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The Law of Loving Others by Kate Axelrod

January 22, 2015 |

Sometimes, you read a book and it hits all of the notes perfectly. Other times, you read a book and it misses them.

The Law of Loving Others falls more into the second category.

Emma is a high school junior at a boarding school in Pennsylvania. The story takes place during the twoish weeks of winter break, when she and boyfriend Daniel head back to their homes in the New York City suburbs and the city itself respectively. When Emma arrives home, she’s greeted by her mother who isn’t entirely the person she remembers her to be. Her mom’s making strange statements about her clothing not being the stuff she owns and that the world around her is out to get her.

Before long, Emma’s mother is sent to the hospital, then on to an assisted living medical facility for treatment of a bad bout with schizophrenia. It’s a disease she’s had her entire life, but it’s entered into a flare up unlike any Emma has seen before.

Throughout her mother’s time away, Emma finds herself questioning the strength of her relationship with Daniel. He’s not there in the way she thinks he should be. She wants him to always be waiting for her, to always be reassuring her that he loves her, that no matter what she needs, he’ll be there waiting. He does love her, and he is there for her, but as Emma comes to figure out, he’s not a mind reader and he can’t possibly offer more to Emma than he already is. It’s Emma who complicates things more when she begins to spend time with Philip, someone she knows through a friend and whose brother is also at the same facility her mother is at. It took no time for them to dive into a very physical relationship, borne from their shared desires to be close to someone in their grief and sadness.

While Emma navigates her romantic life, as well as the challenges of her family life, something else is scratching at the back of her mind, too: what if she finds herself experiencing the symptoms of schizophrenia? Can someone love her if she, too, becomes mentally unwell? Her paranoia grows throughout, as she senses the anxiety in her own life becoming more and more problematic. Thinking about this makes her want to know more about the relationship between her own mother and father. How do they operate? How did they operate when her illness had been bad before she was born? This thinking is one of the things she can’t separate from her own relationship with Daniel.

Axelrod’s debut novel has a lot to enjoy. In many ways, it’s the romantic relationship in this book that’s most memorable and noteworthy. Emma’s desire to know how relationships work — as well as her own decisions in testing hers — are realistic and explored in a way that I haven’t seen in YA. There’s meat to how she wonders about her own parents and about the way relationships ebb and flow. Likewise, the manner in which Emma faces her own fears about her own mental status and the potential future of her own health are at times tough to read. With schizophrenia having an average age of diagnosis of 25, Emma knows she’s not out of the woods yet.

That said, many things in this book didn’t work.

This isn’t a YA novel for teen readers. While it’ll appeal to teen readers, it’s a YA novel for adult readers or, more realistically, it’s an adult novel with teen main characters. The writing feels so distant and removed, and the ways that the teens are rendered here are fantasies. The freedoms they have at boarding school — as told through reminiscent, dream-like flashbacks — are hard to believe. These teens read like college juniors attending a college, rather than high school juniors attending a high school. There are drug parties, a wildly deep college course catalog and opportunities for study, plenty of drinking, and almost too much freedom from any authority. While Emma has her parents present in the story, the setting at boarding school felt far too convenient. Not only was it convenient, but it permitted that dreamlike fantasy and more, it highlighted her privilege. Sure, her dad was a teacher at a great local school, but it was her parents who encouraged her to attend this school. Sure, it was so she wouldn’t have to potentially face her mother’s illness when it hit (though she did anyway). But ultimately, it was flimsy and cardboard and far more about developing a nice fantasy world for her to have when she had to face the tough realities of her home life and her relationship with Daniel.

There’s quite a bit of sex and discussion of sex in this book, and none of it feels authentic to the teen experience. Emma has had sex with three people, and while that’s believable, the fact none of her narrative experiences involve an ounce of awkwardness, messiness, or humor is hard to swallow. Both Daniel and Phil know how to get her off quickly and painlessly, and the sex becomes a balm to her. It’s weird because teen sex — even sex in adulthood — isn’t this easy or carefree or hygienic. More, the way that Emma narrates a sexual encounter with Daniel is well beyond her maturity or experience at 16 (maybe 17) years old.

From the onset, I could see the strings being pulled. Daniel’s mother was a doctor of mental health, and even at the beginning of the book, before we discover there’s a problem with Emma’s mother, she’s offering Emma an opportunity to talk. She presses Emma, too, asking if she’s feeling any anxiety, any worry, anything out of sorts herself. Then when Emma’s mother is sent to the group home for therapy, it’s Daniel’s mom that Emma turns to. It was too easy an out, and it was too conveniently placed. While there’s no denying that Emma had a big challenge in front of her and she grieved deeply, she had too many parachutes into which she could fall. There weren’t enough brick walls to force her to push farther or harder.

Emma herself isn’t particularly complex, nor is she particularly memorable. She’s not a “likable” nor an “unlikable” character. While she does dumb things and is certainly not winning girlfriend of the year (she cheats on Daniel!), none of the consequences of those actions feel that detrimental. There are outs all over the place for her, and she lets herself have them. She left me feeling nothing toward her, which might be her downfall as a character. She’s there and that’s about it. One thing that did stand out about her — and it stood out because it’s a rare thing to see in YA — is that she’s ethnically Jewish.

The Law of Loving Others 
reminded me a lot of Nina de Gramont’s The Gossip of the Starlings, even though thematically they don’t have a whole lot in common. Instead, Axelrod’s writing and execution felt very adult, rather than teen, and I can’t figure out why this book is being marketed for YA, rather than adult. This is a romanticized, dreamy take on the teen experience, rather than a grittier, messier, truer version. It feels sanitized. While I think it has appeal to readers looking for a realistic novel about a parent struggling with mental illness, as well as a story that looks at romance through the lens of what makes a relationship work or not work, there’s little that makes it stand out loudly and strongly from what else is out there. It’s more of a palate cleanser: it achieves its purpose, even if it’s not particularly fresh or noteworthy. This is a solid example of YA for adults that you could easily pass along to adult readers.

The Law of Loving Others is available now. Review copy received from the publisher. 

Filed Under: debut authors, debut novels, review, Reviews, Uncategorized, Young Adult

January Debut YA Novels

January 15, 2015 |

Let’s kick off another year of debut YA novels with a nice-sized round-up. Like always, “debut” here is in its purest definition: these are first-time books by first-time authors. I’m not including books by authors who are using or have used a pseudonym in the past or those who have written in other categories (adult, middle grade, etc.) in the past. Where we’ve reviewed the books, we’ve included links to them. 

All descriptions are from WorldCat. If I’m missing any debuts out in January from traditional publishers, let me know in the comments. 

 

The Conspiracy of Us by Maggie Hall: When sixteen-year-old Avery West learns her family is part of a powerful and dangerous secret society, and that her own life is in danger, she must follow a trail of clues across Europe.

Tunnel Vision by Susan Adrian: When Jake Lukin, eighteen, reveals his psychic ability he is forced to become a government asset in order to keep his mother and sister safe, but Rachel, the girl he likes, tries to help him live his own life instead of tunneling through others.

The Law of Loving Others by Kate Axelrod: After Emma returns home from boarding school, she realizes her mother is suffering from a schizophrenic break, and suddenly, Emma’s entire childhood and identity is called into question, pushing her to turn to her boyfriend, Daniel, for answers, but perhaps it is the brooding Phil who Emma meets while visiting her mother at the hospital who really understands her.



The Prey by Tom Isbell: After the apocalyptic Omega, a group of orphaned teen boys learn of their dark fate and escape, joining forces with twin girls who have been imprisoned for the ‘good of the republic.’ In their plight for freedom, these young heroes must find the best in themselves to fight against the worst in their enemies.

Save Me by Jenny Elliott: Liberty, Oregon, high school senior Cara is more interested in whale watching than dating until she develops a strong bond with newcomer David who is hiding a devastating secret, and meanwhile her best friend, Rachel, has begun practicing witchcraft, and to top it off, she has a stalker.

Twisted Fate by Norah Olson: Told from separate viewpoints, unfolds how sisters Sydney and Ally Tate’s relationship changes as they get involved with their new neighbor, Graham, an artist with a videocamera who has a mysterious–and dangerous–past.

The Way We Bared Our Souls by Willa Strayhorn: Five teenagers sit around a bonfire in the middle of the New Mexico desert and when they participate in a ritual to trade totems as a symbol of shedding and adopting one another’s sorrows, they think it is only an exercise, but in the morning they wake to find their burdens gone and replaced with someone else’s.

Playlist for the Dead by Michelle Falkoff: After his best friend, Hayden, commits, suicide, fifteen-year-old Sam is determined to find out why–using the clues in the playlist Hayden left for him.

Filed Under: book lists, debut authors, debut novels, debuts 2015, Uncategorized, Young Adult, young adult fiction

Wrapping up the 2014 Debut YA Novels

December 22, 2014 |

Did you catch the Morris Awards shortlist announcement a couple of weeks ago? Of the five finalists, I’ve only read Gabi, A Girl in Pieces. I’m hoping to read another title or two before the end of the year. It’s a nice mix of genres represented, and most interesting to me, none of the five titles are from big publishers — everything is from a smaller or independent press. Kudos to the work of those on the committee for giving those “smaller” books a real close eye. I am eager to see what title is the ultimate winner when it’s announced at ALA in a little over a month. 

Since November and December have the fewest number of book releases and thus, the fewest number of debut YA novels coming out, I’ve combined the two into one post. As always, debut is defined as first books published, period. I don’t include titles that are under pseudonyms or that are the author’s first YA book if they’ve published elsewhere before. 

As always, if I’ve missed a title from a traditional publisher, let me know in the comments. All descriptions are from WorldCat, unless otherwise noted.



Creed by Trisha Leaver and Lindsay Currie: When their car breaks down, Dee, her boyfriend Luke, and his brother Mike walk through a winter storm to take refuge in a nearby deserted town called Purity Springs, but in the morning they see the town is populated with a deadly cult and find themselves at the mercy of the charismatic leader, Elijah Hawkins.



Winterkill by Kate A. Boorman: When the revered leader of her settlement, a dark, isolated land with merciless winters and puritanical rulers, asks Emmeline for her hand it is a rare opportunity, but not only does she love another man, she cannot ignore dreams that urge her into the dangerous and forbidden woods that took her grandmother’s life and her family’s reputation.

How We Fall by Kate Brauning: As first cousins, seventeen-year-olds Jackie and Marcus know their love is taboo, but living in the same house, working at the family’s vegetable stand, and especially seeking Jackie’s missing best friend, Ellie, keep drawing them together.

No Place to Fall by Jaye Robin Brown: Sixteen-year-old Amber Vaughn dreams of attending the North Carolina School of the Arts to gain confidence in using her amazing singing voice, but her family’s falling apart and she’s torn between two boys.

Zodiac by Romina Russell: When a violent blast strikes the moons of Cancer, sending its ocean planet off-kilter and killing thousands of citizens, Rhoma Grace, a sixteen-year-old student from House Cancer, must convince twelve worlds to unite as one Zodiac against Ophiuchus, the exiled thirteenth Guardian of Zodiac legend, who has returned to exact his revenge across the Galaxy.

Love & Other Theories by Alexis Bass: Seventeen-year-old Aubrey and her three best friends have perfected the art of dating in high school, but their theories on love will be put to the test when gorgeous senior Nathan moves to town.

If you’re getting started on planning your 2015 reading, may I suggest having the following debut YA group blogs on your radar? This is where I pull a lot of my information for these posts, and I know they offer more than book lists. If you dig debuts, you can’t go wrong here:

  • Freshman Fifteens
  • Fearless Fifteeners
  • The Class of 2K15

Filed Under: debut authors, debut novels, Uncategorized

Defining “Debut” in Young Adult Novels

July 21, 2014 |

A couple of years ago, Rachel Hartman was a Morris Award finalist, and she went on to win the award in early 2013. The Morris award, for those unfamiliar, is given annually by the Young Adult Library Services Association (YALSA), which is a division of the American Library Association (ALA). The award, which started in 2009, honors “a debut book published by a first-time author writing for teens and celebrating impressive new voices in young adult literature” (from the award’s webpage).

When Hartman’s novel was named on the short list, I wrote about how it raised some questions about what the word “debut” really means. Hartman had self-published a book a couple years prior, meaning that in the purest sense of the word, Seraphina wasn’t really a debut novel. For the purposes of the Morris, that self-published book didn’t infringe on the eligibility of Hartman’s novel being recognized. Since self-publishing is still relatively new — relative the key word there — these sorts of technicalities were still being considered when it came to award eligibility, and now it’s made much clearer in the official policies for the Morris. A debut novel is the first book by an author that’s been available in print or made available through a US publishing house.

Over the last few years, it’s impossible not to take note of how the word “debut” has been applied liberally to books in the YA world. It’s become a marketing tool, as a way to sell a book to an audience. In many ways, this makes sense: it can be hard for a new author to gain any sort of traction in a market where there are huge, well-known names that are exceptionally popular, that dominate bestseller lists, that are seen in airport bookstores and on big displays in bookshops, and which show up in co-ops in online retail spaces. To be a new author without a huge, guaranteed audience is to look at the bottom of a huge mountain without much climbing gear and with little or no experience.

But it’s also an opportunity.

That label of debut has become currency in a way. In many ways, it’s a sort of salve to those readers who are tired of the same old same old in YA. This debut novel is a new opportunity, a change from everything that’s already out there. Rather than debut being a thing that maybe you shouldn’t know about a book, it’s instead become a means of promoting the book. It’s not a pejorative term; it’s the exact opposite.

I’m a sucker for debut novels personally. I love seeing someone’s first story on the page. I love thinking about what and how that story did and did not succeed, and if it’s been a good reading experience, I look forward to seeing what their sophomore and subsequent efforts will look like. There are authors who I feel I’ve been reading their entire careers, and there’s something exceptionally fun about watching them go from debuts to seasoned authors. To see how their styles have grown, how their ability to weave a story has become more masterful, to see themes and trends that emerge, whether they’re intentional or not (some authors write certain things in all their books even they’re unaware of it — I’ve noticed, for example, an author who always wove hand or finger imagery into her work and another who always seemed to have something with mothers in hers, even if the mother wasn’t the thrust of the story). The label “debut” to me is exciting — that’s part of why I keep track of them each month. It’s a way for me to keep track of these new voices and make note of what I should be picking up.

“Debut” has become a full-force marketing tool, and the ways in which the word has become stretched makes it near meaningless for me anymore when I see it in a catalog description or an author bio. What should mean first novel — the first book that author has ever written — has instead morphed into something more meaningless. “Debut” has been frequently put in front of the words “young adult novel” in recent years, which means that no, the book isn’t actually the author’s first, but it is his or her first novel written for young adults (and whatever that means, too, since “for young adults” is essentially meaningless as well — young adult may be a category of books, but did that author whose book is being marketed as young adult really write for that audience or did that decision get made on another level?).

In some ways, the word feels apologetic when applied like that. We’ve all read the villainization and the apologia for young adult fiction too many times for me to reiterate here.

In other ways, it feels like it’s a too-easy way to garner some buzz for the book. The author’s written other books, but this one, it’s different because it’s a YA book. They’ve done exceptionally well in other areas, so this debut into a new category of fiction is exciting since it’s their first.

The story — what the book is about — can get lost in those conversations. The story is, of course, what most readers care about. Sure, they’ll care about Big Name authors making a YA foray, but that’s double edged: sometimes that YA foray can be met with scoffs by readers who are devoted to a particular author.

Sometimes, an author changes his or her name when writing that debut young adult novel. Perhaps they’ve published prolifically within a genre and now that they have a YA story in mind, they want to build a new brand around it. That’s the case in one “debut young adult novel” that will be out later this year.

Or perhaps they did write a young adult novel but they published it under a pseudonym and now they’re publishing their “debut young adult novel” under their real name. That’s the case in one or two “debut young adult novels” I’ve seen pop up in recent years, too. Do those who have written young adult novels initially who go on to publish an adult novel have their books sold as “debut adult novels?” I’m not sure I’ve seen that. Then again, I’ve seen that sort of move happen less frequently than I have seen adult novelists becoming young adult novelists (by choice or by luck).

In one case this year, I’ve seen a novel marketed as a “young adult debut thriller,” published with the author’s initials as the first name, rather than her full name. This not only redefined what debut meant by including the word “thriller,” but it also served the purpose of looking like an actual debut novel because the author’s name changed. So while she may be trying to build a different brand around a new writing style — one the fans she’s already grown may not necessarily be into (think Nora Roberts / J. D. Robb) — the marketing of the book pulls a sleight of hand, making it look like something that it’s really not.

I’ve been tricked before, and that leaves a sour taste in my mouth. “Debut” to me means one thing, and it means only one thing. But do I maybe care too much about the purity of the word? Then again, I wonder why it’s necessary to use unless there’s a meaning behind it.

For me, the word “debut” doesn’t skew the reading experience unless it’s been qualified. Then I judge it a little tougher. I want to know why it was important enough for that word to be a selling point or a feature, over what other things could have been played up instead. There’s a story to the story, rather than a story of the story.

So why all of the insistence on the word “debut” if it’s being used with a load of qualifiers?  Does the word really move copies of the book? Does the word “debut” offer a certain leeway with readers? What about with reviewers?

What makes “debut” a word with such sex appeal and do readers — those without any interest or knowledge of the bigger book world — even care?

Filed Under: book awards, debut authors, debut novels, Discussion and Resource Guides, professionalism, Uncategorized Tagged With: debut authors

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