so she’s not around much. That may or may not have to do with the fact she’s also an alcoholic and avoids her husband. Then there’s Matt — Jenna’s brother — who enlisted in the military to get away from the mess of a family. She and he are close, and she turns to him when she needs an escape. Then there’s grandpa, who is in an institution because he’s unstable, too. That may or may not have something to do with the fire in his house, the one which caused Jenna many of the scars and skin grafts covering her body.
The rest of the scars, though, are her own doing.
It’s those scars which put her into therapy and which eventually lead to her being sent to Turing for school. Her father believes putting her in a new environment like Turing would be good for her and help her adjust to being a normal girl again, whatever that is. But when she starts school, things only become more complicated. She meets Mr. Anderson — Mitch — near immediately on her first day, and she meets him when he’s wearing close to nothing.
It’s the start of a relationship between a teacher and a student that should have clear cut answers. That should be about right and wrong. But it’s so, so not.
Drowning Instinct is the kind of novel I love: it’s character driven, it’s dark, and there are no right or wrong answers. It’s not a clear cut story, and just when I thought I had an idea of how things would progress, I’m not given the break. Because the characters — Jenna, especially — gets absolutely no breaks in this story. Her only break comes in the form of self-mutilation. That’s why she was getting therapy in the first place (or at least that’s how it’s explained and the truth is, that’s not necessarily the whole truth). Jenna cuts to escape the pain from her home, and because it gives her a sense of ownership.
And cuts heal.
The relationship between Jenna and Mitch, one which should cause the reader discomfort because of what it is, challenges expectations. Mitch is so good to Jenna and he’s the first adult who has given Jenna any reason to feel safe and secure. He also gives her opportunities and responsibility, and he believes in her not only as a student, but also as a runner. She’d given up running, but he wants her to go out for the team. He wants her to be his teaching assistant. He goes out of his way to keep an eye on her. While Jenna is at times skeptical about him, she eventually allows herself to see he is being genuinely concerned for her, and that he genuinely cares about her well-being — something she’s never experienced before outside of a therapy office. He knows a lot about her, and he happens to have this knowledge because he’s done his research (and he tells her that much) but also because he stumbles upon some of the same messes she does. He sees how unstable her family is first hand.
Then Mitch maybe delivers the biggest blow Jenna’s ever felt and the one that rattles her awake. He knows the truth to her biggest secret. One she doesn’t believe he could possibly know. But he does. It almost seals her to him now. He’s ripped open one of her scars and lets it bleed.
Even though Jenna decides he’s worth trusting, she’s wondering where the faults in his story are, and the closer she gets to him, the more time she spends with him in and outside the classroom, the more cracks she’s finding. His wife is never around and he never talks about her. Then there’s a picture in Mitch’s house that haunts Jenna. And then the time she called his house and his wife — supposedly away taking care of a sick family member — answers. It’s not just the wife situation that makes Jenna nervous though: it’s the fact Mitch appears to have had a relationship with another high school girl, Danielle, and she’s not exactly friendly with Jenna. Then there’s Danielle’s comment about how Mitch always liked the broken girls. These words rub Jenna wrong. They feel like knives on her flesh.
But she hasn’t pressed down yet.
The relationship between Jenna and Mitch is tortured. But it’s also safe. When they’re together, when he’s holding onto her with love and affection she so desperately needs and deserves, everything feels right. And yes, things get sexual. There is something so tender in those moments though that as readers, we almost forget they’re teacher and student. That Mitch is her superior. That he’s married. When they’re apart though, when Jenna’s left alone with her thoughts, that’s when things don’t seem right. That’s when she questions who Mitch is and whether or not he’s good for her. The thing is, she can’t stop herself from staying close to him.
He’s become her new method of cutting.
Bick’s talent is not only in drawing these incredibly complex characters. It’s the fact she has developed a pair of characters who aren’t clear cut on whether they’re victim or predator. It goes both ways. They feed off one another, and their secrets (and the secret of their relationship itself) tread a morally ambiguous line because the way it’s presented makes it feel so right and so wrong at the same time. Jenna deserves this kind of love and even though we aren’t entirely clear what’s going on in Mitch’s life, it just seems like he does too. And the way he treats Jenna makes it feel that way, too. They’re safety nets for one another time and time again. Even if there are suspicious things afloat. Jenna and Mitch are very broken people, as are the other characters in the story. Each character carries immense pain and sadness but never once does it come off as melodramatic. It’s drawn realistically, with a rawness that slices through what could/should be morally straight-forward territory for readers. None of these characters, even the ones with little page time, feels wasted and none of their struggles feel like shortcuts through the story.
What also stood out to me in this book was the use of place and space to tell the story. Bick is a Wisconsin author, and she’s not afraid to set her books here. Drowning Instinct is neat in being set both in suburban Milwaukee (where Jenna attends school) and in the more rural areas outside the suburbs. The rural settings add a haunting feel to the story and they mimic the relationship between Jenna and Mitch well: there’s the safety of the suburban setting but then there’s the questionable nature of nature itself in those more remote areas. In places like the cabin on Mitch’s quiet property. For me, the setting was a crucial layer to developing the story and the characters.
The book is well-paced, starting slower at the beginning as Jenna comes to in the hospital, but it eventually picks up speed until the very end. I had become so invested in the characters and unraveling the truths of these characters that I read through the bulk of it in one sitting. The reveals make use of subtle details woven into the story, but maybe the real power of the reveals is that they’re not necessarily all that settling. They add further shades of gray to the story and to the characters. There are no real answers here, but the feeling I walked away with when I finished the book was worth the uncertainty. I took away what I needed to take away, and I like to think it’s the same take away Jenna has. I also found myself crying near the end of the story, as well. I’d fallen so in love with the characters, their flaws and mistakes and all, that I couldn’t help but feel the full weight of everything crashing around them. Bick made me care enough to not only love the story but also emotionally connect with these hurting and aching characters, despite the endless stream of mistakes they made.
Drowning Instinct will appeal to readers who like their stories dark, realistic, and raw and who like their stories to have real voice behind them. These characters are desperate and broken, and the book is relentless. It’s wholly contemporary, and it’ll appeal to fans of Amy Reed and Courtney Summers with content and character execution, and the set up of the book — the short chapters, the great pacing — will make it quite appealing to fans of Ellen Hopkins, as well. I could also see this novel working for fans of Lucy Christopher’s Stolen and Tabitha Suzuma’s Forbidden for readers interested in novels about elicit and taboo relationships. I’ve read two other novels this year, neither of which I’ve had a chance to review, but it reminded me of a mash up of the two of them, and I’ve found it fascinated how this year’s novels are playing around with the norms of family, of safety, of security, of what it means to love and be loved, and just what survival takes. I have respect and admiration for authors who go for it full out, giving their characters challenge upon challenge, and Bick offers exactly that.
I wouldn’t say this book doesn’t appeal to reluctant readers because it does, but I think more mature readers will walk away with a lot from this book, especially as it comes to issues of right and wrong. Those who appreciate Laurie Halse Anderson will want to give this one a shot, too. I didn’t touch on the metaphor here, the whole idea of the drowning instinct, but it’s a huge one smartly thread through the story, and readers who want a more literary read will find it here. The back cover summary sums it up really well, I think: this is a fairy tale with teeth and a novel about pain, deception, desperation and love. Without doubt, this book will stick with me for a long time, and it will be one of my 2012 favorites.
Review copy received from the publisher. This book also has one of the best covers around, doesn’t it?
Misfit by Jon Skovron
(P)reviews: A Sampling of What’s to Come
I’ve been reading well ahead of publish dates lately. I like to post reviews as close to publication date as possible, even if I read the book months beforehand, because I like to think it helps put the book on the radar when it’s actually possible to buy it. So while I’ve been reading and writing out my posts, I was thinking it might be worthwhile to give a preview to some of the titles I’ve been reading lately. You’ll get the longer reviews closer to pub date, but for now, a sampling of titles to whet your appetite now (and surprise — a couple of these titles I’ll be giving away when the time gets closer and one of them may be up for grabs as part of Lenore’s Dystopian February this week, too). Interestingly, all of these covers feature girls on the front.
Crazy by Amy Reed (June 12, 2012): This is probably the most realistic and painful portrayal of bipolar disorder I think I’ve read in YA lit. The book’s told through two voices — both Conner and Izzy get to have their say — and it’s told entirely through email messages. They’ve become friends and confidants to one another after a summer camp where they bonded, and while it’s never blatant, it’s sort of hinted that Conner wants something more than friendship from Izzy but she’s not receptive. And for good reason. Izzy’s home life is hurting her, and it’s only contributing to the debilitating depression building inside her. Both voices are strong, well-defined, and the feelings readers walk away with, having both sides of depression (the person falling into it and the person on the outside watching it happen) will resonate with anyone who has ever experienced depression. Reed’s writing works for me as a reader, and this, her third book, is her strongest.
The List by Siobhan Vivian (April 1): I got to read this book back in September (I know — lucky me!) and I’m still thinking about it now. Every year on the week of homecoming, a list containing the names of 8 girls is posted at Mount Washington High; the prettiest girl and the ugliest girl in each class is listed. What Vivian does in The List is let us into the minds and lives of each of the eight girls selected this year, challenging our expectations and understandings of popularity, beauty, and ugliness through each of their eyes. There are eight voices in this story, but the third-person present tense style really allows each of their voices to stand out — I didn’t have any trouble keeping them apart. Vivian’s got a way of writing stories that empower girls, and this is no exception. It’s the kind of book I can’t wait to hand off to high school girls; not only will they find themselves relating to one (or all!) of the girls, but they will want to talk about it, too.
This is Not a Test by Courtney Summers (June 19, 2012): Sloane Price has nothing going for her — at least in her mind, there’s no point in continuing living if her home life continues to be an abusive place and her sister, the one constant in her life, has left her to fend for herself. So when Sloane selects today to commit suicide and she’s thwarted before she can, it’s a huge relief that is when the zombie outbreak happens. Her death wouldn’t even be on her own hands. Except she survives, and now she’s stuck, trapped inside Cortege High with five other students who are eager to live, and all she wants to do is die. Sloane doesn’t want to be here, and she doesn’t want to fight for anything, but she has little choice in the matter. And the zombies keep knocking at the door. This is a book that, while about zombies, is much more about character and relationships and just what it means to survive, period. If you’re wary of a zombie story, do not let that be the hangup in giving this one a try because it is much more a book about what it means to be human. I’ve never left a book so physically aching before (maybe even emotionally aching, too).
Amelia Anne is Dead and Gone by Kat Rosenfield (July 5, 2012): Graduation night was a big one in Becca’s hometown. Not only did she have some pretty memorable celebration sex in her boyfriend’s car, but then he had the nerve to dump her right then and there, leaving her empty in more ways than one. Oh, and that happened to be the same night the body of a strange girl was found on the side of the road, rag dolled and mangled. No one knows how she got there or who she was. Rosenfield’s debut novel is a mystery story, but it’s also a story about growing up and figuring out where you belong. Becca’s being toyed with when it comes to her boyfriend; she wanted nothing but to get out of town and away from everything it is, and she made herself the promise that he wouldn’t be the reason she stays. Despite breaking up, he’s still stringing her along for the summer and she’s unable to make an easy decision about staying or leaving. And when the story of the dead girl comes to light, it’s not at all what Becca — nor the town — expected. The writing and many of the threads about small town life reminded me of Nova Ren Suma’s Imaginary Girls; it is lush and a story you can’t help but fall completely into.
Jersey Angel by Beth Anne Bauman: Lest you think I’ve found everything I’ve read lately exceptional, I’ll talk about a book that was a real disappointment. This one was sold to me by the publicist at ALA Midwinter as a book all about sex and sexuality. And it was. Unfortunately, there is a real lack of character or story development at all. Angel, the main character, really spends a year having a lot of sex…and it’s pretty boring sex, to be honest. I think because she’s underdeveloped and doesn’t give me any compelling reasons to care about her and because she doesn’t have any real moments of growth or change, I found myself disinterested in her and what happened to her — and honestly, nothing DOES happen to her. I don’t buy the idea that because she was detached from herself (obvious from the meaningless sex) then she can have a thinly developed character and no arc to her. It wasn’t just Angel I felt this way about either; her friends and family are just as flat and lifeless. Angel’s friend finds herself in a pretty terrible situation in the story, and it should have been an emotionally packed moment, but I couldn’t connect and I didn’t care. It was a heavy, heavy topic and should have conjured up something from me, but it didn’t. Though I found this book a let down because it really was nothing other than a lot of (uninteresting) sex, I don’t think this is a book that’ll be too hard to sell to teen readers because of the sex.
Review copies of each title received from the publishers.
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