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Pandemonium by Lauren Oliver

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Lauren Oliver is a very good writer. I know this because the premise of this series of books is ludicrous, but she is able to make me believe it. She’s made me invested in a story that could never possibly happen, rooting for the characters and feeling their heartaches right alongside them. Part of me wonders if she thought to herself “I wonder what the most ridiculous premise for a dystopia would be, and if I could somehow manage to sell it to my readers anyway,” and boom, Delirium was born.
Anyway, it’s clear that I think the premise is kind of stupid. Enough about that. I read and enjoy the books anyway. Here’s why.
Pandemomium alternates between two time periods: Lena immediately after escaping from the repressive loveless society, taken in by members of the resistance, and Lena as a full-fledged member of the resistance on her first real mission. The “Then” portions don’t really do much plot-wise, but they do a good job of establishing setting, the background of the resistance movement, and a few key characters. I know some readers didn’t care for those parts, but I found them interesting. The “Now” portions are more riveting, and also introduce another teen male character – who (of course) becomes Lena’s new love interest.
Much of what happens in this book will not surprise you. The massive revelation at the very end of the book will most certainly not surprise you (though I was kind of hoping it wouldn’t happen). But there are still a few twists that I didn’t see coming, and it’s all written in such an engaging way that it doesn’t matter as much as it would in another book. I realize that I’m cutting Oliver a lot of slack for what would be a rather lackluster book in another writer’s hand, but good writing matters. It can elevate a middling story into something pretty good.
I didn’t enjoy this one as much as the first. I think it’s too much of a standard middle-book in a dystopian trilogy, in that the hero or heroine joins the underground resistance and starts to fight for a better future, discovering secrets and being betrayed along the way. As an adult, I have less patience for the romance that blossoms between Lena and the new boy, too. They don’t share any common interests, though I suppose they are both good-looking and kept together in a confined space for a period of time. I guess that’s enough. I do know my teen self wouldn’t have minded so much, and again, it’s mostly due to the writing (it always comes back to the writing). The romance doesn’t make sense intellectually, but Lena feels it and so I do, too.
I’m hoping the third book (which I do have) will give me a few more surprises than this one did. I have no doubt that the excellent writing will be there, but that knowledge hasn’t been enough to send me digging into its pages yet. Of course this is a stellar example of what readers crave in their dystopian romances – equal parts dystopia and romance, anchored by good writing. Personally I wanted a little more, but it will certainly satisfy many others.
Review copy provided by the publisher.

Crewel by Gennifer Albin

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Adelice Lewys has been trained from a young age to hide her ability to weave the matter of Arras, the world in which she lives. Those blessed (or cursed) with this talent are taken at age 16 to be Spinsters. Without the Spinsters, Arras would fall apart and people would die. The Spinsters – who are all female – are highly prized for their talent, but they’re also kept virtual prisoners because of it. They’re too valuable to be given free reign, and while they have nominal power, it’s pretty illusory in the intensely patriarchal society of Arras.
Though Adelice is good at hiding her skill, she’s not good enough. At the mandatory test given to recruit Spinsters, she slips and gives herself away. Later at dinner with her family, Adelice knows she will be picked up – there’s no saying “No” when it comes to being a Spinster. Her parents still try and get her away to safety, but they’re unsuccessful, and Adelice is taken to undertake her duties after a violent encounter with Arras’ police force.
At the training house, Adelice finds herself competing with other Spinsters for the small number of spots available that would actually let her weave the matter and time of Arras. She also sees the devastating effects a wrong stitch can cause and uncovers a few nasty secrets about their society. Naturally, rebellion is brewing, and Adelice finds herself caught in the middle of a very big, very deadly mess.
The weaving aspect of the world is complicated, and it doesn’t really start to make sense until much later in the story, when some big secrets are dropped. Though I was a little bewildered most of the time, wondering how Albin could possibly make this world make sense, the payoff is good. Her explanation takes the story from possibly fantasy territory into definite science fiction territory. (I like to call this the McCaffrey Effect.) The SF aspects aren’t terribly credible, but I was able to sufficiently suspend my disbelief and enjoy the story.
Unfortunately, the world-building is the only thing that distinguishes Crewel from the scads of other dystopias out there. The rest of the story is fairly pedestrian: horrible government, love interest, kindly mentor, bitchy rival, and a protagonist who is not just special compared to the people of Arras, but special compared to other Spinsters. 
And personally, I’m tired of reading about societies that oppress women in my fantasy and SF. Given the current climate (and the past, of course), it’s understandable why so many writers would make this a focal point in their stories about a future gone wrong, but I’d prefer to read a dystopia that focuses on something else for a change. (I actually have this complaint about a lot of fantasy in general, and it’s one reason I gave up on Song of Ice and Fire after book three. There’s only so much I can handle, no matter how well-written and intriguing the story.)
Still, the creativity inherent in the world is enough to keep me interested, and I’m very curious to see where Albin takes the story after a pretty well-done ending. That means I’ll be reading the sequel.
Review copy received from the publisher. Crewel will be published October 16.

Under the Never Sky by Veronica Rossi

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Aria has been exiled from Reverie, one of the environmentally-sealed pods that protect the people in her society from the outside world. Cast into the “Death Shop,” as they call the outside world, she expects to die quickly, her body unused to the disease and climate. Fortunately, she runs into Perry, an Outsider – a savage to Aria, initially – who has his own reasons for helping Aria to survive. The two form an alliance, agreeing to help each other to achieve their own goals.    
With Under the Never Sky, Rossi has given her readers a stellar example of a commercial dystopia. It’s got a great hook, a fast-paced plot, two protagonists you can’t help but root for, and interesting world-building. Rossi has got some great stuff going on here – super-charged senses, crazy aether storms that resemble lightning storms but are way cooler (and more terrifying), a complex society on the outside and an alluring but also ominous society on the inside.
The story is told in Aria and Perry’s alternating third person,
past-tense perspectives. Rossi is quite good at getting the reader into
both of these characters’ heads without having to resort to a shift in
typeface or some other cheat. Unlike many dual perspective narratives,
it was easy to tell whose “story” was being told, even when both
characters were occupying the same pages. The chapter headings – “Aria”
or “Perry” – were almost unnecessary.
I liked that the world wasn’t explained in a giant infodump, although Aria and Perry do fill each other in on certain things at points. I like being able to figure out as I go what the author has done here that is new – it assumes some intelligence on the part of the reader and is all the more exciting because the author isn’t holding my hand while I read.
I can’t talk about this book without talking about the romance. Under the Never Sky isn’t primarily a romance, but the romantic subplot is strong and it is good. Rossi knows how to write a good love story. Aria and Perry start out pretty antagonistic toward each other, but even the densest reader will know their feelings will eventually blossom into love. And when they do, it is believable and pretty intense. Nothing is described in a whole lot of detail, but there’s enough there that teenage me would have dog-eared the heck out of those pages. 
There were some things I wasn’t wild about. Rossi is overly fond of the “fragment as emphasis” tactic. A couple times in a novel works; a couple times in a chapter is overkill. It brought me out of the story sometimes and seemed sloppy. I still think the title is hokey, and both the US and UK versions of the cover are kind of terrible, the UK version particularly so (although neither of those things are necessarily the author’s doing). Overall, though, this is a really solid book that stands out from others in its subgenre. I’m excited for the sequel (the somewhat painfully titled Through the Ever Night).

Dystopia vs. Science Fiction

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Gentle Readers,

We have a problem. To many of you, this missive will not be a surprise. To others, it may come as a great shock, but I feel that it is something we need to discuss, no matter the discomfort it may cause.

The problem is this: so many of you are wrong.

I know, I know. Someone is wrong on the Internet! I must correct them posthaste! I sense your mockery. But I cannot let it stop me from proclaiming a truth that has lain dormant for too long, too many of us taking it for granted as legions of ignorant readers brazenly flout it.

What truth is it that I write of? Only this simple fact: not all science fiction novels are dystopias.

Let that percolate for a while. Take all the time you need.

Are you ready to move on? Then let’s. 

The hallmark of a dystopia is the presence of a repressive or controlling society, usually presented initially as utopian. I also posit that this must necessarily be done on a large scale. Failing that, it must seem to be large-scale. (Teenage readers, just because your parents repress your ability to party on Friday nights does not mean your home is a dystopia.)

When one considers this all-important defining factor, one can easily determine the difference between a solid science fiction tale and a dystopia. And yet so many of you insist on conflating the two! Yes, dystopias are science fiction stories, but the opposite is not always true.

Perhaps some examples will help shed light on the situation.

Not dystopias: Variant (157 Goodreads readers have been misled into calling this a dystopia). Cinder (422 befuddled creatures). Tankborn (59 confused souls). The Obsidian Blade (1 lonely reader). Daughter of Smoke and Bone (22 readers who need to stop reading fantasy while under the influence of certain substances). The Fault in Our Stars (not even the professionals are immune).

Dear, gentle readers who have read any of the above-named books: please review them in your mind. I have no doubt that once you carefully consider the defining criterion for a dystopia, you will acknowledge the error of your ways.

Sometimes it’s difficult to tell! you insist. And I acknowledge this. Some science fiction novels do have dystopian themes or portions that involve a dystopian society. I can think of two easily: Across the Universe by Beth Revis and Ashes by Ilsa Bick. The repressive and controlling society is there, even if it’s not present through the entire book. If you choose to call these dystopias, I shall not shame you for it. Still, I urge you to use caution.

Perhaps now you are beginning to doubt yourself. Is anything a true dystopia? you ask. I feel like my whole life is a lie! you exclaim. Fear not. You may keep your Hunger Games, your Divergent, your Delirium and Wither. Do not doubt all you read. All I ask is that you examine carefully what it is you read before you proclaim it a dystopia. Pause, and consider.

So join with me, readers, and proclaim your resolve to not call all gardening tools spades. No more shall we be subject to the tyranny of incorrect labels. No more shall we allow the varied, vast, and endlessly creative field of science fiction to be ignorantly winnowed down to a slender subgenre. We shall strive for accuracy in all our categorization endeavors, and we will not back down from the truth!

Yours in Labeling Veracity,

A Concerned Reader

Article 5 by Kristen Simmons

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In teenage Ember’s dystopian world, the Bill of Rights has been replaced by the Moral Statues. If you’ve read the Handmaid’s Tale, then you know where this is going (albeit there is no sex by proxy in Article 5). It’s a rigid Christian world, and people found in noncompliance with the statues are arrested and…no one knows what happens afterward.

Ember lives with her single mother, and when her mom is arrested for being in noncompliance with Article 5 (having a child out of wedlock, Ember herself), Ember is taken to a sort of reformatory. She’s taken there by none other than Chase Jennings, her former friend who joined the Moral Militia and seems to have bought into its creed.
Ember doesn’t spend long at the reformatory. She desperately wants to find her mother, and (surprise and slight spoiler) it turns out Chase is willing to help her. He’s not so brainwashed by the Moral Militia after all. They break out of the reformatory and go on the run. They’re pursued by horrible people and run into many dangerous situations.
The premise is underdeveloped, but for me, that doesn’t always spell death for a dystopia. After all, Delirium has a completely ridiculous premise, but Lauren Oliver’s writing and characterization made me buy into it. I love dystopias so much that I more willingly suspend my disbelief for them than for other genres. While Miller’s writing here is solid, it never stands out. It’s competent but never really above average. The combination of average writing with a thin premise and underdeveloped world makes Article 5 pretty unmemorable.
My other main gripe is that Simmons advances the plot by making her protagonist do stupid things. Protagonists should definitely make mistakes, but the frequency of mistakes Ember makes strains credulity. The book is basically a chronicle of her and Chase’s run from the Moral Militia. You’d think after a while, Ember would learn that it’s not a good idea to make herself too visible. And yet she does, time and time again. The climax of the novel is brought about by her doing just that, in a moment of emotional turmoil. Ember doesn’t seem to learn from her mistakes, and it made me want to shake her. I understand that it’s necessary to keep the plot moving forward, but it’s not great writing to do it this way.
Article 5 isn’t a bad book. It’s just that it’s competing in an overcrowded field, and there’s nothing that really makes it stand out from the pack. If you’re looking for an action-packed read and haven’t gotten your fill of dystopias yet, Article 5 may satisfy you. But there’s definitely better stuff out there.
Review copy provided by the publisher. Article 5 is available January 31.