STACKED

books

The Savage Fortress by Sarwat Chadda

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Thirteen year old Ash Mistry, along with his little sister Lucky, is visiting his aunt and uncle in India for the summer. Though he’s of Indian descent, he doesn’t feel much of a connection to the place, having grown up in England. Actually, he kind of wishes he were back in England anyway, since the heat in India is killing him and there’s nothing much exciting going on.

And then his uncle is summoned to the home of Lord Savage, a very wealthy and powerful man with connections to Indian antiquities. Savage offers his uncle – an archaeologist – a job, but the uncle is wary and ultimately refuses, despite the promised huge paycheck. Ash, who had been wandering the fortress, is unlucky enough to stumble upon Savage’s secret – he has rakshasas (demons) in his employ, and Savage’s offer of employment to Ash’s uncle is not what it seems. Savage’s actual aim is to release Ravana, an ancient demon king, who he hopes will grant him immortality.

Ash’s discovery sets Savage and his rakshasas after him, and what follows is an action-packed adventure as Ash, Lucky, and a band of allies – including a rakshasa named Parvati who has her own vendetta against Ravana – fight to stay one step ahead of Savage. Ash – a chubby nerd – finds he has hidden powers, both in terms of character as well as magic. 

Aside from the inclusion of Indian mythology, which is refreshing, the story itself is fairly generic. I found myself disengaging quite a lot once the first portion of the story had passed, and I can’t really blame narrator Bruce Mann, who does a fine job. I suppose I’ve just read this story all too often – the loner kid discovers he has hidden powers and is able to avert the end of the world through magic and a few plucky friends. It’s well told and exciting enough, but doesn’t have the oomph that would propel it to an above average read for me.

All that said, for kids who haven’t yet lived enough years to grow weary of these stories (after all, they’re the audience, not adult me), The Savage Fortress is a solid choice. I liked it about as well as I did the Percy Jackson stories, to which it’s a natural readalike. Hand this to the kids who can’t get enough of mythology and have already read all of Riordan’s books. (Loki’s Wolves by Marr and Armstrong is another likely readalike, though I’ve yet to read it. Surprisingly, I haven’t seen a huge crop of middle grade mythology novels aside from Riordan’s, and it makes me wonder if Riordan has cornered the market on it.)

Audiobook provided by the publisher.

Delilah Dirk and the Turkish Lieutenant by Tony Cliff

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First Second seems to have a near-monopoly on high-quality, full-color graphic novels for kids. Delilah Dirk and the Turkish Lieutenant is another example of what I’ve come to expect from them, though Tony Cliff’s book actually has self-publishing roots. It started out as a web comic, and it’s still available to read online, though I haven’t compared the print vs. web versions to see if there are any differences.
Delilah Dirk is the daughter of an English ambassador, but that hasn’t stopped her from pursuing adventure – which usually involves stealing from very rich people. By the time she’s captured in Constantinople, she’s earned herself quite a reputation. The man set to guard her is Selim, the Turkish lieutenant from the title. She spins him a terrific and mostly true story about her escapades, and the two bond over a good cup of tea. Unfortunately for Selim, Delilah escapes while he’s relaying her story to his boss, and a miscommunication causes Delilah to turn rescuer and save Selim’s life. Selim has no choice but to run away with Delilah.
Delilah’s next target is a very wealthy, very dangerous pirate. She is more than happy to drop Selim off at any point in her journey, but Selim feels he owes her a debt for saving his life, so he stays. It’s quite a ride that she takes him on, complete with a flying ship and a bit of a body count. Selim has to decide if he’s truly up to such a life, even if leaving her would mean also leaving his debt unpaid.
While Delilah is the character that’s most heavily emphasized in the flap copy and other marketing, this isn’t really her story. Instead, we see her through Selim, who gets caught up in her adventures and eventually reconciles himself to an exciting, dangerous life alongside her. Selim is the character with the arc, the one who grows and changes. I can’t say that I wasn’t a little disappointed that Delilah isn’t the true protagonist, at least of this installment, but she’s still great fun to read about. She’s confident in her skills, a natural leader, and there’s never any doubt she’ll be able to extricate herself from any sticky situation; it’s Selim’s story that’s unpredictable.
The art is lovely – deep colors, clean lines, detailed landscapes. Facial expressions are all realistically rendered and characters look consistent from page to page. If you’ve been reading Stacked for long, you know this is just the kind of art I like in a graphic novel. I was puzzled by some of the words chosen to represent sound effects, though – swarm, slice, dive, loom, and so on. In the context of the story, they’re actually verbs masquerading as sound effects. It’s jarring and mostly unnecessary, as Cliff does a good job of telling the action of the story through the art without needing to resort to these words.
This is a natural choice for readers seeking adventure comics. There’s some violence, but it’s not graphic (almost bloodless, really). Scott has a second adventure available for purchase at his website, and one can only hope that more stories will emerge afterward.

Review copy provided by the publisher. Delilah Dirk and the Turkish Lieutenant will be published August 27.

Gorgeous by Paul Rudnick

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Becky Randle has always considered herself pretty plain. Not an uggabug, mind you, but nothing special either. She lives in a trailer with her mother, an obese woman whom everyone else seems to write off, but who Becky knows is the kindest, most wonderful person in the world. 
But then her mom dies, and Becky is left rudderless. She’s just graduated high school, she has a part-time job at a corner store that she hates, she’s not going to college, and her mom was the only bright spot in her life – aside from her best friend, Rocher (named after the candy). Shortly before her mother died, she cryptically told Becky to embrace the magic when it’s offered to her – and sure enough, it is. She’s contacted by Tom Kelly, the world’s foremost fashion designer, who promises to make her three dresses which will magically transform her into the most beautiful woman in the world.
Sure enough, the first dress she puts on – a hot red number – does just that. When she’s alone, Becky looks in the mirror and sees her average self. But when anyone else is with her, she looks like Rebecca, the knock-out, the stunner. Tom Kelly and his dresses take Becky on a wild ride – the cover of Vogue, a starring role in an action movie opposite the hottest actor, and even a meeting with the prince of England. Then Tom Kelly reveals the catch (you knew there would be a catch, didn’t you?). Becky is not so sure of her transformation, not so sure of Tom Kelly, and very afraid of what being permanently Rebecca would do to her life.
The standout of this novel is Becky’s voice. She’s sarcastic, funny, self-deprecating, and vulgar (though not nearly as vulgar as Rocher). Her story is told in first person, so you really get a good feel for who she is through her own eyes. It’s obvious her self-esteem isn’t very high. It’s also obvious she’s in over her head with this whole situation. Her friend Rocher is a breath of fresh air. I fully expected Rocher to be written as initially supportive but eventually envious, complete with a falling-out and ultimate reconciliation at the end of the book. That’s not at all what happens. Rocher is beside Becky’s side the entire time, and Becky never abandons Rocher for any of her new, more famous, acquaintances. Plus, Rocher is freaking hilarious.
The weakest part of the book is Becky’s romance with the prince, which is fun but not very well-developed. It seems he and Becky go from meeting each other to being an acknowledged couple with no steps in between. It seems rushed, like perhaps Rudnick just wanted to skip ahead to the good stuff. For all that the prince is a good-looking, funny, kind-hearted, famous, and very wealthy man, I never felt the swoon that I felt I should have.
I haven’t been as involved in the new adult discussion as Kelly has, but I think Gorgeous fits the bill pretty well. It features a protagonist who is 19 for the majority of the story. She’s no longer in high school. She’s concerned with marriage (in a mostly non-romantic way), with finding a job that will allow her to make a living, with how the world perceives her as an adult and what her legacy would be. For people who don’t go to college after graduation, these are very realistic concerns. (As an aside, I think it’s nice to see a teenager who makes the valid decision to not go to college.) There’s also quite a bit of strong language, which doesn’t make a book NOT young adult, but it does contribute to a more mature tone.
So is it a good read? Definitely. Is it Printz-worthy? Probably not. The pacing isn’t perfect. More than that, though, the message is just kind of murky. When you write a book about a self-professed “plain” woman who is magically transformed into the most beautiful person in the world, how do you resolve that neatly? How do you make the story true to its world, which values physical beauty, but also prevent it from being total wish fulfillment or a complete downer? I’m not sure Rudnick got it totally right, but then again, I’m not sure it’s possible to get it totally right. And of course, there’s no reason there needs to be a message at all. He gets points for grappling with it in the first place.

September Girls by Bennett Madison

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Sometimes when there is a book that everyone is talking about negatively — and giving good reasons why they’re responding negatively to it — I find myself wanting to do nothing more than actually read that book for myself. Even if it’s not something I’d normally read.

Enter September Girls by Bennett Madison.

Sam, his brother Jeff, and their father are spending the summer away from their home in the Northeast and at the Outer Banks in North Carolina. It’s been a rough year for the family. Sam’s mom recently decided to abandon them in order to find herself in Woman Land. According to Sam, she’d gotten some ideas from Facebook and Farmville and something called the SCUM Manifesto and needed to get away for a while. Sam’s dad is kind of there and not there at the same time. Part of it is the fact he’s just been abandoned by his long-time wife with two boys, of course. Part of why he wants to get away is to give him bonding time with his kids and to give Sam specifically the opportunity to have that one last summer of freedom. And Jeff, who is the older brother, is bent on making sure Sam has the kind of summer he will never forget. The Outer Banks is filled with amazing, gorgeous, luscious, and available girls. Jeff sees this as Sam’s opportunity to lose his virginity and do so without the messy strings that can happen with relationships.

Plus, that’s Jeff’s plan anyway.

The girls in this summer place are indeed magical. They all look similar to one another, and they’re all gorgeous. Everywhere Sam goes, there’s another beautiful lady, and everywhere he goes, he’s approached by these beautiful ladies. They’re practically throwing themselves at him. But Sam’s not drawn to them for their looks. In fact, he pushes himself not to be drawn to them at all, until he meets Dee Dee. Dee Dee is rough. She’s not pleasant. She talks in one hand about how well she knows the Bible and professes this knowledge through sharing with Sam the names of all of the “hos” in it. He can’t stop caring about her though, even when other girls are clamoring for a slice of his attention.

But what is it about these girls? Why are they so attracted to Sam? Why are they so attractive? And how come they never leave this place?

That’s where this story goes from what many have called a misogynistic tale to one that’s actually quite brilliant. Because these aren’t average girls. These are sirens, and it’s their duty to throw themselves at virgin males in hopes of being released from the spell that forces them to live and dwell and vie for attention in this place. Interspersed within Sam’s story are the songs of the sirens — there’s a little back story into why it is they’re stuck here, into who created them, into their legends. There’s nothing particularly answered about their origin, but that’s sort of the point. They don’t know. All they know are the stories they hear about how they can break free. They call themselves sisters, as well as the Girls. The belief is that it’s through sex with a male virgin, and that’s why so many want Sam. They know.

When Dee Dee suggests that Sam help her Sister break free, telling him it is okay to lose his virginity to another girl in the event it might set her free from the place that is killing her, Sam considers it. But he doesn’t do it. He wrestles with this in part because he wants to help Dee Dee’s sister since Dee Dee wants that, but he wrestles with it, too, since it’s not who he is at his core.

September Girls is about a boy becoming a man.

It is about breaking through this pressures thrust upon teen boys to “become a man.”

It is about learning where your values lie and what your own judgments are in seeing other people and in helping them.

Sam is dealt incredibly mixed messages about women. He’s seen his mother struggle with what it means to be a wife and a mother and feel like her place in the world is something greater than either of those. He’s told by his dad he needs to have a fun summer, and he’s told by his brother that he needs to get laid this summer in order to prove his manhood. Plus, the ladies here are easy. And available. And good looking. And isn’t that all that matters? Dee Dee, too, feeds Sam messages about women and their roles because of what she is and what it is she believes she herself is tied to. She’s a siren. She’s beautiful and ephemeral and she doesn’t get to have the experiences that other women do — not those in magazine advertisements or on television (the Girls choose their names based on what they experience when in the world believing that Commercial Feminized Things are of value) — nor those which the women in the Bible have — that’s why she sees them all as “hos.” Sam’s best friend at home feeds him messages too, as his summer is also about conquest. It’s about reminding Sam that his duty as a man is to become a Man by collecting sexual experiences under his belt and doing so without over thinking it. When Dee Dee tells Sam she should sleep with her sister in order to set her free, that’s the moment Sam realizes his well of feelings for Dee Dee. For their emotional relationship.

And it’s in that moment when he himself is set free.

It’s when he becomes a man.

There’s also a really nice tie in about mirrors and reflections that knot together the real-world elements of Sam’s narrative with those siren songs and legends. Freedom is in facing yourself as you are when you see it and not worrying about the things cast upon you as your destiny.

Madison writes a pretty powerful novel here, and he does so in a way that’s quite jarring. Sam’s not your most likable character, and much of his time is kind of . . . boring. He tells us how much TV he watches. How many walks on the beach he takes. He’s downright crass and his brother is ten times worse. There is no doubt that the language used in this book is hard to read and process and that the messages about women and what their role is in the world is hard to digest. But that is the entire point. This is a book about Sam cutting through those horrible messages society feeds people and figuring out what it is that matters to him. Because the messages that are offensive aren’t just geared toward females. They’re offensive toward men, too. To “be a man,” Sam’s told it’s his duty to sleep with a woman. That even if things look like they’re permanent, women will just leave men if they’re not proving their worth enough (see Sam’s mom).

The mirror is held up to the readers in this book to examine themselves in light of these precise messages, too.

These characters are flawed and those flaws are in your face. And isn’t it telling that readers see those flaws in others and sometimes misses them in themselves?

September Girls definitely has guy appeal, and it’s for those readers who like magical realism and fairy tale. I saw it pitched as a mermaid tale for boys, and that’s a pretty good assessment. There’s definitely female appeal here, too. But while I think what Madison says in this book is really smart and savvy and does precisely the opposite of what many readers are claiming it does (this book spins misogyny on its head by using those messages to make the point), this book wasn’t as satisfying as I hoped. I found it boring at times. The writing is simply okay, and I thought that Sam’s cataloging of his days — while effective to the message — was uninteresting. It felt like this could have used a little more time to become stronger and more compelling, and it’s not necessarily a book I will eagerly pass off to readers. It’s not that it’s bad. It’s just that it’s a bit flat and has a narrow readership who will put in the time and energy to come out with the big take aways. I think some of that is evidenced in reviews around the web — and that’s not a slight on any reader taking the story as they need to, but instead, I think, a sign that the book didn’t necessarily achieve all it set out to through the writing.

“Summer” here is symbolic of adolescence. It’s that time between being fresh and in bloom in spring and finding a comfortable, settled pattern that comes with fall. It’s about exploration and excitement. It’s about testing the waters. About pushing yourself and your boundaries. And I think Madison gives that to Sam with a nice dose of reality coming through the messages about what it means to be a person. Not just a man. Not just a woman. But a person who wants to establish meaningful relationships.

Review copy received from Lenore. September Girls is available now. 

The Program by Suzanne Young

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In Sloane’s world, suicide is an epidemic among teenagers. No one knows why, but the adults have found a way to combat it: The Program. Teens who are suspected of succumbing to depression are forcibly taken by The Program and have any and all unpleasant memories wiped from their brains. They’re sent back weeks later, supposedly cured, but they’re not the same. They’ve lost the things that makes them who they are.

Sloane fears The Program every minute of every day. Her older brother committed suicide, and she knows she’s being watched for signs of depression. Luckily, she has her boyfriend, James, and they’ve pledged to help each other through these last few months until they turn 18 and The Program can’t touch them.

And then a friend of theirs kills himself, and James cracks. He’s taken by The Program. Sloane is despondent, and she knows when James returns, he won’t remember her at all. She has to concentrate on convincing the adults around her that she’s fine. She can’t show any emotion. She can’t express her grief. If she does, they’ll call for The Program. But it’s already too late – her parents have noticed she’s faking happiness and they’ve called The Program to take her away. Sloane is determined to find a way to maintain her identity while undergoing treatment, to not forget James and her brother and her friends, but what chance does she really stand?

Kimberly’s Thoughts

Young presents us with an intriguing premise, but I’m of two minds about it. I like that she tackles a real issue that teens struggle with daily. I like that it’s not sensationalized, and that the teens’ thoughts and feelings about the Program and their own depression are taken seriously and not trivialized. At the same time, I’m frustrated that there’s no explanation for the suicide “epidemic.” I wonder if treating depression like a communicable disease can come across as insensitive to teens who suffer from this very complex condition.

The book itself doesn’t really dig into the real causes of depression, which is part of the point. The Program is a band-aid, if that. But the fact that the causes aren’t investigated in any other way, that people refer to the suicides as an epidemic and treat it as “catching,” still does give me pause.

I also think the book suffers a little from an identity crisis. It could have been a thoughtful examination of the causes of suicide in teens and legitimate treatment plans, but it’s more about what shouldn’t be done than what should. It could have been a thrilling dystopian romp, but it doesn’t quite get there either. It’s a bit of a strange book, but for many readers, that will be a positive.

I did really like Young’s writing. The book held my attention (though the last third is a bit tedious for spoilery reasons) and I felt deeply for Sloane and her friends. Young writes their depression and fear very realistically. I think it reads a lot like a dystopia with a contemporary/realistic feel, and Young succeeds in writing about a really hard, issue-laden topic without making this an “issue book.”

Kelly’s Thoughts


I like to peruse reviews after I’ve given a book a good deal of thought, and one of the most interesting things I saw a few times about Young’s book was that it made light of issues like depression and suicide. I wonder how many people read the book too fast to pick up the fact that it actually aims to do the precise opposite of this. Which is why I liked this book.

Sloane lives in a world where those who are at risk of suicide — those who are too “emotional” about anything — are sent to The Program. The Program wipes the memories and emotionally-traumatic aspects of a person’s mind in order for them to return to the world with a different perspective. It thereby removes the threat that they’ll choose to kill themselves. In a world where suicide is an epidemic, it seems like a workable solution.

But what Young gets at in the book through Sloane is that a person is a person because of those things that are part of their lives. The good stuff as much as the bad stuff. So Sloane’s brother had committed suicide and the fear was that she’d become too emotional about it and thereby become a threat to herself. It’s a valid fear in this world, but it reduces feelings to a thing to “deal with,” rather than experience and work with. In other words, depression, anger, frustration — what the message is is that these things are exceptionally tough and they are exceptionally personal and they are what shapes and guides a person through making decisions and through understanding the world around them. By removing them in order to “better” someone, they’re removing those aspects that make a persona an individual. There’s no belittling depression at all. Instead, I think this book does a pretty good job of making it clear that depression is something to listen to and take seriously. It’s individual. There’s no one-size-fits-all treatment.

The Program succeeds on a take away for readers, and it succeeds in leaving me wanting to know what happens next. I’m eager to know what happens after. But the book doesn’t just succeed on the story telling level. I felt like the dialog, the romance, and the pacing were strong, and they made the book readable and engaging. Sloane and James are close to one another, and they look out for one another. The romance is sweet without being cloying or over the top. It’s very teen.

What didn’t quite work for me was how Sloane was treated at The Program, and I felt it didn’t work because I wanted more. There is an older “worker” at The Program who attempts to take advantage of Sloane, and I felt he was a little bit too much of a sketch, rather than a truly sketchy character. There was a ripe opportunity to delve into the world of authority and the messages of power and control, but it didn’t quite come to fruition. I also found the end to be a bit of a let down. Leila talks about it a little bit more in her review at Kirkus — it definitely let me down, despite the fact I am eager for the sequel.

This isn’t my first book by Young but I think it is by far her strongest, and it makes me excited to see where she’s going to go next. She writes real teens as real teens. These kids aren’t superheroes. They don’t have all of the answers. They make dumb choices. But in the end, they come away knowing more about themselves and have a desire to make things better not only for their future, but for the future of other teens like them. That’s what makes The Program the kind of book that so many teens will relate to. It’s one, too, that I think tackles the issues of depression and suicide very well and in a way that makes these very serious issues easier to grasp for readers who may have never experienced them first-hand. Because what happens when you aren’t allowed to experience what it is you need to feel? Or worse, what happens when you’re not allowed to experience what it is you feel just because you feel it, without necessarily having a logical reason for your response?