STACKED

books

White Cat by Holly Black

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I think one of the best things about participating as a judge in the Cybils this year is that I’ve read some good books I would otherwise not have picked up on my own. White Cat is one of those (its sequel, Red Glove, is a Cybils finalist). 
Cassel Sharpe lives in a world where certain people have the ability to perform curses – death workers can kill people, memory workers can erase or modify memories, emotion workers can create false emotions in others, and so on. Curse working is illegal, which has led to the formation of a mafia made up of curse workers. Not all curse workers are bad people, but this mafia certainly does bad things, much like our own world’s magic-free mafia does.
Cassel is the only member of his family who isn’t a curse worker, and he’s of two minds about it. He’d really like to distance himself from his family, almost all of whom work for the Zacharov crime family, but at the same time, he wants to be accepted by them, which he’s sure will never happen.
Cassel’s lack of ability isn’t his biggest problem, though. No, that would be Lila Zacharov, Cassel’s best friend and the daughter of the crime boss. The problem with Lila is that Cassel killed her – on accident, of course. His two older brothers covered for him, but as you can imagine, Cassel is more than a little torn up about it.
So that’s the background, and I feel like you get the gist of what the story is like if you know at least that much, plus the fact that this is, at heart, a story about con artists and their cons. I’ve always loved stories about con jobs and heists and other trickery where the reader roots for the lawbreaker. More than anything else, they are just plain fun, and sometimes that’s just what I need in a book. (Ally Carter’s Heist Society books are great for this.) The characters are untrustworthy, the cons are creative and clever, and the story is fast paced. All three of these things put together means that there’s always a surprise lurking behind the next page.
Combining a con story with magic works well in White Cat. It’s one of those stories where I didn’t feel like the magic was a cheat to get the characters out of scrapes. In many cases, the magic could actually make things worse. One of the most important aspects of curse-working is the blowback:a curse-worker performs a curse, and a part of that power rebounds back at the caster. Magic backlash is certainly not a new concept, but I like how Black implemented it here, particularly with the death workers. (Cassel’s grandfather, a death worker, is missing fingers.)
It reminded me a little bit of All These Things I’ve Done – fictional mafia, a hint of the fantastic, and the teen caught up in it – but White Cat is more overtly a fantasy. The stakes also seem a bit higher in White Cat. Obviously I can’t say too much without giving things away, but I can say that Black is not afraid to let her good characters do bad things, and this includes Cassel. (Her bad characters and her neutral characters do bad things too, naturally.)
I wouldn’t call the writing outstanding, but it does the job of telling the story and gives Cassel a good voice – I believed him as a teenager in that position, and I appreciated his self-deprecating, gallows-esque sense of humor.
There’s a pretty big worldbuilding hole that another reader pointed out to me after I had read the book. I can’t share it without spoiling a major plot point, but I will say I was completely oblivious to it until I was told about it. Which is not to say it’s unimportant; worldbuilding is always important in a fantasy novel. But it certainly doesn’t ruin the enjoyment.

When the book just does it better

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Before I dive in — this post contains spoilers, but they’re pulled out and there is adequate warning beforehand. You won’t have the story or the point ruined if you don’t want it to be!

I think I’ve talked before about my enjoyment of dark things, and it’s probably pretty obvious given the books that really stand out to me tend to go to very dark places. I don’t tend to shy away from horror nor gruesome things, either in print or on screen.

Back in October, I picked up Susan Hill’s The Woman in Black. The writing in this one was deliciously creepy, haunting, and left me with chills. Hill captured atmosphere well in this novel. Atmosphere for me is sort of a nebulous idea — you can’t define it particularly well, but you know it when you read it — and it’s the atmosphere of Hill’s novel that makes it a book you don’t read in the dark (or you do knowing what the consequences will be). I became increasingly invested in this story the more I got to experience the woman in black; she crept into those places that almost made me a little jumpy.

The Woman in Black is a short book, clocking in at about 150 pages, but the story isn’t necessarily easy nor is it cut and dry. It’s a true thriller in that it leaves you with more questions than answers, and Arthur Kipps, the main character, only furthers the reader in asking questions. He doesn’t know what’s going on, and we, as outsiders, know a little more than he does but we can’t even be sure what we’ve figured out is true or simply buying into what other characters have told us. It’s a book you experience, rather than read.

I bought every word of this story until the very end, where I felt let down and disappointed with the resolution. That’s not to say Hill didn’t nail the ending because she does. It’s unsettling. Scary. But as a demanding reader, as one who’d been along for the ride, I didn’t like it. (For those looking for the spoiler-free version, skip the next paragraph).

When I read this, I saw Arthur as the first truly sympathetic character the woman ever had in her life. He’d spent the time to get to the truth of her story, the truth of why she lost her child. He wanted to put them all to rest in the proper way, and he approached this with a sort of respect no one else would give her. Despite how she treated him, he cared enough to make it right. At the end of the book when things look like they’re all right and like Arthur can resume his life as it had been prior to Eel Marsh House, she strikes again, and it’s not pretty. The conclusion, of course, being that no matter what, the woman was going to continue seeking revenge. It didn’t matter what happened or who tried to set it right. Evil won’t rest.

I felt disappointed because I’d become invested in Arthur. I wouldn’t say the ending ruined the book for me because it didn’t, but it made me think a lot about how that particular plot point could play out on the big screen. I’ve watched a fair number of horror movies, and this particular book struck me as one that might translate scenes like the last one better. Enhance them, even.

This weekend, I went and saw Daniel Radcliffe play the role of Arthur Kipp in Hill’s novel. I wanted to settle this battle with myself.

As a movie, I think this did a pretty good job. I haven’t seen the original film production — something on my to-do list if I can track it down — but I have to say, I was impressed enough. Radcliffe delivered in his role as Kipp, and I thought Eel Marsh House was rendered quite true to the story. This isn’t a gore-filled horror movie, and a lot of what made the audience jump came through what I thought were fairly cheap shots. They were effective, but they didn’t do much for me as a viewer who’d read the book. I think this is the kind of movie perfect for those who want to like scary movies but don’t. It might induce a nightmare or two, but it’s not going to psychologically ruin anyone who sees it.

I found myself paying much more attention to the atmospheric elements I’d been drawn to in the book; I didn’t find them quite there, but they were there enough. Seeing the woman in black was much less eerie than reading about her, and picturing how Eel Marsh House looked in my mind left me with more chills than actually seeing it on screen. Words, I think, are more powerful and frightening for me because they put the story right into my imagination, and I have to pull from my own experiences and ideas to depict these things. That is sometimes where true darkness lies. Having someone else’s image on screen depicting something counter to what I’ve envisioned can sometimes be a let down. So for me, there was much less impact visually than there has been upon reading Hill’s story on paper.

But the real let down for me, and the thing that left me wanting to write about this, was the change in the ending. As before, the next paragraph is spoiler, so skip it if you don’t want to know.

The film’s ending is more abrupt than the book’s. In the book, Arthur gets the opportunity to travel back to London and resume his life pre–Eel Marsh House. Things look like they’re resolved and like peace has been achieved, but then the woman strikes again. In the movie, though, Arthur never gets the chance to go home. Instead, when he gets to the train depot for his trip home, he sees the woman at the station and his son marches toward the oncoming train. Arthur dashes to the train to save his son, and in the process both he and his son die. It’s not entirely different in terms of what the resolution says, of course. The message being that the woman won’t rest. But — and this is a big but — in the film, Arthur is reunited with his deceased wife after the impact. She is, of course, representative of the angelic, of peace, of everything being okay. The ending here is ultimately redemptive. Even though the woman in black gets her revenge, it doesn’t matter because Arthur’s back with his dead wife and with his son. They’re going to a better afterlife. So the woman, as much as she thinks she’s in power here, isn’t in power. Instead, it’s Arthur’s wife.

I left the theater frustrated and maybe even a little bit angry. I wanted the ending to tell me more about what I couldn’t get from the book, but instead, I got something entirely different. Something that felt polished and clean. Of course, it made the story much more appealing to a broad audience. That’s not to say that in and of itself is problematic, but I felt myself thinking about the book.

It’s been months since I read Hill’s book, but I’ve considered rereading it. I think I liked it much more upon seeing how the story played out on screen. I think I’ve bought the ending a lot more, and I think I appreciated it on a whole new level after seeing how it was skewed on film. While these cinematic choices fall upon film makers and producers to tell the story how they see it, it wasn’t the story I read. It wasn’t the story I wanted to see on screen, either. I never expect a perfect adaptation on screen.

Walking away from a sanitized film version made me like the book on a new level — one I didn’t consider beforehand. The appeal on the film is much higher than the book itself, but that almost makes the book more for me. Knowing it doesn’t pull a punch at the end makes me appreciate it that much more. It’s darker, it’s scarier. It’s more haunting. I think it comes back to the fact I rely on my own dark places to put together the meaning, and the places where I can go are much darker, much less settled.

And thinking about it, I love the ending of Hill’s book. It was spot on. It was right. It was atmospheric.

I’m not a big book-to-film watcher, and I think this might be one of the first times I walked away from watching a book put on screen where I felt the book was cheated by the film. Reading is an intensely personal activity, and even if we talk about it, even if we blog and review the things we’ve read, it’s still a personal experience and what you take away from it comes only from what you bring to it (intellectually or through curiosity). Film, on the other hand, is much more about what the producers bring to you. It’s their interpretation of story. And while you can bring your own to it, it’s never quite the same. You’re sharing in a story with other people on many, many levels.

But I’m curious — are there other books-to-film out there you’ve felt this way about? Or if you’ve seen and read The Woman in Black (or only seen or only read), I’d love to hear your thoughts, too.

Boy21 by Matthew Quick

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Finley loves playing basketball, and he’s pretty good at it because when he practices and plays, he is in it 100%. There’s no deviating from focus for him. He’s best friends with Erin, who, too, loves basketball. And though they aren’t officially “a couple,” they do like to kiss and spend time together and maybe it’s true that they’ll end up getting married down the road because they do care about each other that much. Except during basketball season, when Finley tells Erin they cannot be together because his focus can only be in that one place.

Things change though the day that Finley’s coach shows up at his door and tells him they need to talk. There’s going to be a new kid at school, Russell, and coach believes Finley should help her adjust to the new school. Russell — who prefers to be called Boy21 — was a top recruit for college basketball teams, but when his parents died tragically, his life was shaken. He’s been taken out of his home and sent to live with his grandparents in this neighborhood. Coach knows Finley would be the right person to help Boy21 adjust.

This isn’t a story about Boy21 adjusting to the new neighborhood, though. It’s a story about Finley learning what happened to himself.

Quick won my heart with his novel Sorta Like a Rockstar and it took only two chapters to realize I was going to be reduced to a mess by the end of Boy21, too. From the start, we get to know Finley and we realize he is a good kid. He’s honest, dedicated, and despite being treated terribly at school, he soldiers on with an optimism and determination that’s admirable. See, Finley is one of the few white kids at his school, and he’s earned nicknames because of this. Bellmont, his town, is home to the Irish mob, racial fights, drugs, and violence. As readers, we know this right away, and when we meet Finley, we see a kid defying his own situation. It’s the moment when his coach asks him to help support Boy21, who has been through tragedy personally, we start to see that things aren’t going to be any easier for Finley.

Boy21 is weird, at least in Finley’s opinion. He’s obsessed with the sky and he believes his parents will return to him in a space ship some day. He talks about the constellations as though they’re personal friends. But more than that, Boy21 doesn’t want to play basketball. No matter how hard Finley tries to coax him into it, knowing he’s a good player, he won’t do it.

Until the time he does.

When Finley realizes that Boy21’s performance means he might lose out on playing time, he’s understandably upset, but because he’s such a good kid, he also realizes this is an asset to the team. And being a team player, he’s surprisingly okay with it, too. It’s just when something terrible happens that things suddenly change, and Finley believes he’s made a mistake in funneling so much of himself into basketball.

Boy21 is the kind of book I have to stop talking plot at about this point because anything after this is spoiler. It’s a powerful look at race and rivalry from here on out, and not necessarily as you’d expect. As a reader, I’ve been so inside Finley’s head, I’ve grown to love and believe him as a character, and I have internalized what everyone’s said to him about being a good kid. He is a good kid. But the thing is, so much of that talk is in place because of what happened to him when he was younger. He’s living in a place where he really has no future, and it’s not at all by his own choice. When Finley has this ah ha moment, it’s painful not only for him but for everyone around him. Luckily, he’s paid his dues, and he has an amazing support network — including Boy21 and his off-beat star gazing obsession — to help.

Aside from impeccably drawn characters and a setting that’s going to test them all, this book features a thread through it that really hit me. One of the boys on the basketball team escapes from his life by reading, and others on the team bother him about it. During one of these teasing sessions, a book is torn from his hands, and it’s Harry Potter. The teasing becomes relentless, but it actually motivates Finley to read the book. The ways the story of Harry and Hogwarts weave into the plot were smart and savvy readers will appreciate them. It was the last reference to Harry Potter from Finley, though, that reduced me to a sobbing mess at the end of the book. It’s pitch perfect and captures the entire essence of Finley and why he’s such a damn good character.

Boy21 is a book that will appeal to fans of Quick’s first YA novel, as it will appeal to readers who
love a story about a good character in a rough environment. It’s a unique exploration of racial tensions, and it’ll hit home with readers who have ever felt like an outsider, regardless of their background. Quick is smart and subtle in offering us a white kid dealing with what so many could associate with urban problems and a black kid challenged with what has become almost a suburban stereotype. It’s an emotional read, and not one that’s necessarily easy, but it’s one that’ll leave a lasting impression. Much as I love a character I can hate, Quick offers me characters I can’t help but want to reach out to and tell them how good they are. No doubt this one will appeal to boys, too. The voices are authentic and relatable.

This book will be available for purchase March 1, but you can win a copy here starting tomorrow (when you’ll get to read one of my favorite Twitterviews to date!)

Review copy received from the publisher months ago. I put it off though because of how much I loved Sorta Like a Rockstar and didn’t know how it could be followed up. Well, this is how. Boy21 is available March 1 — put it on your radar now.

Catch & Release by Blythe Woolston

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Polly had her life planned out. She had been dating Bridger for a long time, and she was eager to marry him when they finished high school. She’d go to college, get a good job, then she’d settle into having kids. Sounds pretty cut and dry, but it was a life she was happy to prepare for. It was safe and it made her comfortable.

Of course, there’s a wrench in the plan, and that wrench went by the name of MRSA — the flesh-eating infection which somehow, Polly came in contact with. As did many other people in her community. A few people died. But Polly was lucky because she was able to live and she walked away with just a disfigured face.

While being treated for MRSA, Polly meets Odd, one of the football players from her school. She didn’t know him before they ended up in the same facility being treated for the same infection. But now that they’ve had some time to bond, they’ve grown close. Two people from opposite sides of high school, together, because they’re both now trying to figure out where they fit into the world which has turned them both into physical outcasts.

Catch & Release is one part story of survival and one part road trip, sprinkled with a healthy dose of science, an unlikely friendship, and fishing. Woolston’s sophomore release, following on the heels of her Morris Award winning The Freak Observer proves she’s one to keep an eye on in the young adult world.

Polly and Odd are a strange pair, but they need one another to survive. Sure, they weathered MRSA and came out on the other side with scars to prove they’ve made it, but the truth is, their real survival story begins where their hospital stay ends. Everything either of them knew about their lives and everything they planned for changed. Bridger and Polly broke up — even though Bridger claimed he wouldn’t do something like that to Polly, he did — and Odd’s got no chance of being back on the football team. Except, for Odd, it’s much less about the football team and more about the fact his family is falling apart, and he desperately wants to keep them together as best he can. His grandmother’s become more and more mentally unstable, and Odd isn’t comfortable with how his parents have brushed her life off as more or less done and gone. When MRSA enters the picture for both Polly and Odd, it’s not only representative of dealing with disease; it’s about dealing with the fact something out of human control can ravage everything. It causes both not only physical changes that turn them into disfigured outcasts, but it also causes them larger life changes.

Polly and Odd are life’s cast offs now, and they don’t shy away from expressing that they feel this way. That’s part of why they decide to take a trip together. The other part of why they decide to take this trip to Portland is because that’s where Bridger’s gone. Polly wants desperately to know why he left her, and Odd, who is protective of Polly, wants to have a talk with him too (probably not a talk with nice words). They set off, and along the way, they really connect not only with one another, but with nature. Woolston weaves a smart metaphor within the story about fishing. Polly loves to fish, but she’s of the “catch and release” mindset, while Odd believes in catching and taking. Even though we already know how different the two of them are, this metaphor plays big into the final ending of the story and it plays big into how both Polly and Odd come to understand themselves in their post-MRSA lives. Not only that, though, fishing reminds Polly and Odd of who they are on the outside, too: none of the fish they’re after are the pretty ones.

Woolston’s story is strong, but the writing itself stands out. It’s literary and not afraid to be so. Woolston’s got a knack for offering what feel like disparate pieces of story and tangents that, when read initially, don’t make much sense. As the story progresses, each of these moments comes together into something bigger and maybe even more bizarre. But the beauty is this bizarre quality makes sense; it may make even more sense than books which come together smoothly and flawlessly. I don’t want to say the writing is ugly, because it’s not, but there’s something unique and disturbing in the writing that just works. There is a lot of science in this book, not to be confused with science fiction. One of the things I loved about the writing is I feel I not only got a great story, but I learned something (maybe even too much) about the world. Woolston sinks nature into the plot, and she offers moments of scientific wonder that we get to experience right along with the characters. It’s a short book, and it reads a bit jarring, but it couldn’t be any other way. The challenge becomes a pay off. The writing captures and reflects Polly and Odd’s experiences — these aren’t the smart kids nor the pretty kids. These are real kids, and their dialog, their experiences, and their conclusions are honest and ring true to who they are.

My favorite part of this book was one of the most subtle. There’s a subplot about the idea of life and conception, and about how things coming to be is itself a scientific marvel. This ties into a story about antelope and about Polly and her existence. She wasn’t born of her parents traditionally, but rather, she was artificially conceived. Woolston is clever in delivering what ends up being one of the most profound moments in the entire story (to both the reader and the characters).

Catch & Release is a story about how life throws curve balls, and there are a million ways to handle them. It’s not a quick paced story, despite the length, nor is it one that’s necessarily easy to read. It’s a challenge, with a pay off that’s entirely worth it. Polly and Odd will stick with readers long after finishing the book. Hand this book off to fans of books that are a little bit different, to fans of stories that incorporate science right into the plot line, and to those who love fully-fleshed characters (though I make no promises on how literal that is for either Polly nor Odd). This story will resonate with anyone who has ever felt like an outcast. Without doubt, Woolston is one of the freshest and most startling voices in young adult fiction today with appeal not only to teens, but to adults as well.

Review copy received from the publisher. Catch & Release is available tomorrow (Feb 1).

A Pile of Contemporary Reviews

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I’ve blown through a huge number of books in the last couple of weeks, in part due to being able to read anything I want to and part because I’m trying to clear my shelves before the deluge of spring titles come back with me from ALA. A lot of people suffer a mid-winter reading slump, but I’m maybe having the exact opposite right now. As much as I love writing lengthy reviews, it’s impossible to do them for every book I read, and I don’t want to overlook some of the things worth writing about. Thus, a pile of short(er) reviews — I’m going to quit calling these things Twitter-style reviews unless they’re legitimately 140 characters, which these aren’t.

Last year, I read and reviewed Cat Clarke’s debut Entangled, so I was really excited to see she had a sophomore novel out at the end of 2011. Torn, much like Entangled, isn’t a cut and dry narrative and it features characters you can never be too sure about. This story follows Alice and her classmates as they spend a holiday in the Scottish wilderness. What could have been fun (reluctant fun, that is), turns tragic as Tara — who we’re led to believe is the stereotypical mean girl — dies after a prank gone terribly wrong. But was it a prank? Alice might have seen what happened and might have buried away the secret truth of why Tara died. Because the thing is, if Alice speaks up, she’s only going to get herself in trouble.

Things get trickier, though, as Alice begins a relationship with Tara’s brother who is dealing with the heavy grief of losing his sister. As their romance grows, the guilt gnaws away at Alice, and she’s left wondering whether speaking up is the right thing or the wrong thing.

Clarke’s storytelling left me paranoid for all the right reasons. As much as I got to see what happened, I was also left out of the true intentions behind the prank that killed Tara. Even though Alice told the blow-by-blow of WHAT happened, I knew there was something much more sinister lurking beneath. Moreover, as Alice grew closer to Tara’s brother, I couldn’t help but rethink my own feelings toward her, too. She made me angry, then guilty, then frustrated, then angry again, then almost sympathetic.

This book features a cast of unlikable female characters, the kind that make you want the worst for them. Interestingly, I found the male characters in this one to be likable and I felt sorry for how they’d become accessories in the girls’ game. Clarke’s writing skills lie in developing full characters who elicit reaction. I couldn’t make my decision about what I wanted Alice to do until the very end of the book, and I think the ability to make me question my own ethical and moral ideas of right and wrong is a skill. It’s a well-woven story. My only real criticism for this one was I felt at times the narrative went a little lengthy, but for the most part, these moments were necessary to developing that sense of reader paranoia and character motivation. Fans of Courtney Summers will love this one, as will fans of books like Blake Nelson’s Paranoid Park (the comparison of paranoia I felt reading Torn reminded me much of the paranoia I felt reading that one, except in Clarke’s case, I never quite felt fully sympathetic for Alice).

Torn isn’t available in the US and unfortunately, you can’t purchase the paperback via Book Depository, either. But if you’re an ebook reader, you CAN buy this one for under $7 via the Book Depository.

Brian James’s Life is But a Dream is an exploration into the debilitating mental illness of schizophrenia. From the onset, I was impressed with James’s ability to not conflate schizophrenia with dissociative identity disorder (multiple personalities). This story follows Sabrina as she becomes sicker and sicker, to the point her parents choose to institutionalize her for treatment. Prior to institutionalization, Sabrina’s life was full of color and fantasy, and she lived in what basically amounted to a dream world. Her experiences in the real world paralleled what most people experience in deep sleep. While it doesn’t necessarily sound scary, the effects of such distance from reality isn’t pretty and it causes Sabrina to act in ways that put her in danger.

While being treated, Sabrina meets Alec, a boy who convinces her the folks in the institution are working against her. Taking the drugs they’re giving her is only harming her, he says, and she begins to believe him. She doesn’t want to become brain dead, and she becomes convinced her life will be better if she doesn’t go along for the treatment. So she and Alex make an escape plan. To save themselves.

This part is spoiler, so feel free to skip down to the following paragraph. As a reader who knows a bit about schizophrenia (and about Sabrina’s experiences with it), I was never quite sure whether Alec actually existed or if he was one of those dreams concocted in Sabrina’s mind. The evidence to support either argument is in the book — he could be real or he could be a figment of her dream world telling her to act a certain way. Even in the end, when Sabrina makes a run for it, it’s uncertain either way.

The uncertainty, though, might be the greatest strength in the book. I found the writing to be distancing, and while it works for Sabrina’s world and her own voice, it kept me far away from her, too. I couldn’t connect with her in any way, and because I wanted to, I became frustrated. It makes sense because that’s how these illnesses work, but it doesn’t necessarily mean it works for readers. It’s a dream world.

Moreover, I found it a little disappointing that the person who’d save Sabrina would be a boy, as I find that a trend that won’t stop coming. Even if what I said in the previous paragraph were true, it still doesn’t settle too well for me. I’d not come to see Sabrina as much of a romantic or one who’d love a relationship with Alec, but it’s something I could have bought had Sabrina’s voice been stronger and she let me in. Fans of stories about mental illness will want to read this one, especially those who are interested in schizophrenia because James nails it (I’d say textbook nails it, but textbooks can leave out the emotional side of the illness, and James offers that quite well). Life is But a Dream will be available in March.

Girl by Blake Nelson is a classic story, and finally, Nelson’s written and published the follow up, answering the question of what happened to Andrea Marr. Dream School follows the infamous, snarky, and intelligent Andrea as she departs her beloved city of Portland to attend Wellington College in Connecticut — it’s a prestigious school, and she’s eager for the east coast college experience. She’s got idealized notions of what this lifestyle will be, many borne out of things she’s seen on tv and read in books and magazines. Except, of course, things aren’t as pristine or great as she imagined, and it’s challenging for her to come to terms with the truth that what she thought she’d be getting at Wellington and what she really gets are Wellington are two entirely different things.

As much as I loved Andrea in Girl, I think I loved her even more here because she’s really developed a great sense of self. Although her voice is still similar, her thinking is much clearer, and it’s obvious from the writing alone how much she’s grown. Andrea puts herself into foreign experiences at Wellington, many of which she dreamed about and many of which were unexpected. She’s meeting new people, taking classes that interest and challenge her, making films, and — the one thing that’s wholly her own — she’s writing. She wants to break into the world, though, even if it kills her. But the thing is, she’s not doing all that great at school and fitting in is hard. The more she tries, the more she feels like she’s failing. Instead of blaming herself, though, she embraces the fact she is simply different and the things she thought she’d become because of a place aren’t the things she’ll become. She’ll evolve more into herself, rather than an idea of herself.

Dream School takes place in 1994, but I can’t say I felt like I was reading a story set in the 90s. It felt contemporary because everything Andrea faces is what teens and early 20-somethings face today. Being at college, she’s met with sex and drugs in a way that’s shocking to her but it’s handled realistically and bluntly (as it would be in the situation). Despite her participation in some of these activities, she doesn’t condone them or consider them. She’s honest about depicting a lot of these acts as status symbols, rather than enjoyable activities. This all comes to a head, of course, when Andrea and her friend turn to their film making skills. What seems like an inconsequential activity, though, determines the rest of her future at Wellington, and I like to think it impacts her life in a much greater way.

Even though the characters are older than traditional YA book characters, I’d shelve this one beside Girl in the young adult section. There are very visual depictions of drug use, but it’s nothing teen readers haven’t already seen on television and frankly, Andrea does a good job of giving us her feelings on it. This is a book that is heavy on voice and character development and one I think many readers preparing to go to college will dig. You can read this without having read Girl, but I think the impact would be weaker.

Following on the heels of other ballet books like Sophie Fleck’s Bunheads and Stasia Ward Kehoe’s Audition, debut author Martha Schabas takes us into the competitive world of ballet school in Various Positions, set in Toronto. Georgia’s made the cut to the elite ballet school in the city, and at the same time, her family is falling apart. Falling to shambles, even, and the truths that Georgia learns about how her mother and father came together are hard on her. Ballet is a great distraction, and she’s been lucky enough to make friends, despite the air of competition. Then, as Georgia becomes receiving more one-on-one attention Roderick, from one of the harshest (and most talked about) teachers in the academy, she finds herself spiraling into a very sexually-charged world. Her body isn’t just for dance.

This was a longer read, and I don’t necessarily think the length was a strength, either. Georgia’s age is hard to buy into and part of the reason is that her voice sounds mature but her actions are quite immature. The book begins with Georgia trying out for the academy in grade 8, and by the end, she’s trying out for grade 10. While reading, I was unable to gauge passage of time because there weren’t enough moments invested in performance or practice. What should have been a grounding force in the story — a goal to read vis a vis the ballet story thread — instead falls apart early in the book and becomes entangled in a sex scandal.

Georgia’s discovered her body is a sexual tool, and she learns via the internet how to use it as such. It’s sort of her way to work through the anger and resentment she has toward her parents, but it’s also become a way for her to gain the attention of Roderick, who she is convinced has a major crush on her. As a reader, I never got that out of what she told me, nor through Roderick’s actions. And seeing how mature Georgia’s voice read, it was hard for me to wrap my mind around her perceiving what he was doing professionally as coming on to her.

The most challenging part of this storyline was that I want to blame Georgia for what happened between her and Roderick because the truth is, she manipulated him. She knows this, too. But Roderick did reciprocate amid the pressure, so the fault is not entirely hers. However, I think many readers will feel the same way I did, which was that Georgia didn’t really garner any sympathy for her actions. A few pages after this incident which rattles the entire academy, Georgia is then thrust into another position involving sex and a boy, and while I think it was meant to build our feelings for her, it was too late. Not only was it too late, but I thought the message emerging from this book was an uncomfortable one about how males only look at females as sexual objects. It’s a theme that emerged not only in the actual encounters themselves, but also in how obsessed Georgia became in keeping her fellow academy members on top of their own bodies and weight issues. I found the flaws outweighed the potential payoff in the story, particularly in the end. Had the broken family story line played heavier into the plot, and the ballet line hadn’t become secondary to the sex scandal, this could have been a much stronger book. Likewise, pulling back the focus to those themes would have made the writing tighter and the story more strongly paced. It’d have likely helped solve the passage of time challenge, as well. Too many things were packed into this one to make any of them succeed in the way they could have.

Various Positions is obviously a double entendre, and readers should know the story is more about sexuality and less about ballet. I don’t think it will turn off readers who want ballet in their stories, but this isn’t going to strike the same chords as either Fleck or Kehoe’s recent titles. Various Positions will publish on February 14.

Review copies of each of the titles were provided by the publisher, except for Torn, which I purchased myself.