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Enchanted Ivy by Sarah Beth Durst

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In Enchanted Ivy, Lily is visiting her dream college, Princeton, with her mother and grandfather for her grandfather’s 50th class reunion.  Her grandfather, being deliberately cryptic, takes her to a super-secret meeting on campus where she’s told she’s been selected to take the Legacy Test.  Her task is to find the Ivy Key.  She’s given no other hints or direction – it’s simply “Find the Ivy Key.”  If she passes, she’s guaranteed acceptance into Princeton.  If she fails, she’s not guaranteed acceptance, but she’ll still get her fair shot with all the other applicants.
It seems like a win-win scenario: she won’t really lose anything by trying, and if she passes the test, the stress of applying and waiting for the acceptance letter will be off her shoulders for good.  Of course, as soon as Lily undertakes the test, she discovers that nothing is as it seems – the gargoyles start talking to her, she’s being followed around by a boy with orange hair who says he wants to help (but does he?), and then she’s attacked by a creature that can’t possibly exist.  Suddenly, the test has turned dangerous and the stakes have risen.

I loved the idea of a Da Vinci Code-type scavenger hunt on a college campus, and the idea of talking gargoyles was different enough to intrigue me.  Talking gargoyles have of course been done before, but at least they’re not fairies or vampires or something else that I’m completely burned out on.  I was interested to see what Durst would do with them.
Unfortunately, the scavenger hunt only lasted about a third of the book (maybe even less), and the plot devolved from that point.  On her quest to find the Ivy Key, Lily discovers that Princeton is the gateway to a magical realm, another Princeton populated by a bevy of magical creatures including dragons and various were-animals.  The rest of the book involves Lily’s interactions with the orange-haired boy and the graduates who assigned her the test, her explorations of the magical Princeton and its denizens, and several (and I mean several) revelations about her own family (including her mentally unstable mother).
It could have been interesting, but it’s mostly just messy.  The plot points are thrown at the reader rapidly without much fleshing out.  There’s certainly something to be said for a fast-moving plot (I’m a huge fan when it’s done well), but it still needs to be written convincingly.  Durst didn’t make me believe in her story, and as a result I couldn’t get lost in it.  There’s too much going on.  There’s also a fairly pedestrian love triangle that is so underdeveloped I wish it weren’t there at all.  (This love triangle does bring us some monumentally cheesy lines about soul mates and the like – perhaps my younger self would not have rolled her eyes as I did a few weeks ago when I read the book.)
I think the story would have been so much stronger if Durst had weeded out a few of the stray plot points and concentrated her efforts on fleshing out the central ideas.  The story would have been simpler and there would have been a lot fewer “oh my gosh!” moments, but the characters and setting would also have been given more time to shine.  Sometimes simplifying a book’s plot can make it a more complex read in terms of character or theme.
My other main complaint is that the other Princeton wasn’t developed enough for my liking.  I’m a hardcore fantasy lover and read it almost exclusively as a teenager – I demand a lot from my magical worlds.  Other readers may not be so demanding and may actually appreciate a lot less world-building in their fantasy novels (those weirdos…I kid, I kid).  It didn’t help that one of Lily’s first sights when she’s in the magical Princeton is of dragons flying over a playing field.  From then on, other Princeton looked like Hogwarts to me.
Enchanted Ivy had a lot that appealed to me as a student.  I would have grabbed this title my junior year of high school when I was feeling the pressure about getting into the good colleges (and I wasn’t even applying to places like Princeton).  There aren’t enough books that talk about the college experience, and while Lily isn’t really a college student yet, at least she’s on a college campus, so we’re halfway there.
I can appreciate what Durst was trying to do with Enchanted Ivy, but it didn’t really pull itself together in the end.  I’d recommend the book to teens who are looking for a different sort of fantasy – not your usual paranormal or fairy tale re-telling, but also not something that requires a huge investment in world-building on the scale of a lot of epic fantasies out there today.  It’s a light read and doesn’t take long to get through, but it could have been much better.

Real Mermaids Don’t Wear Toe Rings by Helene Boudreau

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Jade is 13 years old and has just gotten her period, right in the middle of a department store changing room. She thought that trying to find the perfect bathing suit for her best friend Cori’s pool party was bad enough, but this takes trauma to a whole new level. And, of course, due to embarrassment over her late blooming, Jade had lied to Cori years earlier about already getting her period. So the only person she can talk to about everything is her father, who’s already overprotective due to the sad death of Jade’s mother by drowning the previous year. Which leads to Jade’s father careening down the aisle of the drugstore, cart filled with every sanitary product imaginable—right in front of Luke, Jade’s crush. Could life get any worse?

Well…yes. A few hours later, while relaxing in a bath with Epsom salts to help her painful cramps–Jade suddenly sprouts a tail. A real, live, holy-crap-I’m-a-mermaid??? tail.
Jade soon discovers that her mother was also a mermaid, and her parents were just waiting to see if Jade would show any ‘symptoms’ someday. But if her mother was a mermaid, that begs the question: How could a mermaid drown? Upon investigation, Jade soon discovers an entire world of mermaids in the waters around her coastal town, both friend and foe.
Real Mermaids Don’t Wear Toe Rings was absolutely adorable. I think that mermaids may be the one type of paranormal novel that I have not yet burnt out on. While many aspects of this novel were fantastical, Boudreau grounds the more far-fetched aspects of the story in the protagonist, Jade, an utterly realistic thirteen year old dealing with everyday issues: getting her period, crushing on a seemingly unattainable boy, struggling with body image, and feeling insanely guilty for not being able to tell ANYONE the biggest secret of her life. Jade is self-conscious about her body and worried about acceptance, timid with boys yet utterly at home with her friends. Also, it is wonderful to see a character who worries about her stomach and her thighs without having these worries take over her entire life. She is also close with her father, who is both dealing with the aftermath of his wife’s death while struggling with being a single parents. Jade’s father is overwhelmingly supportive without being overbearing.
The portrayal of Jade and Cori’s friendship is also utterly refreshing. Cori is a three-dimensional character who is slighted when Jade distances herself after the big discovery. Cori’s reactions and emotions are utterly believable, but it is also wonderful to see how she stands by Jade in the end. Boudreau infuses this friendship with realism and the small details that truly bring these characters to life.
The author creates a rich, unique mermaid mythology in Real Mermaids Don’t Wear Toe Rings, not content to simply use the traditional ‘palace under the sea’ tale that we see so often. The details of Jade’s transformation and her mother’s heritage are explained well and fully, and the mermaid creatures living in the waters around Jade’s town have their own twist, as well. In a far-fetched tale such as this one, water-tight details help to make the unbelievable believable.
This was a fun, quick read that left me with a smile on my face. While this book would most likely appeal to a middle grade audience, the lower end of YA would also enjoy it. I would of course hand this to fans of Tera Lynn Child’s Forgive My Fins, but a readalike more similar in tone would definitely be Erin Dionne’s Models Don’t Eat Chocolate Cookies.

Entangled by Cat Clarke

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Grace wakes up and begins writing. It’s all she’s allowed to do in this white room, with white sheets, white walls, a white floor.

She starts on Day 3 of being in this place.

Entangled is a story that unravels bit by bit through Grace’s diary. Each page brings us one step closer to understanding where she is and why she’s here. Something horrible has happened in her life, though it’s never entirely clear what THE event was that caused things to spiral. As readers, we’re left to piece together our conclusions.

Clarke does something really smart in the way she invites us into Grace’s world. The people in her life are introduced purposefully: we first meet Ethan. He plays a large part in Grace being where she is and he’s a large point of reference for her while she writes through her thoughts. He’s — if you will — her “after.” After we get to know and build a trust with Ethan, we’re taken back a step further to meet best friend Sal. We know early on that something awful happened to Sal. Grace is there to support her, but Sal pushes her away until she ultimately blames her for the events. Their relationship is rocky. Sal’s sort of that middle place: she’s not Grace’s “after” nor her “before.” Then we meet Nat. He’s the guy Grace has a real relationship with. She spends a lot of time thinking about him in her writing and talking specifically about those feelings she’s developed and the uncertainty of his reciprocating them. She wants to tell him she loves him, but how? Fortunately, he makes the first move.

Or is it so fortunate?

I’ll say this much: he’s also not her “before.” He’s right there with Sal in that middle area. Then there is her “before.” Because I don’t want to give it away, I won’t hint as to what it is. When you read this book, Grace drops clues leading you to what it might be. But then it comes together in a much more shocking manner and in a way that explains Grace and her actions so well. And because we’re working through these things with Grace in her diary, we see it surprises her, too. It’s a thread she herself doesn’t fully grasp until the end, though the end is really her beginning.

I’ve explained far more about plot than I intended but that’s because this is a tough book to describe succinctly. There is so much going on in Grace’s mind that it would be impossible to boil it down to one thing that causes her to end up in this place. It’s also hard not to spoil the revelations and twists that happen. But if I were to say what my impression of the book is it’s this: Entangled is a story of grief. It’s not just about grief, though. It’s also about love and romance and what it feels like to hit rock bottom and be unsure how to claw back up and out.

Clarke’s voice for Grace is one of the most realistic 17-year-olds I’ve read. Grace, despite being in her mental state, is witty and thoughtful, as well as sad, broken, and ultimately, hopeful. The way she interacts with Nat, Ethan, and Sal are realistic, and the way their friendships and romances wax and wane are spot on. And the feelings she has she doesn’t hold back on: there is one scene where she feels so alone and broken, and she is uninhibited talking about how another girl’s ability to recognize she exists meant the world to her. It’s in those moments that we really connect with Grace and want her to succeed.

Grace isn’t necessarily a good girl, nor is she really a bad girl. She’s flawed. Some readers will be repulsed by her and find how she acts and treats those around her inappropriate. Others will find her extremely likable. I found myself rooting for her completely — she’s got it rough, and it seems like so many people aren’t willing to reach out to her in this time. Except Ethan, that is. But here’s the thing: I’m not sure Ethan’s really there pulling for her either. I think it’s Grace pulling for herself the entire time. She is both her best friend and worst enemy, and it all goes back to her being perfectly 17.

This book is extremely well constructed. At times, you feel like you know what’s going to happen, but then Clarke pushes a new twist in the narrative — into Grace’s diary — and suddenly things aren’t as clear as they seemed. In the end, though, they fuse in a way that makes perfect sense. We have immediate access to Grace’s mind; we’re working things out right along with her, and it’s usually pretty sloppy and all over the place. But, Grace is much smarter than she gives herself credit for, and we’re lucky to see that ourselves.

Entangled reminded me of what Courtney Summers does in Fall for Anything — we have a girl struggling to come to terms with unfettered grief. And what I love is how different this book is from Summers’s. The way Grace works through it is unique, and that’s precisely why I think these two titles are such great readalikes to one another. They’re almost in an interesting conversation with one another, reassuring the reader that there is no one way to work through anything and there’s no one answer to right and wrong. There’s nothing that can explain some of the most mysterious and horrible aspects of life.

What probably excites me most about this book is that someone can read it and completely disagree with every word of my interpretation of intention. There is so much going on and so many possibilities at the core of this novel, that another reader can walk away thinking this book is primarily about the destructive power of love and friendship. And you know, they’re right, too. This is also a book about self mutilation and a book about teen pregnancy (and there is an abortion, which is a topic recently discussed here).

Without doubt, this is one of the strongest books I’ve read in a long time, though it certainly won’t be for everyone. It’s intense and dark, and it is completely unflinching. Clarke does not shy away from graphic details — they’re real but never once over-the-top or included simply to get a rise from the reader. It goes back to Grace being 17 and to her dealing with grief the only way she knows how.

I hope this book makes its way overseas soon, as this is a UK release by a debut author. You can purchase it right here. I am so glad I bought it because it’s one I know I’ll revisit.

Leftovers by Laura Wiess

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As is probably very apparent, I don’t read much contemporary YA. I prefer my stories with magic or mystery (or both). Then I saw three contemporary books by Laura Wiess – small, lightweight paperbacks with oh so smooth covers and a single image on the front. They just felt so good in my hands, I decided (after a perusal of the summaries) to give them a shot.

I started with Such a Pretty Girl (a fast and disturbing read about a teenager who’s been sexually assaulted by her father) and moved immediately on to Leftovers. The title refers to the two protagonists, Blair and Ardith, best friends in 9th grade who are the “leftovers” of their families. Blair is the daughter of a high-powered defense attorney with aspirations to a judgeship. Ardith’s parents have turned their home into the local party house, hosting bashes for underage teens every weekend where drugs, alcohol, and sex all flow free. Both girls are alternately ignored or used by their parents as well as adults and their peers at school.

The book’s synopsis will tell you that Blair and Ardith have done something terrible, and they have – but what they’ve done is not revealed until the very end of the book. The bulk of Leftovers consists of the girls telling an initially unknown person in alternating chapters of the events that led up to the terrible act. Some of the events may seem unrelated at first, but they all coalesce at the end and the effect is a powerful one.

Whenever an author decides to tell a story using more than one voice, she’s taking a risk. Will the two voices be distinct enough? Will both be equally interesting and engaging? Wiess succeeds in this regard – Blair and Ardith are sufficiently different that I could recognize who was relating which part of the story without being told. Wiess uses the same font for both girls; different fonts are not necessary to tell them apart.

But alternating points of view is the not the riskiest technique Wiess uses: the majority of the story is told in second person. As Blair and Ardith relate their sections of the tale, they refer to themselves as “you” instead of “I.” Therefore, it is not Blair or Ardith who is experiencing these events and having these thoughts, it is you, the reader. You’re the one who feels the pain and fear and hope and desperation and love of our narrators. The second person technique places the reader squarely in the footsteps of the girls and works wonderfully as a device for stirring empathy.

Wiess has a great knack for really getting the reader into these girls’ heads. Blair and Ardith are both in awful situations (including violence, sexual assault, and neglect), situations which I have never been in, but I still found it easy to relate to both of them. I credit the choice of second person for a lot of this and Wiess’ writing for the rest. The girls’ love for each other and pain over what has happened in their lives are so believable, I became deeply invested in their story. This is vital when we know ahead of time that the girls have done something awful – we need that sympathy and we need to feel it strongly.

Leftovers has its weaknesses. This is only the second book by Wiess I’ve read, but she reuses a lot of the same minor plot devices from Such a Pretty Girl: the girls are vegetarians and make a point of letting the reader know it; there’s a sympathetic police officer; both girls are in a parochial school where 9th grade is still in middle school; and so on. I’m concerned that over time, the voices of the teenage girls Wiess uses may blend together because of these factors.

Still, Leftovers is a marked improvement over Such a Pretty Girl, which I also enjoyed. The characters are more fully-formed (even if the adults remain a bit one-dimensional), the themes are deeper, and the plot is tighter.  If all contemporary YA books were written with this level of skill and intensity, I might read a lot more of them.

Trapped by Michael Northrop

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Imagine for a second the worst snow storm you’ve ever experienced. Then imagine something ten times worse. You think it might be impossible, but as a midwesterner, I promise you it is. That is what Michael Northrop’s Trapped is about, seasoned with the flavorings of the classic film The Breakfast Club.

Everyone went to school the day the storm began; even though the news spoke of doom and gloom, everyone assumed that it was over-hyped media sensationalism and that the storm could not possible be that bad. These kids live in rural New England and are used to storms coming through regularly. Scotty, our main character, continues planning for practice later in the day, even though it’s likely to get canceled — that is, until Pete and Jason, his best friends, convince him that he should come help them work on Jason’s flammenwerfer in the shop after school closes rather than hit the court. I won’t tell you what this flammenwefer is because I haven’t laughed so hard in a long time when I got to this in the book. Best experienced first hand.

As the day goes on, administration gets worried at the rate of snow and the worsening road conditions, so everyone is being sent home early. All after school activities are canceled. Scotty would be content to head home but being easily swayed as he is, he sticks around with Pete and Jason (concocting some creative storytelling to the teachers who question them) and eventually, they’re all locked inside.

And they discover that they aren’t the only teens left there alone. Let’s just say that being stuck inside your school during the worst snow storm on record isn’t the place you want to be.

Trapped is part survival story and part comedy. It’s realistic and has a fresh, funny, and strong voice through Scotty. Northrop’s writing is smooth and conversational, and it is spot-on guy speak. He manages to squeeze in a million very funny references and allusions and while at times it can become over-the-top, that’s perfectly fitting with Scotty’s personality. In a book that’s focus is on this big event, there’s little time for strong character development from the beginning, so having this voice was essential to drawing the reader in and keeping them hooked.

Since this is a modern setting, you’re probably wondering why the kids don’t just call home or hop on the internet. Well, when the storm hit, power lines went down — they were iced over and snapped. That killed the computers and the lights. Anyone who has been inside a thick walled building like a school knows, too, that cell phone reception is dicey on a sunny day, so the weather certainly contributed to their inability to reach out. Likewise, all of the kids became aware that even if they could reach out, they had no idea what value it would have: they didn’t know whether their parents were home from work before the storm hit or dead in a ditch some where. They certainly couldn’t come out and save them. Again, speaking from snow survival experience, all of these things were really plausible to me and I think any person who lives in a snowy environment will understand and accept these things without question.

If you’re familiar at all with The Breakfast Club, you’ll get a good idea of what happens to these teens trapped inside. They all have very different backgrounds and personality quirks, and it’s through Scotty’s perspective we get them. Add to that the snowpocalypse and you have an even more fascinating story of personal dynamics.

Although I loved this book — the fresh voice and plot in particular — the entire last chapter bummed me out. I suppose it had to happen as it did, but for me as a reader, I felt almost cheated. Perhaps had the book been longer I’d have been okay with it, but because I had gotten to know Scotty and trust him well enough, I wanted something less satisfying.

This is a fast paced story, and it’ll have strong appeal for more reluctant readers who will attach easily to Scotty. Hand this book to your guy readers, though there’s also little doubt on the appeal to girl readers. For fans of witty main characters, survival stories, and books that tackle those questions that live on everyone’s minds (“What would happen if we got snowed into school?”), this is a no-brainer. While reading this, I couldn’t help but think that this is the kind of book made for teen creative writing classes; Northrop’s story line is one that we’ve all thought about and gets to the heart of the idea of taking those questions and fears and writing about them.

And this probably can go without saying, but fans of The Breakfast Club will no doubt see the parallels here and embrace them. That was precisely what drew me in.