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Prisoners in the Palace by Michaela MacColl

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I dislike this cover rather intensely.
Michaela MacColl’s debut novel, Prisoners in the Palace, is the best kind of historical fiction: it spins an interesting (even thrilling) story out of real-life events while still remaining true to those events.  In so doing, it opens the reader’s eyes to a part of history they might otherwise have overlooked.
Prisoners in the Palace sounds like it could be a story spun straight out of fiction.  After her parents die in an accident, sixteen year old Elizabeth (Liza) must find a way to pay off her father’s debt.  Therefore, instead of making her debut in society as planned, she takes a position as lady’s maid to the teenaged princess.  The princess has been sheltered her whole life, living under the thumb of her mother and her unscrupulous advisor Sir John, who plots to steal the throne, rob the royal coffers, and seduce various and sundry maids.  Liza is drawn into this intrigue and must help the princess secure her future position as queen while avoiding the detection of the villainous Sir John, who may have murderous tendencies.
That princess is Victoria, who would go on to become the longest-ruling monarch in England’s history, and much of the events described by MacColl in the book actually happened, as detailed in her lengthy but fascinating Author’s Note at the end. 
There’s more to Prisoners in the Palace than interesting history, though – it has an immensely likable protagonist and mixes in elements of a spy novel, an adventure novel, and a tiny bit of a romance novel too.  
Much of what makes Liza so likable is that she is a very proactive character.  Rather than allow things to just happen to her, she takes the initiative.  She seizes the opportunity to be Victoria’s lady’s maid when she originally had a much different position in mind, and she concocts a plan to win Victoria over (and therefore perhaps re-gain some social status as thanks) by offering to spy for her.  While she has some minor loyalties to other characters, and develops real friendships with some, it’s clear she isn’t swayed by them and can look out for herself.  I love that in a protagonist.
Even though the ending of the story is never really in doubt, the journey there is immensely enjoyable.  Reading Prisoners in the Palace is the same kind of fun as reading  Heist Society and Clarity.  All three books have feisty, capable female leads, a good bit of action and adventure, and some nice surprises.  They’ve all got a similar lightweight tone, too, where not a whole lot seems at stake even though the characters are in some fairly serious situations.  
Prisoners in the Palace is probably best for readers already interested in historical fiction, since the history is so important to the story, but even those just looking for a fun spy/adventure tale would find a lot to like here.  It doesn’t hurt that it involves a princess, a perennially popular component of almost any story for teenage girls (and that definitely includes me).  
Sidenote: When I was a little girl I wanted to be a princess (not surprising) because I figured they would always have beautiful dresses.  The descriptions of the dresses in this book are pretty great.  I no longer want to be a princess, but I do still like reading about them.

Attachments by Rainbow Rowell

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Lincoln didn’t know what he was getting into when he responded to an ad for the local newspaper The Courier, which needed an Internet Security Officer. Yes, it was the night shift, but at least the job was full-time, with a good salary and benefits. And maybe it would finally give him some purpose while he figured out exactly what to do with his life: after all, he is in his twenties and has been a professional student since his horrible, traumatic breakup with his high school and college girlfriend, and he still lives at home with his mother (a fact that he himself doesn’t mind, as she leaves him alone and cooks practically gourmet meals for him. But his sister Eve keeps nagging him to leave the nest, and maybe he does need a good kick in the butt).

But the job is definitely nothing like Lincoln expected…for one thing, there is literally nothing to do, no responsibilities except monitoring and reading emails flagged for ‘objectionable content.’ While Lincoln can’t help but feel vaguely guilty at this intrusion into others’ lives, he is simultaneously drawn into the lives of Jennifer and Beth, two bubbly best friends whose emails often find their way into his inbox. As they talk about their relationships (Jennifer is married, and she and her husband are trying to figure out when to have a baby, while Beth is in a long-term relationship with Chris, a rocker who can’t truly commit), Beth and Jennifer become more than just email addresses on a computer screen to Lincoln. They become real, true, vulnerable human beings. And he can’t help himself from falling for Beth.

Attachments was an absolutely adorable read, the perfect book to break me from a recent slump of ‘meh’ books. The format enabled this book to be a quick read, as Jennifer and Beth’s side of the story is told solely through emails, and Lincoln’s in short chapters of prose. Yet despite the brevity, Rowell truly excels at creating deep, well-rounded characters. Even through short snippets of email, the reader is able to feel Jennifer’s excitement and grief over the developments of her marriage, and can empathize with Beth’s immense frustration over Chris’ flightiness. Lincoln is just plain adorable, a hulk of a man whose sensitivity, fear, and gradual transformation are shown to us vividly over the course of Attachments.

It is this transformation that is at the heart of Attachments, more so than the engaging antics of Jennifer and Beth. Rowell truly shows rather than tells the reader how Lincoln gradually finds himself throughout this novel, as he develops a crush on Beth the ‘idea,’ then discovers who she is, then is plagued with guilt about reading her personal thoughts and doesn’t know how he can ever approach her ‘in real life.’

While there isn’t much suspense in this novel, as its sweet tone naturally assures the reader of a happy ending, the joy is in following these three characters on their journeys, both individually and collectively.

Popular by Alissa Grosso

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Hamilton is THE it girl at Fidelity High School; sure, Olivia, Zelda, Nordica, and Shelly all think they have a chance to knock her from her thrown, but the fact of the matter is, they don’t have a shot. And they never will.

Hamilton’s known for her parties, and people are dying to get invited. She posts her guest lists in the school so people can see whether they’ve gotten her stamp of approval or if they’ve once again been snuffed. Of course, Olivia, Zelda, Nordica, and Shelly are always invited, but they’ve noticed that different people have been invited and showing up lately — people who aren’t popular and who aren’t members of their elite clique. And it seems that Hamilton’s been more and more removed from the parties herself: she’s becoming more and more broken up over the fact she’ll be graduating soon and need to grow up, make new friends, and create a new name for herself outside of Fidelity. Even her boyfriend Alex can’t seem to shake her from her sadness.

That is, until all of the secrets unwind, and we as readers see exactly how all of the characters come to create this clique and maintain their power.

Popular is a fast-paced, engaging read told through multiple narrators. The way it pulled me in reminded me a lot of when I first read Courtney Summers’s Cracked Up to Be, and for many reasons, these might make great readalikes. Immediately, you know something is fishy, and you know that things are going to fall apart and do so fast. Grosso’s use of the multiple narrators is essential here, and it’s a technique that I’m usually skeptical of as a reader. I think she does a good job of delineating each voice, but they’re not entirely unique. As a reader, I didn’t believe in each of them; however, this is okay. It can’t be any other way.

Hamilton is a broken girl: sure she’s popular, but clearly there is something much more problematic going on. Most people their senior year of high school revel in the freedoms they will have upon graduation, but Hamilton dreads it. She’s so disengaged in her life and so removed from her place at the top of the social hierarchy that as readers, you want to know more. But like any good story about cliques and popularity, you can only get so much, since there are other characters vying for this attention. Much of what we learn about Hamilton comes from her friends, as well as from Alex. In the first half of the story, she’s defined through Olivia, Zelda, Nordica, and Shelly; in the second half of the story, Alex defines her.

Beware, though, as this is also not a story about popularity. It’s much deeper and much more twisted. This will have appeal to fans who enjoy a little bit of a mystery and a little bit of suspense. Grosso successfully weaves a story told both in the present and in the past, and piece by piece she builds a compelling character study complemented by a plot that’s got enough pulse behind it to move the story forward. There’s honestly not much that happens in the book, but that’s okay. It’s a bit of a refreshing read after a number of books that seem to be trying to offer too much in plot and too little in character.

Because I don’t want to spoil the mega twist that happens in the story — the point at which everything in the book comes together and at which all of the small clues dropped in the first part click into place — I’ll say this much and include the spoiler-ridden link: this book does what this book did much, much stronger. Personally, I wasn’t surprised in the least of where it went, but it didn’t bother me. Where the aforementioned book fails to give me a compelling character, Grosso’s Hamilton is so much more engaging (or maybe the word is disengaging) and has much more depth to her story. More than that, it feels more authentic and less like a ploy. Even though I suspected what would happen, it didn’t feel like a cheap narrative device but instead was well executed.

My big quibble with the story lies in Alex’s narration. I didn’t believe him as a male character, as he’s a little too emotionally invested in Hamilton. Fortunately, I don’t think it’s necessary to believe him and I don’t think it’s necessary to even care about him at all, since his narration comes simply as a way to give us more insight into Hamilton.

Even though some of the writing was a little weak for me as a reader, particularly when it came to dialog that didn’t necessarily move the story and didn’t always ring true to the teen voice, the appeal on this book is quite high. This is Grosso’s debut novel, and she has much opportunity to hone those technical skills, given her story telling ability is already quite tight. Fans of Pretty Little Liars would likely enjoy this one quite a bit, and as I mentioned before, both fans of Summers’s first book and fans of the book linked in the previous paragraph will dig this one. I think the appeal for reluctant readers is here, as well, since the pacing is fast and the writing isn’t that challenging. There is little in terms of language, drugs, or drinking — even amid the party threads running in the story — and I’d be completely comfortable giving this one to a middle schooler. It’ll appeal for younger and older teens easily, and it will have wider appeal for girls than it will for guys.

Putting Makeup on Dead People by Jen Violi

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When 17-year-old Donna’s father dies after a long bout with cancer, she begins to question who she is and what her purpose is in the world. As she works her way through the grief and loss, she comes to the realization that perhaps where she belongs is in the death business. Despite the vehement opposition of her mother and the outcast she feels from her classmates, she applies to a local mortuary school on the advice of the funeral home director who did her father’s services.

When Donna’s accepted to school and when she takes a position as an intern at the funeral home, she finds herself on the outside of everything she once was and on the outside of every relationship she once held, and she must come to terms with owning her own future.

Putting Makeup on Dead People is a book with a premise unlike any I’d read before — how often do we get a glimpse into the life of a person interested in making death their profession? In teen literature, not often. But I have to be honest: this book did not work for me as a reader on a number of levels.

Donna, who is 17 in the story, never once rang true to me as a 17-year-old. She felt 12; although it is clear her father’s death has really impacted her growth as a person, her voice is far too young and immature for 17. The manner in which she presented herself and the ways in which she protested against her mother came across as extremely childish. While reading it, I let myself be okay with this flaw, though, seeing as sometimes having an older teen character written in this style can great for tween readers. It’s a voice they can relate to while still giving them the impression they’re reading something that may be meant for older readers.

Unfortunately, though, this isn’t a book I’d be comfortable book talking or recommending to tween readers because of another challenge I had: the sex. Donna, despite talking about how she’s not really interested in boys and how she isn’t interested in pursuing a relationship, develops one with a guy about 1/4 of the way through the book. It’s not a relationship that based on romance or shared interests; it’s based entirely upon Tim’s desire to sleep with Donna. He goes as far as to do some pretty graphic things to her in a car when other characters are present, and there is an awkward going-to-have-sex-for-the-first-time scene where Donna finally remembers that she doesn’t really want a boyfriend. But perhaps what’s most worrisome about it is how little agency Donna has in any of this, as well as how little she even seems to be enjoying it. The writing here, too, falters quite a bit and feels clunky and awkward. Comparing a sexual act to painting, to be blunt, made me cringe a little bit and feel uncomfortable as a reader (and adult). I fear teens will feel similarly. I think that the story would have been stronger had no romantic relationships had been incorporated, especially one that felt so one-sided and stilted as this one.

Which brings me to the biggest issue I had with the book, and it’s that Violi tries to take on far too many topics at once, and few are as well fleshed as they could be. Aside from the sex issue, there’s quite a bit going on in terms of religion and belief. Although it is certainly a topic that would come up when discussing death and the ways in which people handle death, Donna is a little all over the board with her beliefs. It seems at the beginning she’s a strong believer in something, but she’s also interested in Wiccan traditions and other spiritual practices she knows her aunt has been outcast from the family for. It’s not a solid enough progression of change or understanding, and for me, this goes back to Donna being an unbelievable 17-year-old.

One of the major themes in the story is family, and for Donna, much of the challenge of her being able to discover her own passions is the roadblock of her mother. Of all the characters, I believe Donna’s mother was the most fully developed — she’s a total wet blanket about anything, and yet, it’s clear that Donna doesn’t understand that her mother has a life of her own to live, too. Mom both lives for her children, hoping to protect and nurture them, but she’s also eager to move on with her own life, too. Mom wants to put the kabash on her daughter going to mortuary school, and the way that Donna and her mother work through this feel authentic and reminiscent of what many teens go through with their parents when it comes to their post-high school plans. The betrayal Donna feels when her mother begins dating a new guy is relatable, despite the fact her reactions feel younger than 17. That’s not to say, though, that the mother was entirely realistic to me, either. At times, the things she said made me cringe, including one time she said that young people shouldn’t have fun because they need their rest. Awkward, strange and not all that believable to read. It feels like in this book as a whole, the challenge the author comes against is developing powerful opportunities for scenes, but it’s in the execution, the dialog, and closure where it falls apart. Potential wasn’t as fully realized as it could have been.

What did work for me in the book was the big lesson that Donna learns: that she can be what she wants to be, and that if she pursues her passions hard enough, things will work out in the end. I had the feeling this lesson would come full circle when the story began, but it was still a good one nonetheless. I love how Violi took a look at a topic that really isn’t much talked about — the funeral business — and made it interesting. Donna’s passion for it is palpable, and as a reader, I was sucked into it. It wasn’t at all morbid, but instead, it was interesting to see the entire process of funeral planning and body preparation. It makes sense to me why this book needed to tackle a wealth of issues, including faith, since that’s something hit upon quite heavily in Donna’s school and internship. Although I wasn’t crazy impressed with the writing, I would have read another 50 or 100 pages of this story to see that fleshed out further.

Putting Makeup on Dead People is a good read for your younger teens who like stories about growing up, finding oneself, and non-traditional routes post-high school. There aren’t enough stories that touch that topic, and this is a worthy entry into that area. Despite the weaknesses in this story, I am eager to see what Violi writes in the future, as she managed to keep me reading and interested in Donna’s final outcome anyway.

Picked up at ALA. Putting Makeup on Dead People will be released May 24.

Laika by Nick Abadzis

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I need to preface this review with a warning: There will be spoilers.  Although the events of the book are historical fact and therefore what happens isn’t really “spoiling” anything, I feel it’s better to err on the side of caution.

Laika by Nick Abadzis is a graphic novel about the Soviet space program – specifically Sputnik and Sputnik II – and a dog named Laika, whom the Soviets sent into space on Sputnik II with no plans for a return journey.  It’s also the story of the scientists and engineers who worked with her.
Laika begins with a man named Korolev making his way out of a gulag.  He was a political prisoner put away on false charges, and now he’s been allowed to leave.  Eighteen years later he is leading the Soviet space program.

The story then switches to our furry friend Laika, and her path to the space program is a twisty one.  She’s the unwanted puppy in a high-ranking government official’s home, then given to a young boy who doesn’t want her and abandons her on the street, then a stray who takes up with another dog for protection, and finally a captured dog taken to the space program.  There, Laika is taken under the care of Yelena Dubrovsky, a lab technician whose job it is to care for the dogs in the space program and ensure they are healthy for training.

The story is a good one, but it takes awhile to get to the good bits.  The beginning is a bit meandering – the parts with Korolev are not terribly interesting and can be a little confusing to readers who don’t fully understand the context.  Laika’s long road to the space program is also a bit tiring at times, and I feel like Abadzis dwelled too long on that journey.  I don’t think any parts should have been omitted, but perhaps condensing them a little would have helped.

Once we’re in the space program, things pick up quite nicely.  Abadzis does an excellent job of showing what training the dogs undertook, who was involved in the process, and how those working with the dogs felt about their work.  There’s a pretty intimidating culture of fear there – Yelena and a few of her fellow scientists and engineers often will not speak up about the welfare of the dogs for fear of reprisals.  At the same time, the scientists and engineers also feel that the work they are doing is of vital importance (it is a precursor to sending a man into space, after all), and they’re not fundamentally opposed to it.  This serves to humanize the characters.  Instead of two-dimensional puppy-killers or bleeding-heart animal lovers, they’re fully realized people, and the reader, as a result, feels for them.  And of course, we feel for the dog intensely.  A book about a dog dying is never not going to be a tearjerker.

The art in Laika didn’t really work for me.  It was difficult for me to tell the difference between the male characters, partly because the shape and design of the faces of the same people seemed to shift from panel to panel.  At times, Yelena’s face is very boxy, other times it’s more round, sometimes her lips appeared thin, sometimes thick, and so on.  I knew it was her because of her blonde hair worn up in a bun (and because at this point in the story, she is the only female), but at those moments when her hair was drawn down, she looked like a completely new character.  The full-color helped, since I could use hair color to identify people, but since most of the male characters had brown hair…well, it was tough sometimes.
Aside from the character’s physical inconsistencies, the art just wasn’t my style.  I prefer cleaner, prettier lines, and Abadzis’ art is sketchier.  He uses facial lines almost excessively, and they make the characters look downright evil sometimes (they’re not).  This aspect is simply a matter of taste, though.

I feel like Laika might have a hard time finding its audience.  There’s a cute dog on the front cover, which means it should appeal to young kids, but the reader really needs some background knowledge of the space race and the Cold War to fully understand what’s going on.  Then again, this is a story that can function on two levels and thus might appeal to both the younger and older set: the younger kids may only follow the story about the dog going into space (which may very well be enough for them), while the older kids and adults should understand both the story and its context.  Still, I’d recommend Laika most for those older kids since the book opens with Korolev leaving the gulag and takes a bit to get to the actual dog.
In an interview with Abadzis on Amazon, Abadzis says he deliberately tried to avoid making the book overly sentimental, which he accomplishes by not anthropomorphizing Laika.  It’s a good decision, but Abadzis’ feelings on the topic still come across pretty loud and clear.  After all, he closes the book with the following quotation from Oleg Gazenko, a scientist who worked on the project and one of the main characters in the story (and I also feel it’s the best way to close my review):
“Work with animals is a source of suffering to all of us.  We treat them like babies who cannot speak.  The more time passes, the more I’m sorry about it.  We did not learn enough from this mission to justify the death of the dog.”