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Between by Jessica Warman

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Elizabeth Valchar is celebrating her 18th birthday on a yacht with a few of her friends, including her boyfriend. They have a little alcohol, a little weed, and she falls asleep happy. Then she’s woken in the middle of the night by a thumping noise against the side of the boat. To her horror, Liz sees that it’s her – her own body, drowned in the sea. 
Liz is dead, and the only person to keep her company in this strange between place is Alex, a classmate of hers who was killed in a hit and run accident earlier in the year. Alex has been existing – if you can call it that – in this place for awhile, and he’s learned how it works. They can drift in and out of each other’s memories, and by doing so, they can piece together the events that led up to each of their deaths.
By moving through Liz’s (and occasionally Alex’s) memories, a picture of Liz forms. She is pretty, popular, rich, and not terribly nice. She and her group of friends treat Alex and others like him – the unpopular, the awkward, the poor – shamefully. It’s nothing personal, just how things are. But despite Liz’s privileged status, we see that she wasn’t happy in her life, either. She had been running insane amounts each day and been eating less and less. People worried she was following in her mother’s footsteps, who suffered (and died) from anorexia. 
But Liz’s problems extended beyond just the eating disorder. Something happened that led to her death, something most likely connected to Alex, and with Alex’s help, Liz will figure out what it is – and by doing so, hopefully enable her killer to be caught and Liz and Alex to move on from this between place they inhabit.
If this all sounds very familiar to you, don’t worry – it should. The premise is nearly identical to Amy Huntley’s The Everafter, which was a Morris honoree in 2010. It’s also got a lot in common with Lauren Oliver’s Before I Fall – mean girl dies and must investigate a mystery. It’s not a very original concept, and the mystery itself isn’t difficult to figure out (I deciphered both aspects of it hundreds of pages before Liz did).

Despite those strikes against it, Between is highly engaging, and I credit Warman’s writing for that. Her language flows and she’s created a great character in Liz. She starts out like your stereotypical mean girl, but like in all good books, she grows (despite being dead). And we as readers see that she maybe she wasn’t so two-dimensional in the first place. People aren’t easy, they can’t be pigeonholed, and Liz is no different. In that respect, the book is as much an education for the reader as it is for Liz.

Warman is less successful with Alex. He is vital to the story, and he needs to be present to move the plot along, but that’s all he is: a device. I never felt like I knew Alex beyond his role as a clue for Liz. This is Liz’s story, so this fault doesn’t cripple the book entirely, but it does weaken its impact. 

Even though the mysteries behind Liz’s death and Alex’s presence in the between place with her are easy to solve, there are a number of other subplots that keep the reader’s interest. What secrets does Liz’s family keep? Why had she been running so much? Liz has the unique privilege of seeing how her friends and family react to her death, which is riveting – who hasn’t thought about how their own loved ones would react to their death at some point? So although the mystery wasn’t really much of a mystery, there was enough here to keep me up late at night to finish the book.
Warman also develops a good dynamic between Liz and her friends on the yacht, particularly her boyfriend and her stepsister. The relationships between the characters are believable, and Warman convinces the reader to care deeply about Liz, despite her many flaws. That’s the mark of a good writer. 
Warman’s writing really carries this story. The central plotline isn’t original, but the writing is good enough to make it worth the read anyway. That’s not really a rousing recommendation, but I do think it speaks rather well for Warman’s skill at her craft.
Review copy picked up at TLA. Between goes on sale August 2.

Everything Beautiful by Simmone Howell

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Riley Rose is a badass.

She’s a little insubordinate, a little broken, a little overweight, and a little over it all. The thing is, though, she’s totally comfortable with who she is, despite the fact she’s experienced a loss that’s rattled her and one that’s caused her to accept a woman into her life that she otherwise hates: her stepmother. And it’s her stepmother who insists she spend a week at a camp for Christians, something Riley would never in a million years want to do. She doesn’t believe in God and she certainly doesn’t want to spend an entire week pretending around a bunch of kids who are the kinds of kids she’d never be caught dead hanging out with.

But she has no choice.

When Riley gets to camp, she finds herself an instant outsider, and she doesn’t make any effort to fit in, either. Instead, she finds herself looking around the fringes for the kids like her, the ones forced to be here, rather than the ones who chose to be here because they want to be. Lucky for her, though, she finds herself a companion in Dylan, a boy bound to a wheelchair and a boy about whom many campers whisper. There’s something about him that strikes her as important, and it’s not his disability. It’s something much deeper and something that will change her views of faith and belief — something she’d never in a million years admit could happen at a “god camp.”

This book has been on my radar for a really long time — upwards of a year. But I couldn’t find it anywhere, in any book stores or libraries near by. I finally broke down and bought it online, with the notion it was the kind of story I might fall in love with, as it combined all of the elements I love in a story. And let me say, it hit every single note perfectly.

Riley is one of the best written female leads I’ve read in a while. She’s got an attitude and a prejudice against everything, but she’s completely okay with this. It’s who she is and it’s what she identifies with. But the fact of the matter is, she’s really a hurting girl, and as readers, we’re given insight into this slowly in the way she reacts to different situations going on around her. Immediately upon getting to camp, she’s dropped into a room with two girls she classifies as “god kids,” and she’s not interested in giving them the time of day. She’s above them, better than them and what she perceives as their perfect lives. But the thing is, one of her roommates is hurting and unhappy, and it’s Riley who dives in to lend her a shoulder and an ear. She would never admit to it, and she’d never suggest she cares, but she does. She’s built a million walls around her, but the fact is, they’re all cracked and crumbling, and we’re able to see it both from her mind and from our removed place as readers.

Riley is comfortable with herself and her physical appearance, even though she can get a little defensive about it at times. She’s overweight, and she knows she sticks out amongst fellow campers for being an unathletic fat girl in a camp where there are athletes and outdoor enthusiasts aplenty. But never once does she suggest dieting, never once does she wallow in pity about her weight (other than mentioning she’s gained so much due to being put on birth control pills). This plays such a crucial role in the story, I think, and it’s a detail that would sell this title to many a reader easily.

Everything Beautiful has what might be the most wonderful romance I’ve read in a long time. Riley, despite being against everything this camp stand for, begins to find herself developing feelings for Dylan. Dylan is a bit of a camp legend, having once been one of the most athletic and strong campers; the thing is, an accident changed Dylan from an athlete to a disabled boy, and he hasn’t been forthright about the cause of the accident. By being reticent about it, he’s caused quite a stir in the camp, and many speculate about the horrible thing he must have done to get himself in that situation. And it turns him into an outcast.

Dylan’s loss, combined with the loss Riley experiences in her mother’s death, brings them together in an unexpected and sweet manner. But, of course, neither admits to it readily. Instead, they dance around their affections for one another by causing a bit of mischief and mayhem. I’m not a big romance person, as I find it often overdone in novels, but Howell nails it perfectly, and she does so in a way that never compromises either Riley’s wild independence nor Dylan’s slight aloofness.

One of the biggest themes in this book is that of belief and faith. The story is set in a Christian camp, which is meant to be an opportunity for teens to connect with one another and with their spiritual beliefs. Even though Riley is adamantly against religion and downright offended to be spending a week around people who hold beliefs completely opposite hers, this is a story of Riley learning that she is a person who has immense amounts of faith. And that’s really the crux here: faith. Howell nails the idea that faith comes in a multitude of forms and shapes, and that no one matter of having it is better or more legitimate than another. People like Riley, who have no spiritual belief system, and people like many of the other campers who hold themselves as devout Christians, can all unite under the idea of having faith, whether it’s in a God or in themselves. This revelation is such a powerful moment in the story and one that really snapped together all of the little pieces of the story I’d already liked. There really aren’t enough stories about faith and belief that aren’t overly preachy or one-sided, and I’m thrilled that this book exists to defy the stereotypes of this subgenre.

Everything Beautiful has easily become one of my favorites books for its strong characterization, powerful and believable voice, and for the well-woven themes of faith and love. This book also tackles the notion of grief quite powerfully and in a way that further proves everyone grieves differently (something I’ve talked about before). Hand this to fans of realistic fiction and to those who like sharp, biting, but ultimately aching main characters. It isn’t what I’d call a clean book, and it incorporates enough moments of humor to temper the heavier topics at hand. Bonus: this book’s set in Australia, so there’s some fun setting and slang-related writing teens who like foreign books will enjoy, but the way it’s written never becomes distracting. This back list title is worth the time to visit.

My only criticism is that I can’t get the book with the cover I’ve chosen to include here. My cover looks like this. As anyone who has read this blog knows, I hate books where a fat girl has been made skinny on the cover, and without doubt, the American publishers chose to create a cover which makes 180+ pound Riley into a thin girl.

Book reviewed from a personal copy.

Bad Taste in Boys by Carrie Harris

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Kate Grable is a math and science nerd. She wants to be in the medical profession in her future, and she’s been lucky enough to play doctor to the high school football team during their season. Not really a doctor, of course, more like a student trainer and assistant to the coach. Lucky for her, it’s an awesome resume-builder and it lets her hang close to the guy of her dreams, Aaron.

During the course of the season, Kate becomes suspicious of coach, though. It seems like he’s slipping his players some sort of steroids. Which is illegal, of course, and dangerous for the coach (if he gets caught), for the players (it’ll ruin their bodies), and for Kate (a permanent dent on her record and surefire way not to get to med school). Bad as that would be, it’s actually a whole lot worse. Coach hasn’t slipped his players any sort of steroids. He’s slipped them something much more dangerous, something that could change the entire face of this high school for good. And coach himself might have imbibed in this dangerous poison.

When every hunky guy in school suddenly becomes a flesh-eating, mindless, horrifying zombie, well, Kate knows she’s in for the type of experience that might get her into something a little different than a medical school.

Bad Taste in Boys does exactly what I need in a paranormal book: it combines a realistic setting, a driven main character, and funny writing into a story that pushes the limit of the absolutely absurd. See, I don’t usually like paranormal books because they try hard to be serious or to delve into a topic with some sort of deeper layer of meaning. I know not all do, but many do try to make some sort of greater point. The thing is, when I sit down to enjoy a paranormal book, I want something so out there that I’m laughing out loud. I want my mind to not be thinking of something greater or deeper, and fortunately for me, this zombie romp is a comedy of the strange.

Kate is an extremely relatable character. She’s a passionate girl who not only wants to do well in school, but she finds ways to put her passion into practice. She’s not one-sided though; we have the opportunity to see her engaged in friendships and in her family relationships, and we have the chance to see her swooning over Aaron, the boy of her dreams. Kate is smart and savvy, and throughout the course of her interactions with the football team, we see she’s quite a likable character, too. And when things go south — and they go south fast — she uses her brain to concoct a solution. What I think I appreciate about Kate more than anything in this book is that she is not dependent on anyone but herself to solve a problem. Many books, especially mainstream paranormal titles, fall into the boy-saves-girl trope, and Harris’s book avoids this. Even when Kate crushes hard, she never forgets who she is and what her own end goals are.

Bad Taste in Boys is a fast paced read, as the action picks up nearly immediately. I should note that it’s also a bit of a gruesome read in this effect, as the zombie virus causes members of the football team to engage in behavior that leaves some with scabs and leaves some with dismembered body parts.

But here’s the thing: it is really, really funny.

Throughout the course of the story, I found myself laughing out loud more than once. As much as Kate’s a headstrong character, she’s also funny. Her observations about the zombie situation, which could easily become scream-worthy scenes, are alight with humor. It’s no big deal when coach loses her foot and, you know, Kate carries it around. When Kate walks over the dead body of one of the football team’s family members, she could break down and lose everything, but she doesn’t. Instead, she makes some environmental observations that detract from the grim situation and instead, offer a good laugh.

Although I found myself engaged with this story, I had a challenge with the ending of the book. This is a short book — just about 200 pages — and the subplots are what really drew me in. Near the end of the book, readers discover the answers to dozens of questions that arise throughout, including why Kate felt responsible for solving the zombie outbreak, why coach slipped his players this zombie serum in the first place, how the zombie virus could be reversed, and what happens to those responsible for creating this chaos in the first place. When things had a chance to fall into place, it felt a little rushed; I wanted to know more about the consequences of the coach and his provider’s actions. I was extremely curious, too, what the later effects would be on the players and on the school. An extra chapter or two exploring this or perhaps leaking some of these questions a little sooner may have tightened it up for me.

That said, Bad Taste in Boys is a light paranormal read, brimming with laugh-out-loud moments and a lot of zombies. Who hasn’t imagined their high school football team turning into a horde of zombies? Pass this book off to your paranormal fans, as well as those who humorous stories. And naturally, it’s one to add to your ever-growing list of zombie lit, and it’s one that stands out from the crowd for its unique take on how to reverse the disease.

I bought this bad boy.

Love Lies Bleeding by Jess McConkey

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Jess McConkey’s novel Love Lies Bleeding is only the second adult book I’ve read this year (not including audiobooks and comics). The first one was Jennifer McMahon’s Don’t Breathe a Word, a book I received from Harper Paperbacks that impressed me quite a lot. Based on Don’t Breathe a Word, Harper does quite well with female-driven thrillers and mysteries, so I was pleased to receive another book in the same vein – Jess McConkey’s debut (this one from William Morrow, another paperback imprint of Harper Collins).
The books share some similarities – both involve 30-something female protagonists who become caught up in a mystery that may or may not have otherworldly explanations. Beyond that, though, the similarities end. While McMahon’s novel was well-written with compelling characters and a nicely spooky tone, I found McConkey’s writing sub-par. The suspenseful plot was there, but it lacked almost everything else required for a great read.
The first problem is the characters. Our protagonist is Samantha Moore, a thirty-five year old woman who was brutally attacked in a parking lot one night and has been sent by her overbearing father and fiance to recuperate in a cabin in rural Minnesota. Her father hires a nurse, Anne Weaver, to care for her, which includes monitoring her medication and administering physical therapy. Sam has a few neighbors in the town, and it quickly becomes apparent that these neighbors have a lot to hide – and the secrets all seem to involve a woman named Blanche who used to live at the cabin Sam now inhabits.
Sam’s situation should have created automatic sympathy for her on the part of the reader. Instead, she’s almost unbearable. It’s understandable that she should be experiencing a fair amount of self-pity after what happened to her, but it’s taken to extremes here. What really bothered me was her relationship with her father and her fiance, Jackson. Sam allows them to micromanage her life and her recovery and then acts like she has no power over the situation, which is completely false. She’s not a minor with no legal way of taking control of her own life – she’s an adult with a fair amount of money and the ability to take care of herself. But she doesn’t. She prefers to whine. I understand that characters must begin somewhere small so they can grow over the course of the novel, but Sam is just unbelievable as a grown-up. When teenagers act like teenagers, it’s good writing. When thirty-five year old women act like teenagers, it’s just annoying.
Sam was the biggest problem, but not the only one. The level of the writing overall was poor. Characters say things that contradict their earlier actions, sentences feel awkward or too simplistic, and McConkey inserts clumsy chapters told from the unnamed bad guy’s point of view that muddle things up and make the red herring glaringly obvious. It felt like the work of an amateur. When writing is great, it’s easy to tell. The writing here is not great.
I had a few other minor complaints (subplots are left unresolved and some characters are hard to distinguish from one another), but poor writing and an unlikable protagonist (whom the author wants so badly to be likable) are enough to damn any novel. That said, I did find the overall plot compelling enough to make me finish the book. I wanted to know whodunnit, and in making me want that, McConkey accomplished at least one thing that she set out to do. I’ll look for more suspense novels from William Morrow, but I’ll probably pass on anything else by McConkey.
Copy received from the publisher. Love Lies Bleeding will be on shelves July 26.

Audiosynced: The False Princess by Eilis O’Neal

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Nalia is the crown princess of the country of Thorvaldor, raised to know that she will one day be queen. Except she’s wrong – she’s called into the throne room one day and told by the people she thought were her parents that her real name is Sinda, and she’s a false princess.

When the real Nalia was born, the Oracle gave a prophecy that stated she would die before she reached age 16. Therefore, the princess was taken to a safe location and another baby – Sinda – was brought in to take her place for sixteen years. Now that the real Nalia has survived to age sixteen, the charade can end. Nalia is brought to the palace and welcomed by the citizens of Thorvaldor, while Sinda is sent to a country town to live with her aunt (her real mother abandoned her and her father died some time ago).

Sinda, while not proud, finds this arrangement almost unbearable. Her aunt is a dyer, a trade which Sinda knows nothing about, and her attempts to learn are fruitless. Furthermore, the woman is cold and unsympathetic, and the townspeople gossip about Sinda. She has no real friends there and misses Kiernan, the noble boy who was her dear friend at the castle.

When Sinda discovers that she has magical abilities, she leaves her aunt and the country town and moves back to the capital city. She’s taken in as an apprentice by an eccentric old female wizard and begins to settle in to a content – if not completely happy – life. But things don’t remain calm. Soon, Sinda uncovers a conspiracy involving her, Nalia, and yet another girl in another place. She and Kiernan dig into the past in order to expose the person who set in motion a plan to topple the ruling family sixteen years ago.

There were a lot of things I really enjoyed about The False Princess, Eilis O’Neal’s debut novel. Sinda has a strong, interesting voice. She’s believable with understandable strengths and weaknesses. She seems like an actual teenager, not an adult who occasionally makes bad decisions. Most importantly, she grows throughout the novel – she learns to stand up for herself and not just accept what is given to her. She learns to ask (or fight) for more.

The plot itself is fairly standard, but that’s not a bad thing. People who pick up books like these want a fun mix of magic, adventure, and romance, and that’s exactly what O’Neal delivers. And she did manage to surprise me at a pivotal moment, which I really appreciated.

Mandy Williams narrates the story slowly, in a soft but clear voice that is perfect for contemplative Sinda. She doesn’t give much variation for other characters, but that doesn’t harm the story. It’s told in the first person, so the minimal differentiation makes sense.

That said, I felt like the writing was lacking in parts. In half a dozen spots, I was able to speak the story aloud simultaneously with Williams – and I had never read or listened to the book before. This indicates clichéd or unoriginal prose, which is too bad. O’Neal is deft at characterizing Sinda, but the writing lacked sparkle otherwise.

I’d hand this one to fans of re-told fairy tales and books in the vein of Ella Enchanted (though it doesn’t come close to Gail Carson Levine’s level of humor and charm). It doesn’t deliver anything new, but it’s a tried and true kind of story and it’s told well. As a tween or young teen, I just know I would have pictured myself as Sinda (who is somewhat timid, has brown hair, and loves to read) as I read the book. It’s definitely a winner.