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books

The Girl in the Book: Two Snappy Reviews

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Girl on a Wire by Gwenda Bond
Jules is a wire-walker, trained by her father (the best in the business) and passionate about her craft. When her family is invited to join a prominent, up and coming circus, Jules persuades them to agree, even though it means performing with their long-established enemies. Many years ago, mysterious deaths occurred, and Jules’ grandmother – suspected to be able to administer curses – was blamed. Now, strange accidents are happening again, and Jules teams up with the teenage boy from the other family to try and unravel what really happened all those years ago – whether it really was magic, whether her grandmother really was responsible, and how it all ties into to what’s going on now.

This book could be called magical realism. It’s never established 100% whether the curses are really magic, though Jules comes to believe they are by the end of the book (and I believed it as well). This aspect is the weakest part of the book. The performers are a superstitious lot and the curses all come down to an exploitation of those superstitions (an unlucky color sneaked onto a costume, for instance). Where the novel shines is in Jules’ performances on the wire, which are exciting and full of tension. She’s even better than her father, but the psychological effect of the curses is such that she wobbles. While balancing on a wire strung between buildings. With nothing to catch her below. Yikes. Off the wire, Jules wanders around playing detective, trying to solve the mystery of the past, and it’s not terribly interesting. It makes the book seem pretty episodic: a wire walk (fascinating!), then a clue-gathering mission (snooze), then another performance (nail-biting), and more sleuthing (zzzzzz). While I wouldn’t recommend the book to someone wanting a magical fantasy or a scintillating mystery, it should appeal to readers interested in the circus or high-risk professions.

Finished copy provided by the publisher.

The Girl From the Well by Rin Chupeco
This is solid horror with some creative storytelling choices. It’s told from the point of view of Okiku, the subject of the well-known Japanese ghost story The Ring, but her perspective is fragmented, and her story is really a frame for the story of a modern-day boy named Tark. Tark himself is haunted, not only by Okiku, but also by something much more malevolent. Okiku is initially passive in Tark’s story, but she’s drawn further into his life as she observes more of it – as she learns that Tark can sense her, too, and that she has a reason for being there with him. This ghost story is more unsettling than it is scary. It should appeal to fans of Japanese horror, though I thought it dragged a bit. It’s a debut, and I find that pacing is often a weakness in first novels. Still, it’s got a great (creepy!) ending and I appreciated the fresh perspective.

Book borrowed from my library.

Graphic Novel Roundup

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El Deafo by Cece Bell
I don’t read a lot of nonfiction, but I do have a weakness for graphic memoirs. This one is superb – perfect for middle grade readers, with vibrant cartoon-like art (that reminds me a little of the Arthur cartoons) and a winning story. It’s a great read for deaf and hearing readers alike, giving mirrors to the former and windows to the latter. Even aside from that aspect of the book, it’s just a great story about growing up, about the vagaries of childhood friendships (I think we have each had or been a Laura, a Ginny, or a Martha) and the challenges we all face as we navigate adolescence. The way the story is presented is what elevates the book above some other memoirs. The representation of the kids as long-eared rabbits is a genius idea, and Cece’s imagination of herself as a superhero looking for a sidekick is such a great parallel to the real challenges she faces. What kid hasn’t dreamed up something like this?

The Red Shoes and Other Tales by Metaphrog
This is a really slim collection of three stories by Metaphrog, two of them retellings of Hans Christian Andersen fairy tales and one original. The titular story involves a girl named Karen who is given some very fancy red shoes and finds herself unable to stop dancing while wearing them. The other Andersen tale is The Little Match Girl, and the original story is called The Glass Case, which has a similar feel to the others (un-Disneyfied and somewhat gruesome, depressing, or both). I love the rich colors on the cover, but I found the art to be mostly uninspired. Faces aren’t terribly expressive (they’re either neutral or shocked) and the colors are much more muted on the inside. (To be fair, this was a review copy; it’s possible the look will change in the final version.) The re-tellings themselves are simply done, like the original fairy tales but lacking the depth I find simple language often gives. I’m always eager for fairy tale interpretations, but this one fell short.

This One Summer by Mariko and Jillian Tamaki
I have some prejudices when it comes to graphic novels, the biggest of which is I don’t really care for black and white art. This One Summer isn’t precisely black and white (it has a purplish/bluish tinge to it), but it basically is, and that’s the main reason I passed it by when it was first published. (I pretty much read every single full-color graphic novel First Second produces.) And then it won a Caldecott Honor and a Printz Honor, so I re-evaluated. The art really is very good. With black and white art, I always have to force myself to stop and peruse it rather than breezing by it, taking it in simply as a part of the story. Some of the spreads are even quite lovely, though I’d say Jillian Tamaki’s style is more interesting than beautiful. Her characters are expressive and diverse, and her backdrops are wonderfully detailed.

Books borrowed from my local library, except for The Red Shoes, which was provided by the publisher.

No Parking at the End Times by Bryan Bliss

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When Abigail’s father loses his job, things in her household change. Her father becomes fascinated with Brother John, and soon, he’s convinced her mother to follow the word of Brother John as well. He promises a better afterlife, and it’s one that’s coming soon.

It takes little time for Abigail’s father to begin selling their earthly possessions. Despite not being on board, Abigail and her twin brother Aaron are pulled into this world, forced to climb into the traveling van and leave their home town in North Carolina for San Francisco, where Brother John would be waiting with the rest of his followers for the rapture.

But when they arrive in San Francisco, homeless and mostly possession-less, the rapture doesn’t come. And rather than turn back or give up, Abigail and Aaron’s father decides they have to stick it out. They have to have faith that Brother John knows what’s happening.

They have to have faith that God has a reason for things not to come to an end, even on the date Brother John believed it would happen.

No Parking at the End Times is Bryan Bliss’s debut novel, and it’s a knock out. Where many stories of the rapture in YA happen prior to it, this takes place after the failed event. But this isn’t really a story about the rapture. It’s much more a story about family and togetherness, with a unique take on homelessness.

Throughout the story, we’re shown an angry, frustrated character in Aaron. As much as Abigail tries to break through to him and tries to get him to talk with her, he won’t. Instead, he’s sneaking out of the van at night. It’s not until Abigail threatens to follow him that she finds out his nightly trips are his way of making friends and connections in San Francisco; he’s become friends with a group of homeless teens.

Despite finding a sort of community, being in San Francisco is the last thing Aaron wants. He’s eager to get out, and he’s upfront with Abigail about how they need to figure out how to get away. When they make a plan that seems achievable and make strides toward getting out, though, he becomes unable to follow through because of some of the people with whom he’d been associating at night.

From the start, neither Abigail nor Aaron are on board with their father and mother’s devotion to Brother John. As readers, we’re also exceptionally frustrated — why would a father do this to his family? He’s sold their lives away, and he willingly sacrifices security and safety in the name of faith in this system. He hands over money, and he at times cheats the system. Mother follows along, mostly, her voice and story a far smaller part of the story than the father’s until the end.

But there are cracks.

As much as we’re left to be angry at both mom and dad for how selfish and self-serving they’re being, we’re also allowed to see they truly believe that having faith — that believing good things will happen — will get them through this tough situation. They’ve found places to get free meals, and they’ve learned where they can park at night to keep their family safe. They continue attending church services, as well as offering money to Brother John, believing with their whole hearts that this is the right thing to do. That it is what will solve their problems and make a better life for their children. Though they want their kids to follow Brother John and his word, they don’t force them to attend services or counseling with him.

It’s blind faith, of course, and it’s the kind of faith that overruns practicality and sufficiency. But it’s done out of utter love for their children, even if their children are the ones who suffer the consequences of these decisions.

Bliss does an excellent job in his portrayal of homelessness. In multiple instances throughout the story, Abigail has a painful realization that what she believed homelessness looked like isn’t always what homelessness is. The people Aaron hangs out with are homeless, and even though they fit what she thought homelessness would look like, she’s surprised to see how human and how relatable and likable some of those people are. When Abigail is confronted with the reality that, despite her internal protests, she and her family are homeless, too, it’s tough for her to swallow. She isn’t like the them of her imagined state of homeless people. Her family didn’t choose to become homeless. And yet, this is still homelessness and it’s still the situation her family is in. More, she comes to the realization that adults can be wrong and make poor choices that do indeed change the lives of those for whom they’re entrusted to care. It’s because of her parents choosing to give all of their money to Brother John that she has a limited selection of things to wear and can’t get her clothing dirty. It’s because of her parents selling everything for this trip to San Francisco that they’re brushing their teeth in public restrooms.

Abigail’s voice in this book is what stands out most — she is straightforward in how she feels, even if she doesn’t always act upon her intuitions when she thinks she should. She’s full of love and full of want, despite the set backs in her life and despite the fact she’s learning that her situation is worse than she thought. It’s in the moments when reality hits perception that readers see how desperate her and her family’s situation really is.

No Parking at the End Times is a respectful story. This isn’t about bashing faith or God or belief in any way, despite the premise being about parents who are devoted to a religious cult-like leader. It’s an entire story about the limits of faith. Have it, use it, believe in it, but don’t let it be the only currency in your life.

The ending of this book is a little tidy, but it doesn’t feel undeserved. In fact, it’s that final chapter, where Abigail has to face God and faith again where we see that this isn’t a story that decries religion but instead, seeks to talk about how it’s a deeply personal and sometimes extremely challenging experience.

This is a tightly-written, engaging read and would make for an excellent next read for those who love Sara Zarr, especially Once Was Lost. Pass this along, too, to those readers who loved Blake Nelson’s The Prince of Venice Beach — the depictions of homelessness are worth looking at together — and/or Melissa Walker’s Small Town Sinners. Bliss is an author to keep an eye on, and I’m really looking forward to seeing what a sophomore novel will look like, after this powerful debut.

Review copy received from the publisher. No Parking at the End Times publishes tomorrow, February 24. 

Princess Decompsia and Count Spatula by Andi Watson + A Special Bonus Comic!

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I never quite realized how much I enjoy a graphic novel where food plays a central part in the story.

Or maybe I did — I love Sara Varon’s Bake Sale and Lucy Knisley’s Relish and I dug Bryan Lee O’Malley’s Seconds — and I never quite put all of the pieces together that stories revolving around food or cooking done in a visual format tick all of my boxes.

Although Andi Watson’s latest Princess Decomposia and Count Spatula won’t go down on my all-time favorites list, this is a weirdly charming and enjoyable read, perfect for middle grade readers through adults. “Weirdly charming” is a compliment, not a criticism.

Princess Decomposia is a busy and overworked princess of the underworld. She’s constantly being called on to take care of tasks, as her father, the king, is weak and ill. He’s not just weak and ill; he’s also particular and picky. When he decides it’s time to fire the chef, he puts it upon Princess Decomposia to hire a replacement. And, of course, this replacement has to be good. Or at least, the replacement has to be good enough to make Qwik Soup, which is the meals served to the king each day. He’s a health nut, following the latest fads, but he doesn’t seem to eat anything except that soup.

That is clue number one something is strange about this guy.

After a round of interviews and taste tests, Princess Decomposia hires Count Spatula to be the kingdom’s chef. He’s well versed in all manner of cooking, though he has a fondness and particular strength for baking sweets. That makes perfect sense for a vampire, of course. Where he hopes he showcase his talents, he’s met with resistance from Clove, one of the assistants; she tells him regularly that he doesn’t need to be doing more than making soup since the king doesn’t want anything more than that. Count Spatula doesn’t listen, though, and instead, he continues to tinker with ideas in the kitchen. He’s even brought out his special baking talents at important dinners.

This isn’t a story about his cooking, though. This is instead a story about the relationship that develops between Count Spatula and Princess Decomposia. She’s extremely overworked and over-pressured, and as he watches her stress out and take on more than her fair share, Count Spatula begins to wonder why she’s working so hard. What’s in it for her? More, as he watches the closeness of Clove and her family — depicted in extremely sweet images — Count begins to pry into Princess Decomposia’s life. Is she happy? Why does she feel like she has to take on all of this work, especially as her father isn’t keeping a close eye on her? As the princess and count grow closer, she begins to see the value in taking time for herself and exploring the passions she has.

In fact, she may even try to do something on her very own for herself and no one else. Perhaps she’ll even do a little delegation of responsibility.

It’s not going to be that easy though, and that’s because the king isn’t as sick as he’s making himself out to be. When he gets a whiff of what his daughter is talking about with Count Spatula and when he begins to suspect that things aren’t being done according to his orders, suddenly, there’s a very different king around. One who isn’t sick. One who wants to bring his daughter back under his total and complete control.

Princess Decomposia and Count Spatula does contain romance, and it’s done in a sweet way. I did stop and pause for a moment at the end of the book, wondering what the ages of these characters were, despite the fact they’re not rendered as humans. Decomposia feels very young, while Count Spatula feels much older — he is a chef, after all. But in the end, this budding romance didn’t run into any ick factors at all and since this is a graphic novel perfectly appropriate for younger readers, it’ll feel like a nice payoff, rather than a plot element shoe horned in to give the book more strength. There’s enough relationship development as is, and the romance itself doesn’t become apparent for a long time. Instead, it’s a sweet connection that circles the themes of growing up and understanding what independence and choice really are. There’s also a thought-provoking and rarely-explored look at the importance of not taking on too much work and using delegation skills to manage your time and energy. I can’t name a graphic novel that’s done that before nor done it in a way that doesn’t feel over-the-top or overwhelming. It’s not didactic at all. Parents don’t always know best, and Watson scratches at that topic while offering a why — however good it is — behind the king’s behavior and actions.

It’s the descriptions and depictions of food in this graphic novel that were the most enjoyable for me. The sweets are rendered as things bigger than what they are — the mud cake is depicted as a Mud Monster Cake, and Princess and her dinner guests have to “attack” it to enjoy. These creations are fun and silly, which enhances the story’s charm. The storytelling outshines the illustrations for me in this book, except in the food department. That’s where Watson’s creativity shines, with the story and the illustrations marrying together nicely.

Pass along Princess Decomposia and Count Spatula to readers who like off-beat stories, brimming with fun, eccentric characters. This is a very British comic, so be prepared to encounter some less-familiar food and language choices. Readers who have been charmed by Sara Varon’s work in the past will find this to be a good next read.

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As part of the blog tour for Andi Watson’s Princess Decomposia and Count Spatula, he created a series of brand-new, never-before-shared illustrations. We’re really excited to share this one, which is perfectly representative of the strengths of this graphic novel. You can see exactly what I mean by the creative spin on dessert creation and how these foods come alive on the page and in the story. (I won’t lie — the hipster joke is my favorite part). 
Enjoy! Make sure you check out all of the stops for this tour to see even more of Watson’s delicious comics. 

Romance Roundup (aka Why You Should Read Courtney Milan)

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Right before I dug into my Cybils reading late last year, I inhaled a huge pile of historical romance novels. I had just learned about Courtney Milan and was reading everything of hers I could get my hands on, even the novellas (and I usually consider novellas a waste of my time). I like all of her books and love a good number of them, so she’s become my new go-to recommendation for someone looking for a good historical romance. They’re feminist and take the “historical” part of the genre seriously.

Sadly, my library doesn’t own her entire oeuvre, so I cannot pass judgment on everything she’s ever published. (Despite my requests, they don’t own either of the Carhart books or the novella, to my everlasting disappointment.) Still, I thought I’d give a quick run-down of the books I have read, in hopes of encouraging those of you who enjoy historical romances to give her a try (or just ask me how I’m so late to the party since you’ve been reading her for years).

(I promise this blog isn’t turning into an adult romance-only blog. I’ll be back with the regular YA programming soon.)



The Brothers Sinister Series
This is the first series of hers I read, and it’s by far my favorite. I talked a little about The Duchess War and The Heiress Effect in this previous post. The series continues with The Countess Conspiracy, which is my favorite of the bunch. It features a female scientist, Viola Waterfield, who for years has been convincing her friend Sebastian to present her findings as his to the public, since the public at this time would never take a woman seriously. Sebastian has been in love with Viola for a long time, and now that Viola has been widowed, he sees an opportunity to discover if their friendship can develop into something more.

This book combines a few things that I really love in my romance novels: a hero who has been pining for the heroine for quite some time; a super-smart heroine who does something unconventional for her time period; and a romance built upon friendship and respect. I’m not a scientist myself, but I loved reading about Viola and her discoveries – which are not historically accurate, of course, since Viola doesn’t actually exist, but the science is sound and fascinating. The dedication to the book is especially moving. This book continues Milan’s trend of blending history and romance in a natural, believable, and engrossing way.

The fourth book is The Suffragette Scandal, which features Frederica “Free” Marshall, the younger sister of the hero from the second book. She runs a newspaper by women and for women, is an outspoken suffragette, and is probably the most independent of Milan’s heroines. I read that Milan initially wanted to pair Free with a man who didn’t at first believe women should have the right to vote, but thankfully she changed her mind. This is the most politically-minded book of the series and I really loved it, though the last third dragged a little more than I would have liked. There’s a secondary romance here (as there was in The Heiress Effect) between two women, and it is equally lovely. Bonus: Check out the Tumblr account “written” by the man who contributes an advice column to Free’s newspaper (and the only man to be employed by her). It is seriously funny.

The novellas in this series are a treat. There’s a prequel, The Governess Affair, about the second book’s hero’s parents. It’s a tricky story since it involves a rape that causes a pregnancy: the heroine has been raped by the hero’s employer, and the rapist basically tells the hero to get rid of her. I was worried the hero wouldn’t be written sympathetically, but he is; the romance between the two is believable and sweet. It’s a bit heavier than normal romance fare, but certainly recommended.

A Kiss for Midwinter is about the friend of the first book’s heroine. She was seduced as a teenager by a man and became pregnant, then lost the pregnancy due to bad medical advice from a doctor. Her hero in this novella is that doctor’s assistant at the time, who said nothing about the bad advice that he knew was being given. And she remembers. This is my favorite of all her novellas. It deals with tough topics – not just the treatment of unmarried pregnant women, but also poverty and illness during this era – but manages to be sweet and optimistic. The chemistry between the two is so apparent, but there’s also a deeper connection built upon the trust that grows between them as they spend time in each other’s company. This is my favorite of all the novellas and I anticipate I’ll be re-reading it a lot.

The last novella is Talk Sweetly to Me, which my library doesn’t own. It’s notable in that it features a Black heroine, which historical romances set in England hardly ever do.
 

The Turner Series
These books were all published in 2011 and precede the Brothers Sinister. My library doesn’t own the first book, Unveiled, though it does own the second and third. All three books are about brothers who grew up with a mentally ill mother who abused them. They’ve had a hard life, and not just due to that. They’re some of the most tortured heroes I’ve ever read about in romance novels, and that is saying something.

Unclaimed is about Mark Turner, who has taken a vow of chastity and become quite famous for it. His love interest is a courtesan. It’s an interesting twist on the typical romance and I enjoyed it; thankfully, it’s got some humor in it. Unraveled is about Smite Turner, and you guys, I just can’t with this book. It is the most angst-ridden romance I’ve ever read. His name is Smite. He was the one who took the brunt of his mother’s abuse as a child and that’s apparent in his personality and outlook on the world (i.e. not positive). There’s very little humor in this one. I liked it, and it had some nice swoony moments, but overall this was just too much for me. I think Milan’s gotten a lot better at creating complex heroes who don’t veer into ridiculous territory with her later books.

Unlocked is the novella in this series, but I didn’t recognize the characters from the full-length books. The hero bullied the heroine a few years past, when they were both adults, in public, for months on end, and he’s returned all sorry and wanting to make amends. I might have believed it in a full-length novel, with more time for me to see his transformation, but it didn’t really work for me as a novella. (Especially when he claims he made fun of her because he liked her. Please. You are an adult.) This was another I liked but didn’t love.
 

Standalone Novellas
The Lady Always Wins is about a couple who were friends as children and then fell in love as they grew up. But Simon’s parents said they’d cut him off from the family money if he married her, and Ginny refused to elope with him. She knows what it’s like to be a woman in this era, married to a poor man. They meet again later and rekindle the romance. I liked this story since there wasn’t any secret reason the woman rejected the man – it really was because he would have been destitute. It can seem heartless in our modern era, but it’s a practical and real concern for Ginny, who as a woman cannot make her own money and knows that poverty can lead to hunger, illness, and a short, unhappy life. Poverty is stripped of its romanticism here.

What Happened at Midnight is probably the most traditional of Milan’s novellas. It involves rich people who lose their money and a huge misunderstanding between the leads as the primary conflict. It also has one of the most subtly awful villains ever. I got so angry reading about him, because he couched all of his awfulness in gentle words and false caring. Worth a read, but again, not a favorite.

Have you read any of Milan’s work? What’s your favorite of hers?