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Graphic Novel Roundup

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The Return of Zita the Spacegirl by Ben Hatke
We return to outer space for this final installment in Hatke’s trilogy about Zita and her adventures on alien planets. Zita has been captured by an evildoer masquerading as an arbiter of justice and put on trial for her “crimes” from the previous two novels. Old friends return to help her escape, of course, and further adventures ensue. Hatke excels at creating truly oddball characters (aliens and robots and strange humans, too), throwing them all together, and letting them develop authentic and fun relationships with each other. The art is lovely as always and the end of the story is poignant and encourages further imagination from the book’s young readers.

Finished copy provided by the publisher. The Return of Zita the Spacegirl is available now.

Andre the Giant: Life and Legend by Box Brown
Brown gives a nuanced portrait of the WWF wrestler and actor from The Princess Bride. I knew practically nothing about him going into this other than the fact that he wrestled and acted in the movie; I learned a lot while reading the book. Andre comes across as complex and not always likeable, but that’s as it should be. Brown has used multiple sources for this biography, all of which he lists in easy to read format at the end. I rarely read source notes, but these were almost as interesting as the biography itself – they reveal just how much of the book was based on others’ perceptions of Andre and how much of it was based on Andre’s own words and actions. Most of the book focuses on Andre’s wrestling and very little of it on The Princess Bride, so fans of the movie may be disappointed. Adult and older teen readers looking for an absorbing graphic biography should find plenty to like here, though.

Review copy provided by the publisher. Andre the Giant: Life and Legend is available now.

Cleopatra in Space #1: Target Practice by Mike Maihack
This book is exactly what it says: the most famous Cleopatra finds a tablet as a teenager and it sends her into space far, far in the future. She lands at a space school where she learns how to fight as well as more mundane things like algebra. She also learns she’s prophesied to defeat a great villain. This is a super fun, full-color graphic novel that smooshes together a lot of high appeal factors: ancient Egypt, space, time travel, a girl protagonist who can fight. It’s got a lot of terrific little details: the school is run by cats, a fun nod to the ancient Egyptian reverence of these animals, and Cleopatra’s future transportation apparatus is a bike that looks like the sphinx. While Cleopatra is 15 here, the book is best suited (and appropriate) for tween readers. I’ll definitely be on the lookout for subsequent volumes.

Review copy picked up at TLA. Cleopatra in Space #1: Target Practice is available now.

Hidden: A Child’s Story of the Holocaust by Loic Dauvillier
Dauvillier’s graphic novel about the Holocaust – a fictional account, not based on any one particular person – shows that it is possible to successfully address horrifying historical events with young children without traumatizing them. One night, a young child comes across her grandmother and notices she is feeling very sad. The grandmother opens up to her granddaughter and shares the story of her childhood in World War II Paris. As a child, Dounia experienced what it was like to first wear the Jewish star, then be separated from her parents and being hidden by various friends and neighbors as violence against Jewish people in France escalated. It’s told in a gentle way, with a focus on universal feelings that both Dounia in the 1940s and her granddaughter in the present day could share. The art is child-friendly and expertly conveys the emotions being expressed. A challenging venture, but well executed.

Finished copy provided by the publisher. Hidden: A Child’s Story of the Holocaust is available now.

Ariol #4: A Beautiful Cow by Emmanuel Guibert
The Ariol books are collections of slice-of-life vignettes that feature a large group of anthropomorphized animals representing kids about 8-10 years old. Ariol is a donkey who has a crush on a cow named Petula (the cow of the title), but not many of the stories actually involve Petula. Several of them are school stories. One involves a group of the kids/animals thinking they’ve come down with fleas – but is it just a ploy to get out of class? Another features Ariol and his friend visiting his grandparents; another is about school picture day. The vignettes (drawn with slightly cartoonish, but not exaggerated, illustrations) are relatable to kids with understated, authentic humor. I liked that the kids don’t always act very nicely – and that the not-so-nice behavior isn’t always followed up with a lecture from the parents on how to act nicer. Guibert shows kids as they are – you know, if they were animals and not people. There’s also some dry humor that adults will enjoy. A pleasant, low-key success.

Finished copy provided by the publisher. Ariol #4: A Beautiful Cow is available now.

The Kiss of Deception by Mary E. Pearson

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Pearson’s latest, a high fantasy kick-off to a series set in a pseudo-medieval world, is a big departure from her previous novels. She’s mostly known for the futuristic SF Jenna Fox Chronicles and a number of standalone realistic contemporaries. The Kiss of Deception proves her ability to write beautifully in any of these genres, and I wouldn’t be surprised if this series – called the Remnant Chronicles – surpasses her previous titles in popularity and acclaim.

Lia is a princess, the first daughter born to the king and queen of her country, which means she should have the sight (the ability to see or predict future events). She doesn’t. Her parents are sure it will appear, so they arrange a marriage between her and the prince of a neighboring country, based in part on her nonexistent ability. The two countries’ relations are tense, and this marriage would go a long way toward smoothing things over. But Lia knows her parents are manufacturing a deception, and she’s sure it will end in disaster, not to mention the fact she’s never met this man she’s supposed to marry. So she flees, along with her maid and friend Pauline.

They travel to a distant town, where Pauline has a relative who will set them up with jobs at her inn. Lia and Pauline are no longer princess and maid; they’re two common girls working honest jobs. Unbeknownst to Lia, the two young men who show up in the same town soon afterward are not who they appear either – one is the prince whom Lia jilted, and the other is an assassin sent to kill her. Lia must navigate her new life as well as the attentions of these two young men/boys – attentions which may appear friendly or romantic, but are potentially anything but. As a reader, I was right there alongside Lia, knowing just a touch more than her, but having to figure out most of it as she does.

It sounds a bit generic, and that’s a fair claim to make, actually. The basic plot is one you’ve likely read before, if you read much high fantasy at all (princess runs away from home to escape arranged marriage, encounters adventure). But the way the book is crafted – how the story unfolds – is what makes it special. Pearson juggles multiple narrators (Lia, the prince, and the assassin), all of them unreliable to some degree, revealing just enough at certain points to keep us reading further. When readers finally learn a big truth late in the story, it will send them flipping the pages back to spot the clues Pearson dropped for them – and they’re all there.

Writing a book with a “twist” (though I hesitate to call it that here, since it implies trickery) can be tough. Some readers love the feeling of surprise, while others may feel deliberately misled or lied to – manipulated, in other words. I suppose all fiction writing can be called manipulation, but it didn’t feel like that in Kiss of Deception. Rather, I felt that Pearson was challenging my assumptions, both as a reader and simply as a person who regularly interacts with other humans. Specifically, she’s telling her readers not to make assumptions about the people we come across – for good or ill. I also think it equally likely that many readers will not be fooled by the red herrings along the way and will easily see the truth from the outset, which is part of what makes the crafting of the story so good. These readers may even be surprised to learn that others were fooled into thinking something entirely different.

The Kiss of Deception is great not only because of this particular plot point. For much of the story, the pace is slow, leisurely, but it’s far from boring. It’s a bit of a world-building lovers’ dream: we see Lia settling into her life at the inn, learning her job and how to interact with people on their own level rather than as a royal. It’s a cultural shock of sorts, but Lia’s up to it. Sometimes she falters; sometimes she triumphs. She grows and comes into her own as a young woman. It’s interesting and quite literally builds character (just not in the way your mom tells you scrubbing the toilet will). By the time the plot really gets rolling a bit later on, I felt like I knew Lia well and saw things clearly through her eyes.

There’s romance here, and it’s lovely, but this is also a story about friendship. While Lia is clearly the protagonist, Pauline gets quite a lot of page time. She’s the best friend, yes, but she’s also a person in her own right, with her own dreams and disappointments. As her former maid, Pauline’s relationship with Lia could have suffered mightily once they started relating to each other in a different capacity. Instead, their friendship deepens. They continue to trust one another, comfort one another, and help each other past the rocky times, even if they do sometimes disagree. I was so glad Pearson didn’t manufacture jealousy and spite to end their friendship, as I’ve seen done in other similar stories before.

I read a lot of YA that feels a bit unfinished or just not as good as it could have been. Maybe the novel is the author’s debut, or the editing is a bit poor, or ideas are hazy or the writing a bit sloppy. That’s not the case here. It’s a beautifully crafted, sophisticated novel with fully-fleshed characters and an original way of telling the story. It’s perfect for any high fantasy fan, but especially good for those who loved Graceling and other fantasy novels that tackle the idea that your life should be your own to make, not anyone else’s.

Review copy provided by the publisher. The Kiss of Deception will be available July 8.

Mambo in Chinatown by Jean Kwok

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Charlie is 22 years old and has been working as a dishwasher in the same restaurant as her father for years. Beyond leaving scars and burns on her hands, it’s the kind of job she doesn’t want and knows won’t fulfill her. At the same time, she recognizes that what she’s doing matters in some ways because it’s an honorable thing to be doing alongside her father.

But when her friend tells her about a job opening as a receptionist at a dance studio, Charlie jumps at the chance. She knows it means telling a lot of lies to her father, and she knows that she wouldn’t necessarily be good at the job. It’s an important opportunity, though, to get out of the kitchen and more, it’s an opportunity to connect with the passion for dance her mother had before she died, even if she herself won’t be dancing.

Mambo in Chinatown is Jean Kwok’s sophomore novel, and it’s excellent. I read her debut Girl in Translation as part of the Outstanding Books for the College Bound (which I’ve yet to talk about in my posts about this) and when I heard her second book was coming, I knew I was in for a treat.

This is a story about an American born Chinese girl who takes a shot at a new job knowing she won’t be good at it and knowing that all of the lies she needs to construct could get her into huge trouble with her father and with the Chinatown community (it’s a very small community, she tells us, which means that any misdeeds or any movement outside of acceptable traditions and honors causes a lot of gossip). Charlie chooses to pursue the opportunity, though, and it’s not long before the people at the studio notice she’s not good at the work. It’s not for lack of trying. It’s simply that Charlie has trouble with reading and with memory, and so she’s not well-suited to keeping agendas and schedules.

Fortunately for her, a mishap also means that she’s been asked to teach a beginner dance class. Sure, her mother was a dancer — that’s part of why this job was so appealing to Charlie — but she herself has no skills whatsoever. She tells us again and again she’s the opposite of the dancers and instructors in the studio: where they are sleek, shiny, and float, she is dowdy, wearing worn-out hand-me-downs, and she’s the opposite of light on her feet. Those around her notice this, but they also see something more, which is why she’s called to teach. They believe that even with no skills or experience, she can learn enough in a couple of days to teach the basics to students who know nothing.

So she takes the chance.

Meanwhile, she’s told her father that she’s been working “with computers.” It’s a way of building an honorable lie, one which makes her look like she’s doing something that’s meaningful and good, progressing her future, but it’s not one that makes her look like she’s trying to escape or “do better than” him or others in her community.

A big component of the story is that of Charlie’s relationship with her 11-year-old sister Lisa, who is exceptionally bright and intelligent. Charlie and Lisa are very close, and when Lisa’s afforded the opportunity to test into an advanced high school, Charlie steps up to argue on Lisa’s behalf to her father, who thinks that were she to be accepted, it would be a mistake. That it would cause the family more problems than it would be worth. But as the test date gets closer, Lisa becomes more and more ill. It began with wetting the bed, then progressed to times when she’d lose all feeling in her legs. When she’d be unable to work at her Uncle’s medical practice because she was simply too sick (you did read that right — Lisa, 11, worked for her Uncle because that’s how this family needs to make ends meet and it’s a way to help a family member). Charlie’s concerned about the turn in Lisa’s health, and while her father sees no reason to move beyond Eastern medical practices for healing — led by a woman who Charlie dubs the Vision — Charlie believes Lisa needs to see a Western medical practitioner. Knowing the experience the family had with Western medicine when their mom took ill, including huge medical expenses, Charlie’s not convinced her father will listen.

And he doesn’t.

Charlie’s singular teaching experience comes with the notice that she’s losing her job. That she’s a terrible receptionist and that she can’t stay at the studio. The bright side, though, is that she’s offered more teaching opportunities because, despite her inexperience, she’s got something in her that shows maybe she’s a natural. That maybe dance is something she can get good at. Charlie’s excited and nervous — does she have the clothes? Can she get good? Why do they trust her with this when she’s proven she can’t even keep a date book right? More, how does she keep up the lies she’s told her family?

But things fall into place. She’s helped along the way by people at the studio (which, don’t think there aren’t detractors, because there certainly are) and by her own raw determination to succeed.

Mambo in Chinatown is about how to balance the past with the present and how to honor sacred, important cultural traditions with one’s interests and passions in building and establishing a new identity and new roles in a new culture. Charlie’s forced to consider what it means to seek out her interest in dance with what it means to remain humble and remain invested in the traditions of her family and the larger Chinatown community. Kwok does an exceptional job of rendering this lesser-visited part of America in a way that’s reverent toward both sides of the story. We want to see Charlie succeed in dance, but we also see why it’s so important for her to listen to her father and why it’s so important for her to keep some of those traditions and customs as part of her life now. There’s great honor in both, and it’s about how Charlie chooses to balance both of those worlds.

One of the best lines in the book comes when she’s put in the position to attend a competition. Where she’d otherwise step back, hide from the limelight, she decides that she’s ready to go on, even when she knows it means a lot more than simply having to work hard to do well. She notes, “All my life, I’d been trying to fulfill other people’s ideas of who I was supposed to be and failing, and this was my chance to try to become who I was meant to be.”

Dance and the dance culture do an excellent job of paralleling this, too — while what we get to see in Charlie’s world appears to be cut and dry, even romanticized, she’s warned that the bigger world of dance is far from it. That competitions and the world beyond this particular studio are can be filled with one-night stands, with drugs, with drinking, and with partying in exceptionally unsafe ways. It’s not until she’s put into a position to be at a competition with a partner that she sees it. And when she does, it rattles her a bit; she’s able, though, to pull from her own personal convictions and morals to understand that while other people partake in those activities, she doesn’t have to if she doesn’t want to.

There is a romance in the novel between Charlie and the student she’s paired with. While she knows it’s forbidden to be in a relationship with a student by the rules of the studio and punishable by job termination, she avoids pursuing those feelings. Fortunately, a few technicalities that work out later allow her to see where this romance could lead, and it’s a really nice and rewarding part of the read. Yes, she falls in love and yes, it’s with someone who has the same kind of feelings towards her. It’s another smart parallel to the idea of balancing the old world of tradition with the new world of opportunity.

But my favorite part of Kwok’s novel is the relationship between Charlie and her sister Lisa. The huge age difference here is crucial, as is the fact these girls don’t have a mother in their life. There are strong women who interact with them and who guide them — particularly Charlie — but it’s their reliance and love for one another that shines through. When Lisa becomes sicker and sicker, it weighs so heavily on Charlie’s mind that she does everything she can to learn as much as possible about how to help her sister. She becomes as well-versed in navigating the American medical system as possible, and the confusion, frustration, and angst it gives her is realistic. While she listens to her father’s determined stance against it and belief that only Eastern healing will work, Charlie knows that a balance of the two is what’s really needed. So when Lisa reveals something that happened to her, something that caused her to lose control of her body in really awful, hard-to-read ways, Charlie knows she has to step in and take charge of the situation, even if it means making her father angry. It’s then, of course, much more of the story unravels and Charlie’s father learns more about the true nature of his daughter’s new job…and the incredible nature of his daughter/s.

Mambo in Chinatown is an adult book but it has loads of teen appeal. Readers who love stories set in urban metropolises that aren’t about smart, rich, elite people will eat this up, as it offers a glimpse into the labor class life of Chinatown. More, readers who love stories about dance and pursuing one’s dream will find so much to appreciate in Charlie’s story. It’s a well-paced, consuming read with well-written, dynamic characters who never once feel anything less than real.

Mambo in Chinatown is available today. Review copy picked up at ALA Midwinter.

Complicit by Stephanie Kuehn

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Jamie Henry’s crazy sister Cate is coming home.

She’s spent the last two years behind bars for starting a fire at a barn that not only killed horses, but it severely harmed one of the local girls. Everyone suspects she did it because she didn’t want that girl to be involved with the boy she had a crush on.

But what worries Jamie isn’t just that she’s coming home (and really, she’s 19, she legally doesn’t need to “come home”). It’s that Cate is coming back to see him.

Because Cate has to set the record straight with her brother.

Stephanie Kuehn’s Complicit is a dark psychological thriller that takes everything she did so well in Charm & Strange and amps it up even more. Be warned that everything from here on out is spoiler.

The first thing you should know about Kuehn’s novel is that you know pretty quickly that things aren’t what they seem. That Jamie, our narrator, isn’t reliable. More than that, you know what he’s said about Cate and her connection to the barn fire might not be true. Perhaps you don’t know how it’s not true, but you know that it’s not. So don’t go into the book thinking that it’s a mystery — it’s not.

Jamie and Cate are adopted. The two of them grew up under Angie and Malcolm’s roof, where they live a pretty nice life. Their adoptive parents are wealthy, and the two of them have had every luxury available to them. The problem is that both of them are damaged from what happened before the adoption. Their mother, who was very young when she had Cate and not much older when she had Jamie, wasn’t the world’s most stable person herself. She was a bit of a drifter, did drugs, never had much money. Even though Jamie and Cate are siblings, they’re not necessarily whole siblings; that’s not known entirely, though. Their mother doesn’t know who either of their fathers are, but the differences in their skin colors suggests that they don’t share the same father. Cate’s darker than Jamie.

They came to be adopted when their mother was killed at home by a gun shot. Angie and Malcolm came to adopt the siblings because they themselves had lost two children in a tragic accident and Cate and Jamie fit well enough into the holes of their deceased kids.

Both Cate and Jamie went to therapy because of the grief and trauma sustained in their early lives. Cate didn’t take to the therapist in the same way Jamie did, and Jamie is upright in talking about how much his life has been impacted by Dr. Waverly. She’s taught him methods of coping with his feelings, ones which can be diagnosed and those which can’t be.

Two years ago, the day things came to light about Cate and the fire at the barn, Jamie began having awful problems with his hands. They stopped working.

Hearing that she was coming home — coming for him — made his hands stop working again.

Complicit is told in the present, as well as through flashbacks to the years prior to Cate’s incarceration. Bit by bit, we’re given flashes into the experiences Jamie had as an adoptee, as well as his experiences learning to make friends and control his emotional and mental states. It’s tough though, especially knowing Cate’s after him. And she’s after him. She knows where he’s at. She knows he’s settling into a new relationship with a girl named Jenny. She knows that he needs to be talked to.

But in every moment where Cate approaches Jamie and where it seems as though she’s finally going to get the chance to tell him what it is she needs to say, he passes out. This is beyond the hands not working. This is not knowing where he is or what he’s doing and waking up unaware of what’s happened except knowing that Cate had been there.

It’s a defense mechanism.

Throughout the book, Jamie leads readers to believe that Cate needs to be avoided. That she’s the embodiment of evil, of terrible decisions, of making poor choices that have forever impacted the family. The truth, though, isn’t at all that simple.

Cate is not the bad seed.

Kuehn deftly weaves Jamie’s reality against the reality of the world around him, and they don’t match up. Those rifts are where the light shines into the story, and in many ways, it’s Cate who digs her fingers into that rift and tears it open. Jamie distracts us though and he does so very well. He recalls something about the night with the barn fire. He was there. He was there to bury the evidence of his sister’s wrongdoing. She’d borrowed his backpack, and when he saw it there that night, he grabbed it and buried it. He didn’t want her to get in trouble and he wanted to do what it was he could to protect her. Except there was no need to protect her.

He was protecting himself.

The fire that night and the fires and burglaries happening around town now had nothing to do with Cate and everything to do with Jamie. The death of their mother years ago had nothing to do with some botched drug deal nor any other theory Jamie cooked up and presented to himself (and by extension, us). It was Jamie.

Complicit is a story about mental illness and about how sick someone can become mentally. It’s about how far other people will go to protect those they love who can’t be helped in the ways that they want to be helped. Kuehn offers us some words for what Jamie’s experiencing, except through the eyes of Jamie, those diagnoses don’t matter. What matters is that as readers, we’re actually experiencing the illness right along with Jamie. We know almost immediately he’s unreliable, and because of his defense mechanisms — his hands not working, his ability to black out and not face the emotions and thoughts in front of him — we’re also left in the dark about some of what’s going on in the present. But rather than being frustrating, it’s a brilliant mimicking of exactly what’s happening at that moment. We are right there with Jamie believing that Cate is a terrible, dark person, and we are right there with Jamie in his desperate search for understanding what happened to his mother, and we are right there with Jamie as he begins falling head over heels for Jenny. As the light breaks through though, we see why we should be worried about being there for him in each of those instances. When Cate reveals herself as not the “crazy” girl we’ve been led to believe she is, suddenly everything falls perfectly into place about the rest of the story. And yes, we do have to worry tremendously about the positive, fulfilling relationship Jamie’s beginning with Jenny.

The threads of this story are woven together seamlessly. We know there’s something going on, and we develop theories about them, but the what of it is never the point of the story. Instead, the point is the experience itself. What does it look like to be so mentally ill you don’t know right from wrong? What does it feel like to be so sick that no amount of help can truly help you? Kuehn forces some really fascinating questions, too, about culpability, about guilt, and about shame in the story too. Why doesn’t Jamie feel bad about the fire? How has he managed to block out shooting and killing his mother (which was accidental, probably, and for which he never took the fall nor the guilt)? What happens when those who love you do everything to protect you?

There are very smart allusions and layers built into the story, as well. Cate is a very smart girl, even though we don’t get to see much of her on page, and what we do see of her is filtered through Jamie’s perception. Complicit will appeal to readers who love psychological thrillers, and it’s fast paced and engaging immediately. It will also appeal to readers who want a novel that forces them to reread, picking up new clues through the second and third readers. What does “The Owl and the Pussycat” really imply here? What about the books Cate has given Jamie? What about the Richard Wright novel? And, perhaps the thing that really cemented this as not just a good novel, but a GREAT one for me, what about that ending? It’s not just a literal taking of the fall, but the burning of that photo which caused the fall. That was what made it clear to me just how sick Jamie was, and it made me want to turn back to page one and see where else those clear signs emerged that I missed the first time through. Without doubt, Kuehn’s expertise in psychology only aids in crafting this story and informs not just Jamie’s worldview, but also ours as readers.

Complicit leaves the reader with big questions, despite offering answers to the questions raised in the story itself. It’s unsettling in many ways, but that discomfort is exactly what readers should walk away with. There’s not a happy ending here, and it’s possible to take aways here are scarier than they are comforting. This book will appeal to readers who want a story that hooks them immediately, and it’ll appeal equally to readers who want a story that is going to challenge them. It’s a sharp, contemporary/realistic thriller that delivers on every level, and Jamie’s voice is memorable, haunting, and authentic.

Kuehn is an author to keep your eye on. She’s only getting better.

Complicit will be available June 24 from St. Martin’s Press. Review copy received from the publisher. 

The Fever by Megan Abbott

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It opens with girls going behind a screen.

A quick prick.

Then they’re done.

A few minutes of discomfort for the injection and a lifetime of sound minds about the chances of ever getting HPV. It’s a new requirement now for girls to be vaccinated. To be protected. “Just in cast,” of course. It’s a safe thing and it’s the right thing to do.

Deenie, Lise, and Gabby have been friends for a long time. High school hasn’t changed their friendship, though they’ve all developed other friendships along the way. They’ve shared secrets and crushes and moments doing things that perhaps they shouldn’t. Like visiting the local lake, closed to visitors because of the mysterious fungus pooling atop of it.

All three got the vaccine, of course.

It’s when Lise’s body begins to contort and she experiences something like a grand mal seizure in the middle of class that the limits of their friendship are tested. The people in class — including Deenie — are horrified by what they’re witnessing. Even when she’s taken out of the classroom, to the nurse, then on to the hospital later in the day, everyone is rattled. Deenie wants to get away, to go see her best friend. Deenie’s brother, keen on what happened, wants to get out of school too. And their father Tom, a teacher at the high school, knows that this is the moment when everything changes. Again.

But Megan Abbott’s The Fever doesn’t stop there. This isn’t only about Lise’s seizure. Or her time in the hospital. Or the fact no one can get answers about what happened to her.

It spreads.

Before long, more girls are having ticks. They’re having seizures or blacking out or acting in ways that are anything but ordinary. Gabby experiences it, as do a number of other girls. All girls. Deenie never does, though. But Deenie did see what Lise looked like when she was in that coma unconscious. It’s an image forever burned in her brain.

When the school loses its mind over the unexplained madness, it only gets worse when adults in this town get involved.

First the fingers are pointed at the vaccine. The vaccine meant to protect their little girls has turned on those very same girls. Their bodies too young, too inexperienced, too virginal to respond appropriately to such a grown up thing. To even think about such a grown up thing.

One girl who gets the fever, though, never got the vaccine. Busted theory? Not so much. The lengths some adults want to go to convince everyone it’s the vaccine, regardless, are impressive and frightening.

Deenie is convinced it must be the lake, though. The lake that’s off limits. The lake that, just days before, she and Lise and Gabby and Gabby’s tight friend Skye all dipped into. But why isn’t she sick then? Why isn’t Skye sick? How come Gabby’s illness was only short lived, not as debilitating as Lise’s? Deenie’s terrified she’s going to have to speak up about it, which will also mean potentially fessing up to the other thing that happened recently: she lost her virginity to one of her coworkers. She doesn’t want people to know, but she wants everyone to know. Just not this way. Because the thing is, Deenie’s first time wasn’t planned, but done after she learned about Lise’s experience with….well, let’s just say they shared a lot of things as best friends.

The pieces aren’t connecting. The stories aren’t adding up.

If Megan Abbott’s book sounds like it was ripped from the headlines of a story making waves in Le Roy, New York, you’d be right. She as much as notes that as one of her inspirations on her website. But The Fever isn’t about the headlines. It’s about what happens beneath the headlines, what it is that people won’t talk about because those things they won’t talk about are the very things they should be talking about.

The Fever is a story about the fear people have about teen girls. About the mythologies adults build about girls who are emerging: in their friendships, in their relationships with people outside their families, in their sexuality. Of course the cause of the illness going around has to do with a vaccine which rips away the innocence of little girls when they’re too young. Of course there’s something noteworthy in the fact it is only girls who experienced this strangeness.

There’s more to that though. Abbott weaves in really fascinating threads about girls finding their first boyfriends. About admitting to their long-time crushes. About what happens when girls go to desperate lengths to be noticed and when they get the help of other girls to do those very things. About why it is boys are never to blame, never the ones who should be questioned or educated about what roles they play in anything. About how boys get off the hook so easily.

Girl friendships are at the forefront of this story, and those girl friendships are what ties so many of the threads together. Those friendships are part of a mythology, and those girls as group are rarely seen as individuals.

Because when it comes to what caused Lise’s coma being unconscious, when the truth unravels, one girl is put to blame. But it’s another girl who will suffer for it. Rather than this being a crime with a criminal to point to, though, the story is about “the girls” collective. About girls who get together and do bad things as a unit. Who are scheming, desirous. Who tempt boys with things — and who are desperate enough to garner the attention of boys that they’ll go to lengths at the end of the world to do so.

There is a boy at the center of this. And he’s a boy who is likable, well-depicted, even, perhaps, all-American. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with him at all, and in fact, he’s the one who figures out the secrets behind a lot of what was happening with the girls. He doesn’t come forward, though, and no one asks him to put himself out there in the same way that these girls are spotlighted, hounded, and made to look a million different shades of bad by those around them. He’s not blameworthy — he’s a good character and he’s been put in a terrible position. But the point Abbott raises here is precisely that: why is an innocent boy let off the hook when a number of innocent girls are instead shamed and embarrassed in front of their community? Because it’s the innocence of girls that needs to be protected and discussed. The innocence of boys, though.

That isn’t the same thing.

The explanation for what’s going on is primarily conversion disorder, and I don’t think that’s a spoiler. What set off the disorder was Lise’s seizure in class, which had a very root cause. And that cause lays at the hands of one of the girls who went to the lake. Who felt like Lise was a threat and a bit of a braggart about what happened to her recently.

Though the primary focus of gender and gender politics lies in the teen girls, there is much to be dug out about those same discussions when it comes to adults, too. The community makes an accusation at one point that part of what was causing a problem in the town was that there weren’t enough good men around to be guideposts for these girls. That the girls who suffered from the fever were also girls who didn’t have good fathers or whose parents had very messed up relationships.

Which explained why Deenie did not experience any symptoms — dad is in her life.

The Fever is a complex, compelling thriller for adult readers which immense appeal for teen readers. It’s written in third person, and it alternates viewpoints between Deenie, her father, and her brother. There’s a fascinating family dynamic among them, particularly when it comes to their mother. The writing itself is tight and pretty sparse. This one doesn’t linger; it pulses forward. The energy and intensity are palpable, and because each word matters, within each word is something deeper to mine. The Fever is less about the answer to what is happening and more about questioning why things are happening. It’s unflinching and at times tough to read, particularly as we watch the actual innocence of teen girls ram up against what adults consider the innocence of teen girls. When we hear Lise talk about the first time a boy goes down on her and how it felt to her and what she experienced then we hear adults talk about how girls shouldn’t be vaccinated because no way, no how would their girls ever be sexual beings. It’s uncomfortable and unsettling, and being able to see the story from all angles is what makes those powerful messages about girls and girlhood stand out.

This was my second Abbott book, after Dare Me, and I think I liked this one even more.

Pass The Fever off to readers who love stories that are playing out in the world right now. Pass it off to readers — teens or adults — who want a fast-paced thriller that’s got a literary bent. There’s so much to parse out in this read that it’s easily one readers will finish and want to flip back and revisit to tease out even more. This is an excellent crossover read.

Review copy received from the publisher. The Fever will be available from Little, Brown June 17.