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books

Going Clear: Scientology, Hollywood, and the Prison of Belief by Lawrence Wright

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I rarely read nonfiction, but Lawrence Wright’s book on Scientology exerted a pull on me. There’s a Scientology center rather prominently located on the main drag at the University of Texas, where I obtained my library degree, and I’ve been fascinated by its unique position within the American religious landscape since I first heard about e-meters and stress tests (not to mention the gossip surrounding Tom Cruise and his paramours).

Wright’s book is a deep dive into Scientology, one that that chronicles both the life of its founder, L. Ron Hubbard, from his childhood onward as well as the religion’s character in the 21st century. It’s long, dense, and very detailed. It’s different from a lot of nonfiction that I generally gravitate toward in that it doesn’t have much of a thesis. There’s analysis here, but it’s mostly relegated to the epilogue, which I found the most compelling. Most of the book is simply a chronicle of events, very journalistic, without a lot of conclusions drawn (though perspectives of many people with divergent views are included). There’s not a lot of authorial voice. I wouldn’t call this a weakness; it’s just a different style from which I’m accustomed.

Those looking for the salacious details regarding the church’s treatment of its celebrities won’t be disappointed (Wright writes at length about Scientology’s interview process for Tom Cruise’s girlfriends). But there’s a much darker underbelly to the church, one that I was mostly unaware of going into the book. Wright chronicles the physical abuse sustained by members of the church who had broken one of its tenets or simply pissed off one of its leaders, the organized system of punishment called RPF (where penitents spend years doing manual labor for a couple of dollars a week and aren’t allowed to leave), the method of brainwashing children by deliberately keeping them from their families, and the threats and intimidation exerted upon those who leave. Perhaps most stomach-churning are the revelations into L. Ron Hubbard, who routinely beat his wife and subsequently kidnapped his daughter when his wife threatened to leave him, telling her he had their child killed. The book is a damning portrait of Hubbard, his creation, and those who lead the church today (including David Miscavige).

Wright’s sources are almost entirely those who have left the church (and he talked to over 200 people), though he did give the church the opportunity to rebut the statements given by these former adherents, which are mostly relegated to footnotes that simply state “The church denies these allegations.” The amount of evidence against the church is so overwhelming that it’s difficult to take these blanket denials seriously.

Many people of faith object to Scientology being classified as a religion, and Wright touches upon its fight to be called one (mainly via the IRS giving it tax-exempt status, which is the only official way religions are defined in the United States). The arguments for and against are equally compelling. The RPF, for instance, is brutal to outsiders, but those “on the RPF” routinely state that they wish to be there and can leave if they choose to. Wright draws a comparison between it and some Catholic sects, whose adherents willingly undergo severe physical deprivation. While it may be easy for non-Scientologist readers to state what is harmful about Scientology, it’s much more difficult to simply write it off as a cult with a larger-than-usual following and a weirder-than-usual belief system.

I listened to this one on audio, read by Morton Sellers, and he does it quite well, in a solemn, even tone. I appreciate that Sellers reads all of the footnotes, which he sets apart by stating “Footnote” and then “End footnote.” I did find it amusing that he read off all web addresses that began with “http://” as “aitch tee tee pee colon forward slash forward slash.”

Compared with the book, the HBO documentary that aired a couple weeks ago is light on content, despite its run time of two hours. I enjoyed seeing the faces and hearing the voices of those Wright wrote about in his book; it definitely adds another level to their stories. If you enjoyed the documentary or found it enlightening, I highly recommend getting hold of the book. It paints a much fuller, and even more alarming, picture.

Romance Roundup (aka Why You Should Read Courtney Milan)

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Right before I dug into my Cybils reading late last year, I inhaled a huge pile of historical romance novels. I had just learned about Courtney Milan and was reading everything of hers I could get my hands on, even the novellas (and I usually consider novellas a waste of my time). I like all of her books and love a good number of them, so she’s become my new go-to recommendation for someone looking for a good historical romance. They’re feminist and take the “historical” part of the genre seriously.

Sadly, my library doesn’t own her entire oeuvre, so I cannot pass judgment on everything she’s ever published. (Despite my requests, they don’t own either of the Carhart books or the novella, to my everlasting disappointment.) Still, I thought I’d give a quick run-down of the books I have read, in hopes of encouraging those of you who enjoy historical romances to give her a try (or just ask me how I’m so late to the party since you’ve been reading her for years).

(I promise this blog isn’t turning into an adult romance-only blog. I’ll be back with the regular YA programming soon.)



The Brothers Sinister Series
This is the first series of hers I read, and it’s by far my favorite. I talked a little about The Duchess War and The Heiress Effect in this previous post. The series continues with The Countess Conspiracy, which is my favorite of the bunch. It features a female scientist, Viola Waterfield, who for years has been convincing her friend Sebastian to present her findings as his to the public, since the public at this time would never take a woman seriously. Sebastian has been in love with Viola for a long time, and now that Viola has been widowed, he sees an opportunity to discover if their friendship can develop into something more.

This book combines a few things that I really love in my romance novels: a hero who has been pining for the heroine for quite some time; a super-smart heroine who does something unconventional for her time period; and a romance built upon friendship and respect. I’m not a scientist myself, but I loved reading about Viola and her discoveries – which are not historically accurate, of course, since Viola doesn’t actually exist, but the science is sound and fascinating. The dedication to the book is especially moving. This book continues Milan’s trend of blending history and romance in a natural, believable, and engrossing way.

The fourth book is The Suffragette Scandal, which features Frederica “Free” Marshall, the younger sister of the hero from the second book. She runs a newspaper by women and for women, is an outspoken suffragette, and is probably the most independent of Milan’s heroines. I read that Milan initially wanted to pair Free with a man who didn’t at first believe women should have the right to vote, but thankfully she changed her mind. This is the most politically-minded book of the series and I really loved it, though the last third dragged a little more than I would have liked. There’s a secondary romance here (as there was in The Heiress Effect) between two women, and it is equally lovely. Bonus: Check out the Tumblr account “written” by the man who contributes an advice column to Free’s newspaper (and the only man to be employed by her). It is seriously funny.

The novellas in this series are a treat. There’s a prequel, The Governess Affair, about the second book’s hero’s parents. It’s a tricky story since it involves a rape that causes a pregnancy: the heroine has been raped by the hero’s employer, and the rapist basically tells the hero to get rid of her. I was worried the hero wouldn’t be written sympathetically, but he is; the romance between the two is believable and sweet. It’s a bit heavier than normal romance fare, but certainly recommended.

A Kiss for Midwinter is about the friend of the first book’s heroine. She was seduced as a teenager by a man and became pregnant, then lost the pregnancy due to bad medical advice from a doctor. Her hero in this novella is that doctor’s assistant at the time, who said nothing about the bad advice that he knew was being given. And she remembers. This is my favorite of all her novellas. It deals with tough topics – not just the treatment of unmarried pregnant women, but also poverty and illness during this era – but manages to be sweet and optimistic. The chemistry between the two is so apparent, but there’s also a deeper connection built upon the trust that grows between them as they spend time in each other’s company. This is my favorite of all the novellas and I anticipate I’ll be re-reading it a lot.

The last novella is Talk Sweetly to Me, which my library doesn’t own. It’s notable in that it features a Black heroine, which historical romances set in England hardly ever do.
 

The Turner Series
These books were all published in 2011 and precede the Brothers Sinister. My library doesn’t own the first book, Unveiled, though it does own the second and third. All three books are about brothers who grew up with a mentally ill mother who abused them. They’ve had a hard life, and not just due to that. They’re some of the most tortured heroes I’ve ever read about in romance novels, and that is saying something.

Unclaimed is about Mark Turner, who has taken a vow of chastity and become quite famous for it. His love interest is a courtesan. It’s an interesting twist on the typical romance and I enjoyed it; thankfully, it’s got some humor in it. Unraveled is about Smite Turner, and you guys, I just can’t with this book. It is the most angst-ridden romance I’ve ever read. His name is Smite. He was the one who took the brunt of his mother’s abuse as a child and that’s apparent in his personality and outlook on the world (i.e. not positive). There’s very little humor in this one. I liked it, and it had some nice swoony moments, but overall this was just too much for me. I think Milan’s gotten a lot better at creating complex heroes who don’t veer into ridiculous territory with her later books.

Unlocked is the novella in this series, but I didn’t recognize the characters from the full-length books. The hero bullied the heroine a few years past, when they were both adults, in public, for months on end, and he’s returned all sorry and wanting to make amends. I might have believed it in a full-length novel, with more time for me to see his transformation, but it didn’t really work for me as a novella. (Especially when he claims he made fun of her because he liked her. Please. You are an adult.) This was another I liked but didn’t love.
 

Standalone Novellas
The Lady Always Wins is about a couple who were friends as children and then fell in love as they grew up. But Simon’s parents said they’d cut him off from the family money if he married her, and Ginny refused to elope with him. She knows what it’s like to be a woman in this era, married to a poor man. They meet again later and rekindle the romance. I liked this story since there wasn’t any secret reason the woman rejected the man – it really was because he would have been destitute. It can seem heartless in our modern era, but it’s a practical and real concern for Ginny, who as a woman cannot make her own money and knows that poverty can lead to hunger, illness, and a short, unhappy life. Poverty is stripped of its romanticism here.

What Happened at Midnight is probably the most traditional of Milan’s novellas. It involves rich people who lose their money and a huge misunderstanding between the leads as the primary conflict. It also has one of the most subtly awful villains ever. I got so angry reading about him, because he couched all of his awfulness in gentle words and false caring. Worth a read, but again, not a favorite.

Have you read any of Milan’s work? What’s your favorite of hers?

Mambo in Chinatown by Jean Kwok

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Charlie is 22 years old and has been working as a dishwasher in the same restaurant as her father for years. Beyond leaving scars and burns on her hands, it’s the kind of job she doesn’t want and knows won’t fulfill her. At the same time, she recognizes that what she’s doing matters in some ways because it’s an honorable thing to be doing alongside her father.

But when her friend tells her about a job opening as a receptionist at a dance studio, Charlie jumps at the chance. She knows it means telling a lot of lies to her father, and she knows that she wouldn’t necessarily be good at the job. It’s an important opportunity, though, to get out of the kitchen and more, it’s an opportunity to connect with the passion for dance her mother had before she died, even if she herself won’t be dancing.

Mambo in Chinatown is Jean Kwok’s sophomore novel, and it’s excellent. I read her debut Girl in Translation as part of the Outstanding Books for the College Bound (which I’ve yet to talk about in my posts about this) and when I heard her second book was coming, I knew I was in for a treat.

This is a story about an American born Chinese girl who takes a shot at a new job knowing she won’t be good at it and knowing that all of the lies she needs to construct could get her into huge trouble with her father and with the Chinatown community (it’s a very small community, she tells us, which means that any misdeeds or any movement outside of acceptable traditions and honors causes a lot of gossip). Charlie chooses to pursue the opportunity, though, and it’s not long before the people at the studio notice she’s not good at the work. It’s not for lack of trying. It’s simply that Charlie has trouble with reading and with memory, and so she’s not well-suited to keeping agendas and schedules.

Fortunately for her, a mishap also means that she’s been asked to teach a beginner dance class. Sure, her mother was a dancer — that’s part of why this job was so appealing to Charlie — but she herself has no skills whatsoever. She tells us again and again she’s the opposite of the dancers and instructors in the studio: where they are sleek, shiny, and float, she is dowdy, wearing worn-out hand-me-downs, and she’s the opposite of light on her feet. Those around her notice this, but they also see something more, which is why she’s called to teach. They believe that even with no skills or experience, she can learn enough in a couple of days to teach the basics to students who know nothing.

So she takes the chance.

Meanwhile, she’s told her father that she’s been working “with computers.” It’s a way of building an honorable lie, one which makes her look like she’s doing something that’s meaningful and good, progressing her future, but it’s not one that makes her look like she’s trying to escape or “do better than” him or others in her community.

A big component of the story is that of Charlie’s relationship with her 11-year-old sister Lisa, who is exceptionally bright and intelligent. Charlie and Lisa are very close, and when Lisa’s afforded the opportunity to test into an advanced high school, Charlie steps up to argue on Lisa’s behalf to her father, who thinks that were she to be accepted, it would be a mistake. That it would cause the family more problems than it would be worth. But as the test date gets closer, Lisa becomes more and more ill. It began with wetting the bed, then progressed to times when she’d lose all feeling in her legs. When she’d be unable to work at her Uncle’s medical practice because she was simply too sick (you did read that right — Lisa, 11, worked for her Uncle because that’s how this family needs to make ends meet and it’s a way to help a family member). Charlie’s concerned about the turn in Lisa’s health, and while her father sees no reason to move beyond Eastern medical practices for healing — led by a woman who Charlie dubs the Vision — Charlie believes Lisa needs to see a Western medical practitioner. Knowing the experience the family had with Western medicine when their mom took ill, including huge medical expenses, Charlie’s not convinced her father will listen.

And he doesn’t.

Charlie’s singular teaching experience comes with the notice that she’s losing her job. That she’s a terrible receptionist and that she can’t stay at the studio. The bright side, though, is that she’s offered more teaching opportunities because, despite her inexperience, she’s got something in her that shows maybe she’s a natural. That maybe dance is something she can get good at. Charlie’s excited and nervous — does she have the clothes? Can she get good? Why do they trust her with this when she’s proven she can’t even keep a date book right? More, how does she keep up the lies she’s told her family?

But things fall into place. She’s helped along the way by people at the studio (which, don’t think there aren’t detractors, because there certainly are) and by her own raw determination to succeed.

Mambo in Chinatown is about how to balance the past with the present and how to honor sacred, important cultural traditions with one’s interests and passions in building and establishing a new identity and new roles in a new culture. Charlie’s forced to consider what it means to seek out her interest in dance with what it means to remain humble and remain invested in the traditions of her family and the larger Chinatown community. Kwok does an exceptional job of rendering this lesser-visited part of America in a way that’s reverent toward both sides of the story. We want to see Charlie succeed in dance, but we also see why it’s so important for her to listen to her father and why it’s so important for her to keep some of those traditions and customs as part of her life now. There’s great honor in both, and it’s about how Charlie chooses to balance both of those worlds.

One of the best lines in the book comes when she’s put in the position to attend a competition. Where she’d otherwise step back, hide from the limelight, she decides that she’s ready to go on, even when she knows it means a lot more than simply having to work hard to do well. She notes, “All my life, I’d been trying to fulfill other people’s ideas of who I was supposed to be and failing, and this was my chance to try to become who I was meant to be.”

Dance and the dance culture do an excellent job of paralleling this, too — while what we get to see in Charlie’s world appears to be cut and dry, even romanticized, she’s warned that the bigger world of dance is far from it. That competitions and the world beyond this particular studio are can be filled with one-night stands, with drugs, with drinking, and with partying in exceptionally unsafe ways. It’s not until she’s put into a position to be at a competition with a partner that she sees it. And when she does, it rattles her a bit; she’s able, though, to pull from her own personal convictions and morals to understand that while other people partake in those activities, she doesn’t have to if she doesn’t want to.

There is a romance in the novel between Charlie and the student she’s paired with. While she knows it’s forbidden to be in a relationship with a student by the rules of the studio and punishable by job termination, she avoids pursuing those feelings. Fortunately, a few technicalities that work out later allow her to see where this romance could lead, and it’s a really nice and rewarding part of the read. Yes, she falls in love and yes, it’s with someone who has the same kind of feelings towards her. It’s another smart parallel to the idea of balancing the old world of tradition with the new world of opportunity.

But my favorite part of Kwok’s novel is the relationship between Charlie and her sister Lisa. The huge age difference here is crucial, as is the fact these girls don’t have a mother in their life. There are strong women who interact with them and who guide them — particularly Charlie — but it’s their reliance and love for one another that shines through. When Lisa becomes sicker and sicker, it weighs so heavily on Charlie’s mind that she does everything she can to learn as much as possible about how to help her sister. She becomes as well-versed in navigating the American medical system as possible, and the confusion, frustration, and angst it gives her is realistic. While she listens to her father’s determined stance against it and belief that only Eastern healing will work, Charlie knows that a balance of the two is what’s really needed. So when Lisa reveals something that happened to her, something that caused her to lose control of her body in really awful, hard-to-read ways, Charlie knows she has to step in and take charge of the situation, even if it means making her father angry. It’s then, of course, much more of the story unravels and Charlie’s father learns more about the true nature of his daughter’s new job…and the incredible nature of his daughter/s.

Mambo in Chinatown is an adult book but it has loads of teen appeal. Readers who love stories set in urban metropolises that aren’t about smart, rich, elite people will eat this up, as it offers a glimpse into the labor class life of Chinatown. More, readers who love stories about dance and pursuing one’s dream will find so much to appreciate in Charlie’s story. It’s a well-paced, consuming read with well-written, dynamic characters who never once feel anything less than real.

Mambo in Chinatown is available today. Review copy picked up at ALA Midwinter.

The Fever by Megan Abbott

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It opens with girls going behind a screen.

A quick prick.

Then they’re done.

A few minutes of discomfort for the injection and a lifetime of sound minds about the chances of ever getting HPV. It’s a new requirement now for girls to be vaccinated. To be protected. “Just in cast,” of course. It’s a safe thing and it’s the right thing to do.

Deenie, Lise, and Gabby have been friends for a long time. High school hasn’t changed their friendship, though they’ve all developed other friendships along the way. They’ve shared secrets and crushes and moments doing things that perhaps they shouldn’t. Like visiting the local lake, closed to visitors because of the mysterious fungus pooling atop of it.

All three got the vaccine, of course.

It’s when Lise’s body begins to contort and she experiences something like a grand mal seizure in the middle of class that the limits of their friendship are tested. The people in class — including Deenie — are horrified by what they’re witnessing. Even when she’s taken out of the classroom, to the nurse, then on to the hospital later in the day, everyone is rattled. Deenie wants to get away, to go see her best friend. Deenie’s brother, keen on what happened, wants to get out of school too. And their father Tom, a teacher at the high school, knows that this is the moment when everything changes. Again.

But Megan Abbott’s The Fever doesn’t stop there. This isn’t only about Lise’s seizure. Or her time in the hospital. Or the fact no one can get answers about what happened to her.

It spreads.

Before long, more girls are having ticks. They’re having seizures or blacking out or acting in ways that are anything but ordinary. Gabby experiences it, as do a number of other girls. All girls. Deenie never does, though. But Deenie did see what Lise looked like when she was in that coma unconscious. It’s an image forever burned in her brain.

When the school loses its mind over the unexplained madness, it only gets worse when adults in this town get involved.

First the fingers are pointed at the vaccine. The vaccine meant to protect their little girls has turned on those very same girls. Their bodies too young, too inexperienced, too virginal to respond appropriately to such a grown up thing. To even think about such a grown up thing.

One girl who gets the fever, though, never got the vaccine. Busted theory? Not so much. The lengths some adults want to go to convince everyone it’s the vaccine, regardless, are impressive and frightening.

Deenie is convinced it must be the lake, though. The lake that’s off limits. The lake that, just days before, she and Lise and Gabby and Gabby’s tight friend Skye all dipped into. But why isn’t she sick then? Why isn’t Skye sick? How come Gabby’s illness was only short lived, not as debilitating as Lise’s? Deenie’s terrified she’s going to have to speak up about it, which will also mean potentially fessing up to the other thing that happened recently: she lost her virginity to one of her coworkers. She doesn’t want people to know, but she wants everyone to know. Just not this way. Because the thing is, Deenie’s first time wasn’t planned, but done after she learned about Lise’s experience with….well, let’s just say they shared a lot of things as best friends.

The pieces aren’t connecting. The stories aren’t adding up.

If Megan Abbott’s book sounds like it was ripped from the headlines of a story making waves in Le Roy, New York, you’d be right. She as much as notes that as one of her inspirations on her website. But The Fever isn’t about the headlines. It’s about what happens beneath the headlines, what it is that people won’t talk about because those things they won’t talk about are the very things they should be talking about.

The Fever is a story about the fear people have about teen girls. About the mythologies adults build about girls who are emerging: in their friendships, in their relationships with people outside their families, in their sexuality. Of course the cause of the illness going around has to do with a vaccine which rips away the innocence of little girls when they’re too young. Of course there’s something noteworthy in the fact it is only girls who experienced this strangeness.

There’s more to that though. Abbott weaves in really fascinating threads about girls finding their first boyfriends. About admitting to their long-time crushes. About what happens when girls go to desperate lengths to be noticed and when they get the help of other girls to do those very things. About why it is boys are never to blame, never the ones who should be questioned or educated about what roles they play in anything. About how boys get off the hook so easily.

Girl friendships are at the forefront of this story, and those girl friendships are what ties so many of the threads together. Those friendships are part of a mythology, and those girls as group are rarely seen as individuals.

Because when it comes to what caused Lise’s coma being unconscious, when the truth unravels, one girl is put to blame. But it’s another girl who will suffer for it. Rather than this being a crime with a criminal to point to, though, the story is about “the girls” collective. About girls who get together and do bad things as a unit. Who are scheming, desirous. Who tempt boys with things — and who are desperate enough to garner the attention of boys that they’ll go to lengths at the end of the world to do so.

There is a boy at the center of this. And he’s a boy who is likable, well-depicted, even, perhaps, all-American. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with him at all, and in fact, he’s the one who figures out the secrets behind a lot of what was happening with the girls. He doesn’t come forward, though, and no one asks him to put himself out there in the same way that these girls are spotlighted, hounded, and made to look a million different shades of bad by those around them. He’s not blameworthy — he’s a good character and he’s been put in a terrible position. But the point Abbott raises here is precisely that: why is an innocent boy let off the hook when a number of innocent girls are instead shamed and embarrassed in front of their community? Because it’s the innocence of girls that needs to be protected and discussed. The innocence of boys, though.

That isn’t the same thing.

The explanation for what’s going on is primarily conversion disorder, and I don’t think that’s a spoiler. What set off the disorder was Lise’s seizure in class, which had a very root cause. And that cause lays at the hands of one of the girls who went to the lake. Who felt like Lise was a threat and a bit of a braggart about what happened to her recently.

Though the primary focus of gender and gender politics lies in the teen girls, there is much to be dug out about those same discussions when it comes to adults, too. The community makes an accusation at one point that part of what was causing a problem in the town was that there weren’t enough good men around to be guideposts for these girls. That the girls who suffered from the fever were also girls who didn’t have good fathers or whose parents had very messed up relationships.

Which explained why Deenie did not experience any symptoms — dad is in her life.

The Fever is a complex, compelling thriller for adult readers which immense appeal for teen readers. It’s written in third person, and it alternates viewpoints between Deenie, her father, and her brother. There’s a fascinating family dynamic among them, particularly when it comes to their mother. The writing itself is tight and pretty sparse. This one doesn’t linger; it pulses forward. The energy and intensity are palpable, and because each word matters, within each word is something deeper to mine. The Fever is less about the answer to what is happening and more about questioning why things are happening. It’s unflinching and at times tough to read, particularly as we watch the actual innocence of teen girls ram up against what adults consider the innocence of teen girls. When we hear Lise talk about the first time a boy goes down on her and how it felt to her and what she experienced then we hear adults talk about how girls shouldn’t be vaccinated because no way, no how would their girls ever be sexual beings. It’s uncomfortable and unsettling, and being able to see the story from all angles is what makes those powerful messages about girls and girlhood stand out.

This was my second Abbott book, after Dare Me, and I think I liked this one even more.

Pass The Fever off to readers who love stories that are playing out in the world right now. Pass it off to readers — teens or adults — who want a fast-paced thriller that’s got a literary bent. There’s so much to parse out in this read that it’s easily one readers will finish and want to flip back and revisit to tease out even more. This is an excellent crossover read.

Review copy received from the publisher. The Fever will be available from Little, Brown June 17. 

Going Graphic: Graphic Novels on the Outstanding Books for the College Bound List

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In continuing the short reviews and discussion of the titles on this year’s Outstanding Books for the College Bound list (OBCB), I thought I’d hit on format in this roundup, rather than thematic connections. One of the things that makes me really proud of the work we did on this list was that we included a nice number of graphic novels and graphic non-fiction titles. Even though it seems like those who are huge readers have been “on to” graphic books forever, it’s still a format not everyone widely accepts as a legitimate type of reading. The books that we were able to include in a list of books for those who want to attend college or who are life long learners in the graphic format definitely prove otherwise — included here are both fiction and non-fiction graphic novels, as well as a couple of graphic novel hybrids.

These titles spanned all of the categories on the OBCB list, so I haven’t read them all personally. Because of that, I’m going to format this roundup a little bit differently than the previous formats. I’ll offer up the official WorldCat description for each, and then for the titles I have read or have more to elaborate upon, I’ll note that beneath.

As a bonus, many of the graphic novels are also diverse titles. 



March: Book One by John Lewis, Andrew Aydin, and Nate Powell: John Lewis’s autobiographical account of his lifelong battle for civil rights for all Americans.

I didn’t get a chance to read this one, but it looks like an outstanding (auto)biographical work about John Lewis’s life and how much a role he played during the civil rights movement. 

Philosophy: A Discovery in Comics by Margreet De Heer: A fun introduction in comics to deep thinking and the history of philosophy. 

The WorldCat description tells you everything and nothing about this little gem. It is a fun introduction to the history of philosophy, but it’s more than that. While it definitely offers a solid history, the core of the book is about how readers can learn to develop their own ideas about philosophy and figure out what their own philosophy on life is. It’s easy to follow and it’s not going to go over the heads (nor bore!) readers who may not be interested in philosophy or those who think that philosophy is a tough, hard-to-grasp concept. This makes it really easy. 

Relish: My Life in the Kitchen by Lucy Knisley: Lucy Knisley loves food. The daughter of a chef and a gourmet, this talented young cartoonist comes by her obsession honestly. In her forthright, thoughtful, and funny memoir, Lucy traces key episodes in her life thus far, framed by what she was eating at the time and lessons learned about food, cooking, and life. Each chapter is bookended with an illustrated recipe– many of them treasured family dishes, and a fewof them Lucy’s original inventions. 

I reviewed this book last year, well before deciding to nominate it for OBCB consideration. What made this a standout and one we decided to put on the Arts & Humanities list was how much love was poured into food and eating. This is the kind of book anyone — from a passionate foodie to a person who merely enjoys a good meal now and then to the reader who has never thought much about the food they eat — could get into. Knisley’s art is really enjoyable, and her ability to be respectful of the way food connects us as people and the way food becomes a centerpiece to our lives gets at the heart of arts and humanities. 

American Born Chinese by Gene Luen Yang: Alternates three interrelated stories about the problems of young Chinese Americans trying to participate in the popular culture. Presented in comic book format.

That’s not the most useful WorldCat description, but it’s pretty spot on about what the book is. It’s been a long time since I read this one — back in grad school is when I think I read it — but it’s one that’s stuck with me not just because it’s three interconnected stories about the Chinese-American experience, but also because of how outstanding the artwork is. This is easily a classic of YA literature and of graphic novels for young readers (if not graphic novels, period) and it’s a perfect fit for the list.

Feynman by Jim Ottaviani and Leland Myrick: In this substantial graphic novel biography, First Second presents the larger-than-life exploits of Nobel-winning quantum physicist, adventurer, musician, world-class raconteur, and one of the greatest minds of the twentieth century: Richard Feynman. Written by nonfiction comics mainstay Jim Ottaviani and brilliantly illustrated by First Second author Leland Myrick, Feynman tells the story of the great man’s life from his childhood in Long Island to his work on the Manhattan Project and the Challenger disaster. Ottaviani tackles the bad with the good, leaving the reader delighted by Feynman’s exuberant life and staggered at the loss humanity suffered with his death. 

War Brothers: The Graphic Novel by Sharon McKay and Daniel Lefrance: Jacob is a 14-year-old Ugandan who is sent away to a boys’ school. Once there, he assures his friend Tony that they need not be afraid — they will be safe. But not long after, in the shadow of the night, the boys are abducted. Marched into the jungle, they are brought to an encampment of the feared rebel soldiers. They are told they must kill or be killed, and their world turns into a terrifying struggle to endure and survive.

This is a title I didn’t get my hands on, despite being on one of my own subcommittee’s lists. If you’ll remember, one of the things I talked about in terms of the committee process is that sometimes, you don’t get to read everything (in this case, the book was too new and I couldn’t get it at work, nor could I interlibrary loan it) but a good argument and discussion by those who did read it can persuade you to consider it worth including on the list. I’ve since acquired it for my library and look forward to checking it out. 

The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian by Sherman Alexie: Budding cartoonist Junior leaves his troubled school on the Spokane Indian Reservation to attend an all-white farm town school where the only other Indian is the school mascot.

Alexie’s novel isn’t a straight graphic novel — it’s a hybrid. It’s been years since I read this one, but like with Yang’s title, it’s a staple of YA lit and it’s a perfect fit for the Literature and Languages list. This could have easily fit, too, on the History and Cultures list. 

Chasing Shadows by Swati Avasthi and Craig Phillips: Chasing Shadows is a searing look at the impact of one random act of violence. Before: Corey, Holly, and Savitri are one unit– fast, strong, inseparable. Together they turn Chicago concrete and asphalt into a freerunner’s jungle gym, ricocheting off walls, scaling buildings, leaping from rooftop to rooftop. But acting like a superhero doesn’t make you bulletproof. After: Holly and Savitri are coming unglued. Holly says she’s chasing Corey’s killer, chasing revenge. Savitri fears Holly’s just running wild– and leaving her behind. Friends should stand by each other in times of crisis. But can you hold on too tight? Too long? In this intense novel, told in two voices, and incorporating comic-style art sections, Swati Avasthi creates a gripping portrait of two girls teetering on the edge of grief and insanity. Two girls who will find out just how many ways there are to lose a friend– and how many ways to be lost. 

I reviewed Avasthi’s title before I nominated it for our list and I still stand behind everything in that review for why it belongs on the OBCB list. One other reason is that this story is set in that strange time period between the end of high school and whatever comes next. Though there have been more of those books in recent years, Avasthi’s handling of the social elements in that time frame — friendship, specifically — really makes it stand out. This, like Alexie’s book, is a graphic hybrid, rather than a solid graphic novel. 

Pluto by Naoki Urasawa (the entire manga series): In a world where man and robots coexist, the powerful Swiss robot Mont Blanc has been destroyed. Elsewhere a key figure in a robot rights group is murdered. The two incidents appear to be unrelated…except for one very conspicuous clue – the bodies of both victims have been fashioned into some sort of bizarre collage complete with makeshift horns placed by the victims’ heads. Interpol assigns robot detective Gesicht to this most strange and complex case – and he eventually discovers that he too, as one of the seven great robots of the world, is one of the targets.

This series of books is on the Science and Technology list, and it’s one that I didn’t read. It sounds really fantastic though, and I appreciate how an entire manga series is on the OBCB list — not only does it showcase how graphic novels can be “real reading,” but it shows that even a format that many consider to be “lesser” than more “prestigious” graphic novels are worthwhile, thought-provoking, important reads. 

Little Fish: A Memoir From a Different Kind of Year by Ramsey Beyer: Told through real-life journals, collages, lists, and drawings, this coming-of-age story illustrates the transformation of an 18-year-old girl from a small-town teenager into an independent city-dwelling college student. Written in an autobiographical style with beautiful artwork, Little Fish shows the challenges of being a young person facing the world on her own for the very first time and the unease–as well as excitement–that comes along with that challenge. 

Beyer’s memoir is maybe less of a graphic novel than the others on this list, but I’m including it because the style will have appeal to those readers who love the graphic format. This is sort of collage/scrapbook style storytelling, with art, lists, and images sprinkled throughout the story of Beyer’s first year at art school. What’s great about this book and why it fits so well on the list is that it’s the first-hand experience of the first year of being away at school. There are highs and there are lows, there are expectations met and failed, and there is a lot of musing about relationships past and present. It’s honest and heartfelt, and it’s the kind of realistic portrayal I wish I’d read before I went to college. It would have definitely made me feel less alone or weird in some of the less-than-pleasant feelings I had when I went to college and away from home. 

For the previous roundups of titles on the Outstanding Books for the College Bound list, you can find them on the topics of music and musicality, religion and spirituality, girls across borders, and football and football culture.