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Red Glove by Holly Black

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I mentioned in an earlier post how much I dug White Cat, the first book in Holly Black’s Curse Workers series. Red Glove is its follow-up, and while it’s not quite as fun as the first in the series, it’s still a worthwhile successor. Be warned, there are spoilers for White Cat in this review.
In White Cat, Cassel learned that he was a transformation worker and that his two older brothers had been using him as a hit man, then modifying his memories so he would forget about it all. H also learned that Lila, his childhood love and the girl he thought he killed, he had actually transformed into the titular white cat. Now Lila is back in human form, and his mother – ever the meddler – cursed her to “love” him. Cassel is torn between his love for Lila and his knowledge that her love for him is false. Soon, though, he has bigger problems on his plate.
Cassel’s older brother, Philip, is murdered, and the Feds try to recruit Cassel to help them solve the crime. Their only clue is a woman wearing red gloves caught on a security camera – hence the title of the book – and Cassel fears it could be a woman he knows. Not only are the Feds knocking on his door, the mob is too, and Cassel attempts to play both sides in order to stay alive.
One of the things I liked best about Red Glove is its willingness to embrace hard consequences. It seems like a lot of YA SFF books that deal with issues of violence and corruption do so in a sanitary way: the teens are negatively impacted, but they’re never really harmed and always manage to dig themselves out of holes. That’s not the way it works here. Cassel’s actions from White Cat reverberate in Red Glove in very serious ways. The body count is not small, and Cassel realizes just how big it actually is the further we move in the book. Furthermore, he begins to realize how complicit he is in the body count’s size, whether he wielded the killing blow or not.
I also liked the way Black didn’t take her characters down the predictable path. This is particularly true for Lila, who so often does the opposite of what Cassel (and the readers) want her to do. But her actions are always true to her character, which comes into much better focus here than in White Cat. (In White Cat, she was mainly someone for Cassel to feel guilty about. In Red Glove, we begin to see her as an actual person: very ambitious, clever, a little bitter at being worked, and willing to use whatever – and whoever – she needs to get what she wants.)
Like White Cat, Red Glove ends with an opening. I wouldn’t call the ending of either book a true cliffhanger. The main plot is resolved, but Black then adds a little something on to the end to make us want to pick up the next book. It’s nicely done in both books, and I’m happy to report I was able to get my hands on Black Heart to see how the trilogy finishes out. This series has been such an unexpected pleasure, I imagine the concluding volume will be a treat as well. (Although now that I actually research the title a bit, I can’t tell if it’s the concluding volume or merely the third entry in a longer series. Does anyone know?)

Wanderlove by Kirsten Hubbard

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Bria’s just graduated high school, and the future lies open ahead of her. Except, she doesn’t quite see it. She feels stuck. Lost, even. Everything she’s ever felt passionate about is no longer making her feel what she once felt; that excitement has faded. Then one day she runs across a brochure advertising the Global Vagabonds and decides this no strings attached adventure to Central America is exactly what she needs.

When she gets there, though, the Global Vagabonds aren’t what she expected at all. It’s guided group tours — not what Bria wants at all. Not to mention, Bria’s decades younger than anyone else on the trip. She wants what the girl she sat beside on the plane has ahead of her: a trip of backpacking, adventuring, exploring, and without set agendas. After a trip to one of Central America’s most famous market places, Bria takes up a boy on an offer to visit their camp (away from the Global Vagabonds’s reserved housing).

Turns out, throwing caution to the wind and leaving the pre-planned activities of the group was the best thing that could happen to Bria.

Wanderlove is a story about travel, but more than that, it’s a story about finding yourself. As readers, we know something’s going on with Bria to make her lose her passion in art and in the open future ahead of her, but we’re not told what happened. It’s not until she’s ditched her tour group and hooks up with Rowan (and his sister) we get to know what’s going on. Bria’s boyfriend, the one who encouraged her to apply to one of Southern California’s most renowned art schools, dumped her. And he didn’t just dump her; he left her high and dry after she was accepted to the art school and he wasn’t. Art school was his idea, and she applied so she could stay close to him. Bria explains these things to Rowan and the reader slowly, and as she does, we begin to understand why she’s lost so much of her passion. When Toby dumped her, she lost her sense of self and her plans for the future. All of the things she’d planned — all the things revolving around him because she’d given so much for him — just fell apart.

Wanderlove focuses primarily on Bria and Rowan, and both characters are private, reserved, and quite thoughtful. The thing is, those characteristics manifest so differently in each of them. Bria is afraid to make commitments, while Rowan refuses to make commitments because he’s been burned in the past. In traveling together, though, they learn to trust one another and they come to understand the baggage one another carries. There’s a real breaking down to build back up again, and it’s vital to both characters. What I liked so much was that both were hurting, and neither of them took it upon themselves to say they were hurting. They didn’t lay their problems out for one another left and right. It’s a very gradual process of learning to trust and learning to work through. Moreover, it’s also a very gradual process of learning to love themselves and learning that maybe, it’s okay to love one another, too. Yes, there’s romance and yearning in both Bria and Rowan — something you’d expect because of their isolation and their shared interest in traveling — but it’s by no means an instant chemistry. Instead, they have to work toward it, and both characters are reluctant to make any moves with one another. It’s careful and tenuous, and in being that way, I found myself rooting for them to end up together.

I think the line in the whole book that stood out to me, and one that I think will stand out to most readers is one Bria utters: “My problems might be superficial on a global scale, but they’re real to me.” In a field of contemporary YA literature with heavy issues, it was refreshing to read a story where the main character’s biggest problem is simply feeling lost and sad after a relationship she’d invested so much time into. Rowan’s baggage is a bit heavier, but this isn’t really his story. It’s Bria’s. So many readers will relate to her because she’s real and she’s having a hard time dealing with issues that face typical teen readers.

Setting is one of the defining characteristics of Wanderlove. Hubbard writes Central America with expertise, and it was easy to fall into and love the world. It’s lush and vibrant, and it’s the ideal setting to allow Bria to grow. It inspired Bria to reconnect not only with herself, but also with her art. She brought a sketchbook with her on her trip, and it’s not until she’s in the landscape that she’s able to finally pick up her pencil again and sketch. Her eyes are open to the world around her and she realizes she can grasp it with the artistic talent she has inside her — the experiences here and the art she can make belong wholly to her. At the onset of her time with Rowan, Bria is warned by Rowan’s sister that he can experience bouts of wanderlove. While this worries Bria, the truth is that she discovers she and Rowan share this sense of desire to love and appreciate the world around them.

There’s a great metaphor in the setting, as well: Bria’s breaking away from her group and the comfort and security of a planned out route is, of course, symbolic of learning how to explore. It’s important for her to have this time to figure it out on her own, and she does. Even though she spends much of the story with Rowan, she retreats to her sketch book to have this exploration. She still has something wholly her own, and when this is compromised, we get to not only see her true colors, but Rowan’s, as well. Although it could be easy for Bria to become a girl dependent on a boy — remember, the story starts because Toby breaks up with her and suddenly, her plans for the future that was once developed around him are shaken — she’s not. She’s an independent spirit, and she never strays from it. I think that’s what made the romance so satisfying. It was on her own accord the entire time.

One more element worth mentioning is that this book also includes sketches. Bria’s got her sketchbook, but we actually get to see it. Hubbard provides not only the story in the book, but also the illustrations. There aren’t a lot, so it’s hardly a graphic novel, but the illustrations gave the setting and the story that much more impact. I feel like I got to know Bria even better because of the sketches. It was like peeking right into her private thoughts.

Wanderlove will appeal to readers who love travel stories, as well as those who appreciate contemporary ya stories but don’t necessarily want to read one dealing with heavy issues. Bria is an average girl, and never once is that a bad thing. Readers who like character-driven stories will find Bria’s one worth watching. Kirsten Hubbard impressed me with her debut novel, Like Mandarin, and I have to say she impressed me just as much with Wanderlove. She’s one to keep an eye on, as her writing and her story telling are compelling, engaging, and easy to relate to, both as a teen and as a female. Will this story work for male readers? Some, maybe. But I don’t think there’s anything wrong in saying Hubbard has a knack for tapping into the female mind and tinkering with some of the issues girls feel they’re alone in having. She does it well.

Review copy received from the publisher. Wanderlove will be available March 13.

Drowning Instinct by Ilsa J Bick

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Jenna Lord’s given a voice recorder by the detective working on her case. She’s just woken up in the hospital, and he wants her to tell the truth of the story about what happened. Why she’s there. Why and how she almost died. Again.

She agrees, and we’re thrust into something much, much darker than expected.

Jenna’s family life is anything but pretty. Her father’s a surgeon and he’s exceptionally controlling and demanding. Jenna’s mother works long hours at the bookstore she’s in charge of, so she’s not around much. That may or may not have to do with the fact she’s also an alcoholic and avoids her husband. Then there’s Matt — Jenna’s brother — who enlisted in the military to get away from the mess of a family. She and he are close, and she turns to him when she needs an escape. Then there’s grandpa, who is in an institution because he’s unstable, too. That may or may not have something to do with the fire in his house, the one which caused Jenna many of the scars and skin grafts covering her body.

The rest of the scars, though, are her own doing.

It’s those scars which put her into therapy and which eventually lead to her being sent to Turing for school. Her father believes putting her in a new environment like Turing would be good for her and help her adjust to being a normal girl again, whatever that is. But when she starts school, things only become more complicated. She meets Mr. Anderson — Mitch — near immediately on her first day, and she meets him when he’s wearing close to nothing.

It’s the start of a relationship between a teacher and a student that should have clear cut answers. That should be about right and wrong. But it’s so, so not.

Drowning Instinct is the kind of novel I love: it’s character driven, it’s dark, and there are no right or wrong answers. It’s not a clear cut story, and just when I thought I had an idea of how things would progress, I’m not given the break. Because the characters — Jenna, especially — gets absolutely no breaks in this story. Her only break comes in the form of self-mutilation. That’s why she was getting therapy in the first place (or at least that’s how it’s explained and the truth is, that’s not necessarily the whole truth). Jenna cuts to escape the pain from her home, and because it gives her a sense of ownership.

And cuts heal.

The relationship between Jenna and Mitch, one which should cause the reader discomfort because of what it is, challenges expectations. Mitch is so good to Jenna and he’s the first adult who has given Jenna any reason to feel safe and secure. He also gives her opportunities and responsibility, and he believes in her not only as a student, but also as a runner. She’d given up running, but he wants her to go out for the team. He wants her to be his teaching assistant. He goes out of his way to keep an eye on her. While Jenna is at times skeptical about him, she eventually allows herself to see he is being genuinely concerned for her, and that he genuinely cares about her well-being — something she’s never experienced before outside of a therapy office. He knows a lot about her, and he happens to have this knowledge because he’s done his research (and he tells her that much) but also because he stumbles upon some of the same messes she does. He sees how unstable her family is first hand.

Then Mitch maybe delivers the biggest blow Jenna’s ever felt and the one that rattles her awake. He knows the truth to her biggest secret. One she doesn’t believe he could possibly know. But he does.  It almost seals her to him now. He’s ripped open one of her scars and lets it bleed. 

Even though Jenna decides he’s worth trusting, she’s wondering where the faults in his story are, and the closer she gets to him, the more time she spends with him in and outside the classroom, the more cracks she’s finding. His wife is never around and he never talks about her. Then there’s a picture in Mitch’s house that haunts Jenna. And then the time she called his house and his wife — supposedly away taking care of a sick family member — answers. It’s not just the wife situation that makes Jenna nervous though: it’s the fact Mitch appears to have had a relationship with another high school girl, Danielle, and she’s not exactly friendly with Jenna. Then there’s Danielle’s comment about how Mitch always liked the broken girls. These words rub Jenna wrong. They feel like knives on her flesh.

But she hasn’t pressed down yet.

The relationship between Jenna and Mitch is tortured. But it’s also safe. When they’re together, when he’s holding onto her with love and affection she so desperately needs and deserves, everything feels right. And yes, things get sexual. There is something so tender in those moments though that as readers, we almost forget they’re teacher and student. That Mitch is her superior. That he’s married. When they’re apart though, when Jenna’s left alone with her thoughts, that’s when things don’t seem right. That’s when she questions who Mitch is and whether or not he’s good for her. The thing is, she can’t stop herself from staying close to him.

He’s become her new method of cutting.

Bick’s talent is not only in drawing these incredibly complex characters. It’s the fact she has developed a pair of characters who aren’t clear cut on whether they’re victim or predator. It goes both ways. They feed off one another, and their secrets (and the secret of their relationship itself) tread a morally ambiguous line because the way it’s presented makes it feel so right and so wrong at the same time. Jenna deserves this kind of love and even though we aren’t entirely clear what’s going on in Mitch’s life, it just seems like he does too. And the way he treats Jenna makes it feel that way, too. They’re safety nets for one another time and time again. Even if there are suspicious things afloat. Jenna and Mitch are very broken people, as are the other characters in the story. Each character carries immense pain and sadness but never once does it come off as melodramatic. It’s drawn realistically, with a rawness that slices through what could/should be morally straight-forward territory for readers. None of these characters, even the ones with little page time, feels wasted and none of their struggles feel like shortcuts through the story.

What also stood out to me in this book was the use of place and space to tell the story. Bick is a Wisconsin author, and she’s not afraid to set her books here. Drowning Instinct is neat in being set both in suburban Milwaukee (where Jenna attends school) and in the more rural areas outside the suburbs. The rural settings add a haunting feel to the story and they mimic the relationship between Jenna and Mitch well: there’s the safety of the suburban setting but then there’s the questionable nature of nature itself in those more remote areas. In places like the cabin on Mitch’s quiet property. For me, the setting was a crucial layer to developing the story and the characters.

The book is well-paced, starting slower at the beginning as Jenna comes to in the hospital, but it eventually picks up speed until the very end. I had become so invested in the characters and unraveling the truths of these characters that I read through the bulk of it in one sitting. The reveals make use of subtle details woven into the story, but maybe the real power of the reveals is that they’re not necessarily all that settling. They add further shades of gray to the story and to the characters. There are no real answers here, but the feeling I walked away with when I finished the book was worth the uncertainty. I took away what I needed to take away, and I like to think it’s the same take away Jenna has. I also found myself crying near the end of the story, as well. I’d fallen so in love with the characters, their flaws and mistakes and all, that I couldn’t help but feel the full weight of everything crashing around them. Bick made me care enough to not only love the story but also emotionally connect with these hurting and aching characters, despite the endless stream of mistakes they made.

Drowning Instinct will appeal to readers who like their stories dark, realistic, and raw and who like their stories to have real voice behind them. These characters are desperate and broken, and the book is relentless. It’s wholly contemporary, and it’ll appeal to fans of Amy Reed and Courtney Summers with content and character execution, and the set up of the book — the short chapters, the great pacing — will make it quite appealing to fans of Ellen Hopkins, as well. I could also see this novel working for fans of Lucy Christopher’s Stolen and Tabitha Suzuma’s Forbidden for readers interested in novels about elicit and taboo relationships. I’ve read two other novels this year, neither of which I’ve had a chance to review, but it reminded me of a mash up of the two of them, and I’ve found it fascinated how this year’s novels are playing around with the norms of family, of safety, of security, of what it means to love and be loved, and just what survival takes. I have respect and admiration for authors who go for it full out, giving their characters challenge upon challenge, and Bick offers exactly that. 

I wouldn’t say this book doesn’t appeal to reluctant readers because it does, but I think more mature readers will walk away with a lot from this book, especially as it comes to issues of right and wrong. Those who appreciate Laurie Halse Anderson will want to give this one a shot, too. I didn’t touch on the metaphor here, the whole idea of the drowning instinct, but it’s a huge one smartly thread through the story, and readers who want a more literary read will find it here. The back cover summary sums it up really well, I think: this is a fairy tale with teeth and a novel about pain, deception, desperation and love. Without doubt, this book will stick with me for a long time, and it will be one of my 2012 favorites.

Review copy received from the publisher. This book also has one of the best covers around, doesn’t it?

Misfit by Jon Skovron

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I think I’ve mentioned before that one of the best things I got out of being a Cybils judge this year is that I read good books I never would have picked up otherwise. Misfit by Jon Skovron is a prime example of this. It’s everything I normally avoid in a book: paranormal, present tense, and…well, that’s usually enough. I’m so glad the Cybils were around to change my mind.
Jael’s mother – many years dead now – was a demoness. She’s known this for years and had to keep it a secret from all the other normal humans. You’d probably expect that being half-demon would mean Jael has all sorts of cool powers, but she doesn’t. She just has to move around a lot, thanks to her paranoid father. Then Jael turns 16, her father gives her a shiny necklace that belonged to her mother, and everything changes. Now she has those cool powers, but it’s brought her to the attention of some very dangerous types. Jael must learn how to harness these powers so she can fight off the bad guys. She has the help of her mother’s brother (a demon himself) and her unwilling father, but really, is that enough when all of Hell wants you dead?
There’s more to it than that. Skovron has created a wonderfully rich mythology, weaving together elements of Christianity with almost every other religion (living or dead) you could think of. And he’s given us a terrific love story between Jael’s parents, which is swoony and romantic and dangerous and badass and completely outshines the love story between Jael and her skater crush.
I’ve mentioned about a hundred thousand times before how important Philip Pullman’s His Dark Materials trilogy was to me as a tween/teen. Aside from being beautifully written, fantastic stories, I loved how incredibly daring those books were. I don’t mean daring by employing foul language or sex or putting its characters in risky situations or supporting an unpopular social or political stance. I mean daring in its treatment of Christianity. Pullman took one of the most enduring stories of our culture and completely turned it on its head. He plumbed the religion’s richness and color to create a hell of a good story.
Misfit doesn’t go as far as Pullman’s books do. Skovron isn’t trying to re-write the Bible or impart any atheistic message (Pullman certainly was imparting this message, at least in part, and those who deny it cheapen the books, in my opinion). What he does is similar to what Pullman did, though, and that is to use these incredibly powerful stories in a new and interesting way. I think that novelists as a whole tend to stay away from using Christianity as a fictional tool because it might lead their readers to think they believe Christianity is a fiction. (I should point out that there is a big difference between what Skovron does here and what “Christian fiction” writers do.) But there is so much material for really, really good stories there, and Misfit proves that.
I could be all wrong about why we see so few novels that twist Christianity in a really obvious way, but the fact remains that I’m glad to see it when it does appear. Not because of any disrespect towards the religion, but because the religion as a whole really does have so many good stories. Yes, there are books about angels everywhere now, but it’s just not the same as what Skovron has done with Misfit. He’s taken Christianity and treated it all – not just the angels or the demons or one other single aspect – as a mythology to be worked with, just as Riordan does with his books. True, millions of people believe in Christianity and very, very few believe in Zeus. What makes Misfit daring is that Skovron weaves in elements of Christianity with Greek mythology, and so many other religions, past and present, putting them on the same footing. So in that way, he treats them all as equally mythological.
So, I appreciated that Misfit was a little bit daring in this way. (Look out for a review of Pete Hautman’s The Obsidian Blade in a couple months. Daring is an understatement for that title.) I also appreciated Jael’s parents’ story, which we get in past-tense flashbacks and is frequently more engrossing than Jael’s. Other hallmarks of a good book are here too: a protagonist who grows believably over the course of the story; fascinating ancillary characters; an action-packed, albeit brief and a bit slapdash, climax.
Obviously, I was impressed. I’ll be looking for the sequel. There’s no news of one that I could find yet, and the book does have a firm ending (thanks Jon Skovron!), but it’s open enough for many more books. Here’s hoping.

(P)reviews: A Sampling of What’s to Come

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I’ve been reading well ahead of publish dates lately. I like to post reviews as close to publication date as possible, even if I read the book months beforehand, because I like to think it helps put the book on the radar when it’s actually possible to buy it. So while I’ve been reading and writing out my posts, I was thinking it might be worthwhile to give a preview to some of the titles I’ve been reading lately. You’ll get the longer reviews closer to pub date, but for now, a sampling of titles to whet your appetite now (and surprise — a couple of these titles I’ll be giving away when the time gets closer and one of them may be up for grabs as part of Lenore’s Dystopian February this week, too). Interestingly, all of these covers feature girls on the front.

Crazy by Amy Reed (June 12, 2012): This is probably the most realistic and painful portrayal of bipolar disorder I think I’ve read in YA lit. The book’s told through two voices — both Conner and Izzy get to have their say — and it’s told entirely through email messages. They’ve become friends and confidants to one another after a summer camp where they bonded, and while it’s never blatant, it’s sort of hinted that Conner wants something more than friendship from Izzy but she’s not receptive. And for good reason. Izzy’s home life is hurting her, and it’s only contributing to the debilitating depression building inside her. Both voices are strong, well-defined, and the feelings readers walk away with, having both sides of depression (the person falling into it and the person on the outside watching it happen) will resonate with anyone who has ever experienced depression. Reed’s writing works for me as a reader, and this, her third book, is her strongest.

The List by Siobhan Vivian (April 1): I got to read this book back in September (I know — lucky me!) and I’m still thinking about it now. Every year on the week of homecoming, a list containing the names of 8 girls is posted at Mount Washington High; the prettiest girl and the ugliest girl in each class is listed. What Vivian does in The List is let us into the minds and lives of each of the eight girls selected this year, challenging our expectations and understandings of popularity, beauty, and ugliness through each of their eyes. There are eight voices in this story, but the third-person present tense style really allows each of their voices to stand out — I didn’t have any trouble keeping them apart. Vivian’s got a way of writing stories that empower girls, and this is no exception. It’s the kind of book I can’t wait to hand off to high school girls; not only will they find themselves relating to one (or all!) of the girls, but they will want to talk about it, too.

This is Not a Test by Courtney Summers (June 19, 2012): Sloane Price has nothing going for her — at least in her mind, there’s no point in continuing living if her home life continues to be an abusive place and her sister, the one constant in her life, has left her to fend for herself. So when Sloane selects today to commit suicide and she’s thwarted before she can, it’s a huge relief that is when the zombie outbreak happens. Her death wouldn’t even be on her own hands. Except she survives, and now she’s stuck, trapped inside Cortege High with five other students who are eager to live, and all she wants to do is die. Sloane doesn’t want to be here, and she doesn’t want to fight for anything, but she has little choice in the matter. And the zombies keep knocking at the door. This is a book that, while about zombies, is much more about character and relationships and just what it means to survive, period. If you’re wary of a zombie story, do not let that be the hangup in giving this one a try because it is much more a book about what it means to be human. I’ve never left a book so physically aching before (maybe even emotionally aching, too).

Amelia Anne is Dead and Gone by Kat Rosenfield (July 5, 2012): Graduation night was a big one in Becca’s hometown. Not only did she have some pretty memorable celebration sex in her boyfriend’s car, but then he had the nerve to dump her right then and there, leaving her empty in more ways than one. Oh, and that happened to be the same night the body of a strange girl was found on the side of the road, rag dolled and mangled. No one knows how she got there or who she was. Rosenfield’s debut novel is a mystery story, but it’s also a story about growing up and figuring out where you belong. Becca’s being toyed with when it comes to her boyfriend; she wanted nothing but to get out of town and away from everything it is, and she made herself the promise that he wouldn’t be the reason she stays. Despite breaking up, he’s still stringing her along for the summer and she’s unable to make an easy decision about staying or leaving. And when the story of the dead girl comes to light, it’s not at all what Becca — nor the town — expected. The writing and many of the threads about small town life reminded me of Nova Ren Suma’s Imaginary Girls; it is lush and a story you can’t help but fall completely into.

Jersey Angel by Beth Anne Bauman: Lest you think I’ve found everything I’ve read lately exceptional, I’ll talk about a book that was a real disappointment. This one was sold to me by the publicist at ALA Midwinter as a book all about sex and sexuality. And it was. Unfortunately, there is a real lack of character or story development at all. Angel, the main character, really spends a year having a lot of sex…and it’s pretty boring sex, to be honest. I think because she’s underdeveloped and doesn’t give me any compelling reasons to care about her and because she doesn’t have any real moments of growth or change, I found myself disinterested in her and what happened to her — and honestly, nothing DOES happen to her. I don’t buy the idea that because she was detached from herself (obvious from the meaningless sex) then she can have a thinly developed character and no arc to her. It wasn’t just Angel I felt this way about either; her friends and family are just as flat and lifeless. Angel’s friend finds herself in a pretty terrible situation in the story, and it should have been an emotionally packed moment, but I couldn’t connect and I didn’t care. It was a heavy, heavy topic and should have conjured up something from me, but it didn’t. Though I found this book a let down because it really was nothing other than a lot of (uninteresting) sex, I don’t think this is a book that’ll be too hard to sell to teen readers because of the sex.

Review copies of each title received from the publishers.