STACKED

books

The Wicked and the Just by J. Anderson Coats

|

I wasn’t really sure what to expect going in to The Wicked and the Just, J. Anderson Coats’ debut novel. It’s a historical novel about a period of history I know almost nothing about: British-occupied Wales in the late 13th century. 
Teenage Cecily is dragged to Wales by her father, and she’s sure her life is ruined. She sees the Welsh as barbaric and she’d much rather be lady of the house at Edgeley Hall, the estate that has been denied her father in favor of his older brother. Still, she’s pleased that she’ll have a domain to rule over, which includes bossing around the Welsh servant Gwenhwyfar and her brother.
Gwenhwyfar was intended to be the lady of the house before the British occupied Wales, and she is not happy about her current position. Portions of the book follow her story, and her narrative is bleak and desperate and angry. She and her brother are very poor, victims of the corrupt local British government (not to mention Cecily). They’re at the mercy of Cecily and her father, who are both deliberately and casually cruel on a consistent basis. 
Both girls’ stories show just how hard, dirty, and bug-ridden life in the Middle Ages was. Even Cecily and her father, who belong in the upper class, share a room divided by a sheet, and Cecily’s days are full of work. This makes Gwenhwyfar’s life seem all the more bleak by contrast.
The Wicked and the Just is mostly a character study of these two young women. Cecily is the primary narrator, and the story mostly belongs to her. She is a maddening character. She’s mostly awful – spoiled, bratty, often cruel. (And I mean truly, truly cruel.) As the story is told in her words, though, we develop an understanding and, later on, sympathy for her. While she may not end the book an angel, there’s a definite character arc, and she exhibits growth. 
Gwenhwyfar’s story gains greater importance later on, when the simmering tensions in the town boil over into violence. Now she has the opportunity to visit justice upon the wicked, but her actions are not obvious or easy to predict. The relationship between the two girls is complicated with many ups and downs. Just as you think the two have developed some sort of bond, someone (usually Cecily) does something to sever it.
I want to emphasize that this story is not a case of “mean girl sees the light thanks to the wisdom of the people she bullies.” That’s far too simple an explanation, and it doesn’t take into consideration the insurmountable barrier of class. But Cecily does change, and Gwenhwyfar is a major agent of that change. Coats ties this together nicely in her author’s note, explaining that the relationships between people like Cecily and Gwenhwyfar helped turn the tide of violence and corruption in Wales that flourished at this time.
This story is definitely very different from what’s hot right now. It also doesn’t bear much resemblance to the historical fiction I read and loved as a teenager – I wanted love stories and happy endings and a rosier view of the past than was really realistic. And The Wicked and the Just starts off seeming that way – Cecily’s first few sentences are dead ringers for Birdy in Karen Cushman’s Catherine Called Birdy. But it quickly changes into something much darker, dirtier, and more violent. This makes it more realistic, and it also means it’s a perfect fit for history buffs and readers who crave knowledge about time periods that are not their own. Moreover, the historical details are fascinating and the writing is excellent.
J. Anderson Coats is a member of the Class of 2K12, which means she stopped by STACKED for a guest post and twitterview earlier in the year.
Review copy received from the publisher. The Wicked and the Just is available now.

Code Name Verity by Elizabeth Wein

|

Code Name Verity by Elizabeth Wein is one of those books that has been talked about to death already. You’ve probably already read a review of it, and that review was probably positive. I can’t say that my review will contribute anything very different – I loved this book to death. But if you still haven’t read the book, I hope my review will convince you to pick it up. (I know so many of you were waiting with bated breath for me to weigh in before making your reading choice…)
Verity is a young, female spy for the British during World War II. She makes a small mistake while on assignment in German-occupied France, and that mistake leads to her capture by the Germans. She’s tortured over the course of many weeks and finally agrees to write down everything she knows for her captors. The majority of Code Name Verity is this confession, which details how she came to be a spy, what she does for the British war effort, and her friendship with the English pilot Maddie, the young woman who dropped Verity (via plane) in France.
In the words of my favorite guest reviewer, this is a story that unfolds. You have to trust Verity (even though it’s a given that her words are misleading) and Wein to lead you to the place you were meant to be. You have to trust that they’ll give you the information you need, when you need it. You have to believe the voice in your head that tells you “Things are going to go down! Revelations will be had!” They will. And it’s done so expertly – not all at once, with a huge surprise that makes you gasp, but slowly, over many pages, so your eyes grow wide and your heart twists in anticipation and pain. Lots of pain. Yeah, it’s that kind of book.
Of course, Code Name Verity doesn’t inspire only love and cuddles. Kelly wasn’t really a fan – she found it slow and boring. (Don’t worry, we are still friends.) I can understand this point of view. I have a built-in interest in World War II, spies, and females in positions of power, and I have a friend who is a pilot. If none of these topics interest you, you may have a hard time connecting with the story. I’m also fascinated by unreliable narrators, and Wein triumphs in that respect with Verity. Because of all these things, I didn’t find the book slow at all.
I also have to admit that I’m seeing this book in a whole new light since I learned that my best friend in town is moving two hours away. Code Name Verity is, aside from all those things I mentioned in the previous paragraph, very much a story about friendship: what it feels like when it starts (akin to falling in love) and how it affects your actions after it’s established. My friend isn’t going to be captured by the Germans (at least I don’t think so), but there’s no denying the sense of loss regardless.
I really want to see Code Name Verity get some Printz recognition. I think Wein took a lot of risks in her writing style here, and those risks paid off hugely. She really is in a class by herself in terms of artistry. And despite its naysayers, I think it’s incredibly exciting. It’s also undeniably deep, intelligent, and has a lot to say about friendship, which resonated with me on a personal level and has affected others in the same way, too.
Borrowed from my library. Code Name Verity is available now.

Grave Mercy by Robin LaFevers

|

I loved Grave Mercy so much that the two books I read immediately afterward – books I had been looking forward to reading for several months – seemed like shoddy imitations of books in comparison. I loved it for so many reasons: how big the story is, how fresh its ideas are, how well it’s written. It’s over 500 pages of story, and not once does it drag.
Ismae is a handmaiden of death. She was rescued from a terrible marriage at 14 and sent to a convent, where the nuns trained her to serve Mortain, the saint/god of death. What this means is that by age 17, Ismae is a well-trained assassin, and she’s sent out on jobs to dispatch people that Mortain has marked with his inky black stain that only his handmaidens can see.
Ismae’s latest assignment is at the court of Brittany, an independent province that is now a part of France. Grave Mercy takes place in the late 15th century, during a time when Brittany was struggling mightily to keep itself from being absorbed by France. (The existence of the present-day borders of France is a spoiler, but the book is suspenseful regardless.) Anne, the very young duchess of Brittany, is being torn in many directions. She’s unmarried, and she’s been promised in marriage to half a dozen – or more – people. Choosing one man over another, or not choosing anyone at all, will have dire consequences for Brittany.
Ismae’s job is first and foremost to protect her duchess, and she is instructed to do so by determining who at court is betraying Anne – because all signs point to a traitor in Anne’s midst. When she unveils the traitor, the convent will send her orders to kill him (or her). Ismae’s cover is as a “cousin” (read: mistress) to Gavriel Duval, Anne’s bastard half-brother and her closest adviser. Ismae has been told that it is likely he is the spy, so she is to work with him to keep Anne safe while also spying on him to determine if he is the traitor. I knew the romance was coming, but it was so good – swoony in the right parts, some nice repartee, and its development was timed well. When they finally do fall in love, it makes sense and is completely believable.
There’s a lot of political intrigue that pulls in real historical events, which I enjoyed researching while I read the book. It’s fairly complex, but it’s not so complex that it’s impossible to follow. I loved how big the story was, and I don’t mean length-wise. So many things are going on, and they have huge ramifications for many, many people. It reminds me a lot of why I loved fantasy and historical fiction to begin with: huge stories with multiple intricate plotlines and profound consequences for entire countries or even entire worlds.
One of the things I appreciated most about Grave Mercy is that Ismae does kill. And she doesn’t do it only in self-defense or after deep consideration of the target’s crimes. She does it on order, without much regret or much thought as to whether the person deserves to die (at first, at least). I mention this because in a lot of fantasy or historical fiction novels, the authors find a way for their protagonists to not have to do the Bad or Unpleasant Thing that the plot indicates they really should have to do. (Prime example: In Wither, Rhine never consummates her marriage with Linden. Completely unbelievable, but not surprising.) This choice alone proves that LaFevers knows the world she has created and is unwilling to write herself loopholes to save the reader from some unpleasantness. I have a lot of respect for YA authors who do this. It’s much too rare.
Hype isn’t always a good indicator of a novel’s worth, but in this case, it’s well-deserved. If you’re a fan of complex, involving stories that take the time to develop complicated characters and important details, this book is for you. Anyone who likes historical fiction will eat it up, as will fantasy fans and romance fans. There’s a sequel in the works that focuses on Sybella, one of Ismae’s fellow trainees at the convent, and I can hardly wait for it.

The Watch that Ends the Night by Allan Wolf

|

I’m not going to lie. When I pick up a book that starts with a cast list, I get nervous. Really nervous. I know the book is going to ask a lot of me and I’m going to have to remember who these people are.

Fortunately, Allan Wolf’s The Watch that Ends the Night proved me wrong in my worry, which was a huge relief, given this book is written entirely in verse, and the idea of having to suss out multiple characters within a verse novel seemed incredibly daunting.

If the title wasn’t enough of a clue, Wolf’s novel is a fictionalized account of the sailing of the Titanic in 1912. As much as this is a fictional story, the voices Wolf uses are actually based on real people who were aboard the ship; he offers a really great guide in the back of the novel talking about the personal histories and stories upon which he based his characters, and having been so engrossed in the story, I found myself eager to read the back matter and learn more about the real histories of these people. I note this because it’s rare I want to read the back matter. In this case, though, I couldn’t get enough because Wolf’s book was so well done, he left me desiring more.

I’m not going to offer a summary of this book because it should be fairly obvious what happens and how it all ends. But what’s worth noting is how Wolf manages to take a story that’s been done and make it entirely new and fresh while also providing some of the strongest written verse I’ve read in a long time and simultaneously rounding out fully-fleshed characters in a multi-voiced novel. There are 24 characters in this novel, two of which are non-human, including a mouse and the ice burg. The characters range all social classes and statuses, as well as run the range of immigrant experiences. There are those making the trip because they want to get back to America, while there are those making the trip because they’re trying to escape to America and freedom from their past in Europe. There are businessmen and there are third-class children, and each of them has a voice and a story they add. Their individual voices each add a layer to the ship and to what the Titanic really was — much more than a vessel of movement but an entire place and an entire historical moment.

As much as hearing from all the layers of the social landscape was valuable in constructing the story, what I think I liked best was that we also get the entire social stratus of the ship’s crew. We have the captain and the navigator (who will tell you their jobs are very, very different), and we also have the shipbuilder, the cook, and the postman. We’re going from first class in jobs to third class in jobs, and the parallels to those aboard the ship for their personal reasons are smartly crafted. Since each of these 24 characters gets a chance to talk, as readers, we see how vast the stories and struggles are, and we are momentarily removed from what we know is going to happen to them all. They each speak up and offer the good and the bad, and as readers, we’re poised to feel certain things — we’re happy for those on their way for a new opportunity in America and we’re disgruntled at the inequality at accommodations, as swindlers get their time in swanky first class and those who so deserve a better life live below decks. Of course, on the Titanic, even third class isn’t that awful. At least, that’s kind of what we’re lead to believe from the characters. We also get the same perspectives from the crew, as the ship builder marvels at what he’s done, the captain talks about his vital role in the success of the trip, and the postman and cook offer us the below decks view.

Wolf pulls us into the story immediately, and the story really is that there are 24 stories here. It’s not that the ship’s going down. At least, it’s not in the moments we’re not reading from the point of view of the iceberg or reading the voice of the undertaker. In those moments, we’re pulled from the drama aboard the Titanic and reminded that indeed, this isn’t going to have the resolution we’re hoping for as readers. It doesn’t take us out of the story but further insists that the story has a multitude of ways it could be told. As action picks up, so does the intensity of the varied voices.

Here’s where I point out the biggest problem of the book for me and, I think, for a lot of readers: of the 24 voices, only one is a teenager. She’s a refugee, and while her story is compelling, it’s a tiny fraction of the entire book. This book features primarily adults, which makes sense, but it leaves me questioning why this is for the young adult audience, aside from the fact this feels like one of those books that would make for an excellent classroom read. That’s not a comment meant to denigrate the work, but rather, it’s a comment on the strength of the writing and discussion-worthy merit. As a reader, I would have loved more of the teen voices here, as I do think there is a large readership for Titanic-based stories for teenagers, and I think that’s only going to be furthered in the next year with the 100th anniversary and re-release of the film.

While I could see how this book might be a slower read for many, I was glued and found myself reading it in just a couple of sittings. The verse propels the action forward because it’s tight and varied. Each of the characters has their own style, and it’s evident through the way the verse is crafted. I love good poetry, and this was good poetry. It should be obvious this book will appeal to readers who love stories of the Titanic, as well as those who like a good novel in verse. This is an investment, and it’s one that pays off in the end. I also think this book has sort of flown under the radar this year in the ya field, and it’s one I see having strong Printz potential.

Three historical novels, quick review style

|

I’ve read a ton of books for Cybils lately, and there is no possible way I could get through all of the reading and write up full reviews for each of the titles. But I can offer shorter reviews of a number of titles — and I’m going to quit calling them Twitter-style because, well, I can’t even pretend they’re that short. Alas, here are three historical novels, covering three vastly different time periods.

Purple Daze by Sherry Shahan follows six teens growing up in the suburbs of Los Angeles during 1965, a year of war, civil unrest, and much more. Told through verse, the book reads quickly, but left me wanting a lot. The characters are underdeveloped figments of what they could be — they each become a representation of an issue, down to a girl giving herself a coat hanger abortion, a boy being drafted to war in Vietnam, a boy choosing to drop out and join the Marines, and so forth. The thing is, they could have been full and powerful, but instead, things stand in for development.

There’s an overwhelming sense of nostalgia at play in the story and it chokes any potential rise and fall in character arc. We know what kind of razors one of the girl uses (Lady Schick), but that’s about it. Given that verse is a challenging format to develop strong, definitive characters within — let alone six — I felt really let down when the sparse words were to brand names.

Moreover, the use of other voices choked the narrative. Not only were there six underdeveloped characters, but then there were interludes of presidential addresses, along with briefings about Malcolm X and Martin Luther King Jr. It took me out of the story and further distanced my emotional connection with the key characters in the story. What could have been an emotional knock out given the era became one note: flat.

It felt like the point of the book was to educate and little more. A good story, especially a good historical, does that without being obvious. This one made it obvious to the point of leaving me curious why there needed to be six characters in the first place. The writing left much to be desired, and the nostalgia factor won’t win over the intended teen readership. Other books do this better, stronger, and without sacrificing story for sentiment.

The Year We Were Famous by Carole Estby Dagg follows mother-daughter duo Helga and Clara (who is the 17-year-old daughter) as they embark on a cross-country walk from their small town in western Washington state to New York City, all of which is based on a true story from the author’s family. It’s 1896 and the family farm is in trouble; money is hard to come by, and the family doesn’t want to give up what they have. After trying to come up with a solution, Helga decides to respond to a publisher’s advertisement offering a $10,000 prize for someone who could make the journey across country, by foot, in months.

The time period for the novel is spot on, and the journey is enjoyable. I think I found this novel so fascinating because it was based on true events, and it’s a road trip before the concept of the road trip existed. Dagg’s novel works well in its diary format, as Clara depicts the journey well and in a believable teen voice. One of the challenges I had with this format though was the interspersing of letters inside. Clara kept postal communication with her family and with a reporter she met in Utah, and when those sneak into her diary, the story slows to a crawl. It takes the reader out of the adventure; even though it’s not info dumping, per se, it has a similar effect in providing too much tell and not enough show.

My biggest challenge with the book, though, was there wasn’t enough character development. We get the adventure and the weariness of walking (imagine walking that far – my mind still spins thinking about that and how there weren’t the road conveniences we had so they had to rely on the kindness of strangers), but we don’t really get enough of who Clara is. I wanted to know more about her; it’s here I fault the format because the diary doesn’t quite offer enough opportunity for internal thought here. It’s instead a record of events.

That said, this book was an enjoyable read, and it’s one I can see having huge appeal to younger teens and even for those tween readers who read up. Content isn’t really an issue here. An interesting time period, as well, and one I don’t think there is much about, especially when it comes to American events and experiences. Plus, it’s reverse what you’d expect — rather than a movement west, it’s a movement east.

Taking Off by Jenny Moss takes place in 1986, right before the launching of the Challenger, where we find 18-year-old Annie struggling to decide what it is she wants to do with her life. She lives near Houston and the space center, and her entire life has sort of amid this bubble of people who are career-driven and are eager to get out in the world and do Big Things. Annie isn’t sure she wants that though. She loves writing poetry (and this is sort of a secret, actually, since no one would ever take that seriously as an ambition), and she really likes her boyfriend Mark. Why leave a place that’s good for her?

Then she meets Christa McCuliffe at a friend’s dinner party, and her mind starts shifting. Suddenly, she’s looking at this ambitious teacher who is so down to earth and friendly, and Annie begins to realize that maybe getting outside of her comfort zone is something she needs to do. Not just that, but Annie is determined to watch Christa launch into space, and she convinces her father to take her to Florida to watch the launch. Despite knowing how that story ends, it’s still sort of surprising, and that’s a huge credit to Moss. She captures what I presume the emotions surrounding the launch well; I say presume because I was a baby when it happened, but I experienced every emotion Annie did in those moments following lift off.

For me, this book was all about Annie. She was such an interesting character to me, and I related to her in a lot of ways. I feel like a lot of what I thought about as a high school senior were the things she was thinking about, and Moss captured the emotions of feeling lost and clueless spot on, without making Annie sound like a wimp or like she was hopeless. In fact, I felt Annie had a lot more to offer than she gave herself credit for, and when she has her moment of realizing what her dreams really were, I felt the journey to get there paid off.

My biggest problem with the novel, though, came down to not believing how quickly Annie could attach herself to Christa’s story. They met by chance at a dinner party, though Annie had read about her in a magazine. I expected more of a fascination with Christa pre-party to make the post-party obsession more believable; Annie makes a journey half way across the country to see her launch into space, yet I didn’t quite buy the emotional ties here. Pushing this a little more would have made the story tighter and more powerful. Teens fixate on those they admire, and given how much Annie found herself fixating internally, I was a little let down how quickly and radically she connects to Christa.

The romance is sweet, and the story itself is one you could hand over to teens of any age. Although I question why so many novels lately have been set in the 1980s (a combination of a lack of technological conveniences and the fact it’s probably a time period a lot of authors are familiar with because of their own experiences), this one works because it’s actually about a historical event.