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Eleanor and Park by Rainbow Rowell

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It’s 1986 and Eleanor has just moved. She’s the new girl, and she’s got to sit somewhere on the bus. Park prays it’s not next to him. She’s weird looking. She has long red hair. He’s gotta stay under the radar so that Steve leaves him along. Steve who always loves to torment the person who gives him too much attention . . .

Eleanor sits on the same bus seat with Park. They don’t talk. Day after day, they resent their situation. Until one day, they don’t. Until one day, Park notes that Eleanor is looking at the comics he’s reading. Until he realizes she’s someone he wants to talk to. Until one day they talk. 

Until one day they realize they are mad for one another. Except it’s not one day. It’s the accumulation of days and hours and moments together (and more, the moments apart) when they realize just how much they need one another.

Rowell’s YA debut novel, Eleanor and Park, is excellent. Park and Eleanor are two fully-realized characters who are both dealing with tremendously tough things in their lives. Park lives with a demanding — and at times, demeaning — father who finds him a disappointment to his family and his culture (he’s Asian), but ultimately, Park just wants to get through life. He’s a nice guy and he doesn’t want that reputation marred. Eleanor, on the other hand, has it rough and that’s the only way to say it.  Eleanor’s step father is abusive but in subtle and horrific ways. He makes an effort to make existing as uncomfortable and painful for her as possible through little things that aren’t really little. Their bathroom in their tiny home has no door. Her clothes are never clean. She has no where to put anything except her bed. Eleanor has absolutely no safety or security in her own home. She’s not a romantic, not an optimist, not hopeful for anything because she’s never had a reason to be. Even when she bumps into Park and even as their relationship progresses, she still maintains her distance because she has to. Because that’s how she’s learned to deal with life. 

These characters are real and they are aching. You want them to succeed, and you want them to have the ultimate outcome. I’m not a fan of romances, but the truth is, neither is Eleanor. She’s tough as hell and she has no reason to believe anyone could ever give her the sorts of things she needs and deserves emotionally (and physically). Rowell has a knack for getting to these characters and their insecurities and allowing those things to be what brings them together. Their relationship is strained and cautious, and in that caution, there is tenderness. 

I related to Eleanor on many, many levels. Aside from sharing a lot of her feelings when it comes to love and romance, I related to the relationship she had with her stepfather. It made me so uncomfortable because much of it was my experience with a step parent, as well. I just wanted to give the girl a hug and then tell her that she was worth a hell of a lot more than what she was being given. Park was sweet without ever being unrealistic. He doesn’t save Eleanor, and this isn’t a story about where a girl gives into that sort of trope. And in fact, I believe the ending of the book said it all — the next lines are spoiler, so feel free to skip down if you don’t want it. This was a story of Eleanor being the hero of her own journey. She was just lucky to have had the time with Park that she did and what they had — it could never, ever be taken away from her or from him.

This book will be enjoyed by readers looking for an emotionally mature story — there’s virtually nothing sexual here at all. It’s much more about emotional intimacy with moments of raw physical ache (vs. sex as sex). It reminded me at times of Natalie Standiford’s How to Say Goodbye in Robot and it will have appeal to teen readers who liked Laura Buzo’s Love and Other Perishable Objects. Readers who appreciated the hard-fought romances in the style of Gayle Forman will likely enjoy this book, too. 

Yes, this story is set in the 80s, which is usually a huge turn off for me. Fortunately, the heart of the story is timeless. The only thing giving it that time flavor are the pop culture references which, yes, could have been brought to current references to have had the same impact. But it wasn’t a deal breaker.


Eleanor & Park is available now. Review copy received from the publisher. 

A new one, a favorite one, and an underrated one: A giveaway

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It’s March. It’s supposed to be spring. We are getting up to another foot of snow tonight.

I don’t know about anyone else, but it’s been a really tough winter for me. And because of that, I want to do something good for someone else. So I’m going to do a surprise giveaway. This is a giveaway of three books, picked for very specific purposes. You enter once for all three of them.

This giveaway will consist of one new book, one favorite book, and one underrated book. Two are contemporary novels. One is a brand new fantasy novel coming out. Ready?

First up is the new book:

I haven’t had a chance to read Bridget Zinn’s Poison yet, but I am so excited to do, and I say that as a non-fantasy reader. It comes out this month, and you can learn more about the book and about Zinn’s life at her website.

Next up is the favorite book:

I’m an unabashed fan of Courtney Summers’s books, and Fall for Anything is my favorite of her contemporary titles. It’s quiet. It’s literary. And it packs a punch. I love this book and I admire Courtney and her writing greatly.

Finally, the underrated book:

Post-high school decision-making, Central American travel, backpacking culture, and maybe, just maybe, the start of a new possible love? Bonus points in this book for illustrations. Reading Wanderlove made me want to get away. If you loved Gayle Forman’s Just One Day or Nina LaCour’s The Disenchantments but didn’t read Kirsten Hubbard’s book, it’s a fabulous read alike to both those titles.

The paperback of Wanderlove comes out March 12, so you’ll get a copy of that!

Want to enter? Fill out the form. It’s limited to US and Canadian residents only and I’ll pick a winner on or around March 25.

So You Want to Read YA?: Guest Post by Little Willow (Bildungsroman Blog)

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To kick off this round of “So You Want to Read YA?” posts is from a blogger at one of the blogs I’ve been reading since I started reading YA book blogs: Little Willow. 






In addition to being a bookseller, blogger, and writer, Little Willow is also an actress, singer, and webdesigner. She always has a script or a book in her hands and a song in her heart. You can find her at http://slayground.livejournal.com and http://www.rocktherock.com.

So you want to read YA and you need some recommendations? Twist my arm! Here are a dozen books to get you started.

Body Bags by Christopher Golden begins with the line:


“It was a beautiful day to grow up.”


Body Bags is the first in a line of ten novels – collectively known as Body of Evidence – which follow Jenna Blake as she begins college and starts working as an assistant at the Medical Examiner’s office. I highly recommend this series. Both adults and teenagers will discover plenty to relate to and enjoy in this line. Readers will find Jenna visiting crime scenes and autopsy rooms nearly as often as she’s in her dorm. Her relatives, friends, and studies factor into the books just as much as serial killers and detectives.  Throughout the series, Christopher Golden – and, later, collaborator Rick Hautala – created characters who are believable but anything but cookie-cutter. The quality of Body Bags is above and beyond most suspense novels, and it continues throughout the series, versus other series which lose the momentum after a few books, or series in which the books become carbon copies. If you enjoy medical thrillers with great characters, especially if you watch(ed) television series such as CSI or Profiler, or read or watch Rizzoli & Isles, then you need to read these books right now. You won’t be sorry.


The Disreputable History of Frankie Landau-Banks by E. Lockhart is, dare I say, a coming-of-age story. It’s not about breaking the rules, nor it is about controlling others. It’s about daring: daring to be yourself, daring to stand up for yourself, daring to step outside of your comfort zone, daring to change the world. This novel possesses all of the elements necessary for a good bildungsroman, following the protagonist’s journey through her formative years. Both snarky and serious, this History is written by the victors: the memorable narrator and the author. Frankie is smart, grounded, and direct, but she also has a quirky side. Author E. Lockhart (The Boyfriend List, Dramarama) writes with heart and authentic feeling. History has an incredible conclusion, and Frankie becomes a remarkable young woman.


The Truth About Forever by Sarah Dessen is about grief, acceptance, and everything in-between. It’s about running – running for fun, running out of fear, running from yourself, running from the truth. It’s also about to-do lists, kitchen messes, and really good waffles. It’s about long conversations and comfortable silences. It’s about forever, which is yesterday, today, and tomorrow – and forever is never long enough. Dessen is always good, and this is Dessen at her best.

Deb Caletti writes really fantastic realistic novels. My favorite Caletti novel to date is The Nature of Jade, about an overachiever who has developed panic disorder. Jade doesn’t know yet that she wants something more out of life – and that she is about to meet someone that will change her life. 


Speak by Laurie Halse Anderson is an absolute staple of modern YA fiction. This story is an example of how to use first-person narration to connect readers to a largely silent and introverted protagonist – and how to reveal things slowly, to connect actions and emotions. This book is gritty and real without being gritty for the sake of it. Often imitated, never replicated, this book is what inspired the wave of YA books that tackle tough issues. 


The Alison Rules by Catherine Clark. Wow, wow, wow. After her mother passes away, Alison is reluctant to confide in anyone other than Laurie, her long-time best friend. She pulls away from pretty much everyone else and decides to quietly lives by the rules she’s made for herself. Read it, then share it. 



I Am the Messenger by Marcus Zusak, which you should go into completely spoiler-free, so I’m not going to tell you anything about it. Go read it, and when you’re done, tell me what you think, because you will definitely have a reaction to how this story unfolds and how it turns out.


Feathered by Laura Kasischke tells the story of two best friends who travel to Cancun for Spring Break. After an auspicious start, the unexpected happens, and their dream vacation turns into a nightmare which they can’t simply escape by waking – which, perhaps, they cannot escape at all. Feathered wonderfully captures that feeling of freedom one gets while far from home, when it’s possible (easier?) to be uncharacteristically impulsive. Fueled by the toxic intensity of perfect strangers, fast friends, and foreign cultures, the girls find themselves in an extremely dangerous situation, and, in the blink of an eye, everything changes. Every high school student who is planning a big-deal trip for Spring Break (or for any break) needs to read this book – and so do their parents, teachers, and chaperones. So do writers who aspire to craft stories with alternating points of view.


Nick and Norah’s Infinite Playlist by Rachel Cohn and David Levithan is not your typical boy meets girl story. Sure, it starts when boy meets girl – but then boy asks girl to pretend to be his girlfriend for the next five minutes, and girl agrees. Over the course of one night, two perfect strangers fall in and out of love with life, music, friends, cars, food, the city, and maybe – just maybe – each other. This book definitely popularized multiple narrators in modern YA fiction.

Cracked Up to Be by Courtney Summers shows that sometimes, what you don’t do can be as consequential as what you do. Parker was a good girl. A nice girl. A cheerleader. A straight-A student. Then something happened. Something which changed Parker completely. Something she wishes she could change. Her mood, her grades, and her spirits have all plummeted. Haunted, Parker is no longer the girl she once was – and she doesn’t want to be, not anymore. Courtney Summers’ debut novel is not to be missed. When the characters speak, they sound authentic: some kids swear and some kids laugh while others toss out a word or two while swallowing down what they really want to say. Adult readers will quickly be transported to the halls of high school and feel as if they never left. Pick up Summers’ other novels while you’re at it, but start with this one.


The Fallen by Thomas E. Sniegoski led the pack of immortal/angel fantasy/action stories that now line the YA shelves. The premise: Aaron has always known that he was adopted, but he never suspected he was half-angel – or that he could be a hero in the ultimate fight between good and evil. Fun fact: Before he portrayed Stefan Salvatore in The Vampire Diaries, Paul Wesley starred as Aaron Corbet in the film adaptation of Fallen – and Bryan Cranston from Breaking Bad played Lucifer!


Looking for Alaska by John Green has energized a new generation of readers, writers, and all kinds of people searching for their great perhaps. It’s thought-provoking, poignant, and lovely. Please read it.


After you’ve checked out some of these recommendations, I hope you’ll drop by http://slayground.livejournal.com/“>my blog, Bildungsroman
, and let me know what you think! I primarily review YA novels, hence the blog title –


Bildungsroman: A novel whose principal subject is the moral, psychological, and intellectual development of a usually youthful main character. (dictionary.com)


– and I have a slew of booklists I hope you’ll check out, including:


Tough Issues for Teens
http://slayground.livejournal.com/74061.html


Coming-of-Age Novels
http://slayground.livejournal.com/178045.html


Transition Times / Set in School
http://slayground.livejournal.com/78353.html

A conversation doesn’t end when you bow out

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I’m sorry, but I’m also not sorry about the need to talk about this some more.

Julie wrote something last night that brought tears to my eyes: your silence is protection they do not deserve. If you have not read this, and if you have not read Jessica Olin’s piece about not being sorry linked above, please do.

I’ve been thinking about those two posts and at the same time, I’ve been thinking about what it means to be likable or unlikable, as Reynje wrote about last week, and as I’ve linked to before where it relates to fiction. Both of these pieces are tied inherently to our social beliefs about gender and gender roles.

Every day I struggle personally with being nice. I believe in being critical, in being thorough, in being thoughtful — and being critical sometimes comes across as being mean and negative, even when it’s not.  Sometimes being critical means being unlikable. This isn’t just in a reading and book context. It’s not just about how people are going to react to or take in what it is I choose to write about on my blog, in my space. It’s in a bigger, social, I’m-a-person-living-in-this-world sort of way. I’m critical of everything because I see being critical as being part of a conversation. This doesn’t mean I’m dissatisfied all the time (though I believe wholeheartedly in the ways that dissatisfaction can be motivating). It means that when I’ve got a stake in the game, I’m going to give it my all. I’m going to find those things that need to be discussed and discuss them. It may be in my own introverted way, but I am not shy about speaking up when I need to.

Sometimes this makes people not like me. Sometimes it makes me not like me. Writing and posting a critical review gets me wound up and makes me question what I’m doing and whether or not it’s even worth it. I’m not beholden to anything nor am I obligated to speak up and share my thoughts. But I do it anyway, even when it hurts sometimes. Even when I know there are consequences to be had.

And sometimes those consequences suck.

But a conversation doesn’t end when you choose to bow out. A conversation doesn’t always end when you feel as though your own needs have been met.

There’s no need to rehash the gender in librarianship conversation again. But maybe there’s something worth thinking about in this conversation about the way we’re having the conversation. About the way we have conversation more broadly.

What is the line between being dramatic and having a serious, sustained dialog? Is there one? I’m legitimately curious about what happens when a hypothetical male librarian, who has earned a reputation for being a partier or for being a rock star or for being well-known in the field, states his case and a female librarian states a similar case but finds herself being labeled as jealous or dramatic for raising the same issues. Wherein she’s hysterical for wanting to be critical about something and wanting to bring to light some of the thoughts she’s having. Worse, why is it she gets bullied for having those thoughts?

And again, let’s remember for the record that there are thoughts and there are feelings. Sometimes one can impact the other, but never is a person, male or female, having thoughts that should be dismissed as feelings. Thoughts are informed by feelings, as feelings can be informed by thoughts. Both are legitimate. Both are okay to have. Neither are worthy of dismissal, period.

Let me be clear about something else, too: bullying someone for their thoughts has come from both males and females. Both are equally responsible for downplaying the thoughts and the larger dialog going on right now.

Both are equally responsible for suggesting these conversations are “kerfluffles.” That this dialog more broadly is about being dramatic, about being sore losers, about not putting one’s time in yet.

Why is it that when the discourse is itself about discourse that the arrows are sharpened? When a woman stands up for herself and says she’s tired of being treated this way and that she’s tired of having to constantly defend her own thoughts and actions, she’s called a host of names. She’s seen as unlikable. She’s seen as someone who is nothing but drama. She’s so often talked down into silence. Worse, she’s talked into feeling as though she has something to be sorry for, even when there is absolutely nothing to be sorry for.

And when a lady doesn’t apologize, help us all.

There are people this field who stand up and admit to saying things simply to get a rise out of people, even if it means taking other people down in the process. It ups their stats. They continue to earn time in the spotlight and draw attention to themselves and they do so without so much as being called what they are: a troll.

A line can be drawn between playing devil’s advocate and being an asshole. We all know where that line lies. Even those who participate know. They just choose to continue acting on one side of the line and not the other.

Because they have the privilege to do so.

I’ve been chewing these thoughts over in light of Julie’s post about silence. I’ve been chewing it over in terms of being an introvert and about how sometimes, silent time with someone else is the most intimate and most revealing time. It’s satisfaction and comfort.

Silence is nice.

Silence is likable.

The only way to change the conversation and the only way to change the broader dialog is to keep having it. The only way to enact change is to be an agent of change, to keep speaking up and to keep calling people out.

It’s not a matter of jealousy — no one is jealous of “rock star” status because we’re all rock stars at what we do by simply doing it every day and constantly striving to do it better. These conversations start because people want to do it better. But by belittling someone’s passion, by telling them they’re being silly or are being dramatic, the dynamics of power and privilege shine through loud and clear.

Just because you got yours doesn’t mean everyone did. Just because you got yours, it doesn’t mean the conversation is over. And just because you’re tired of having it, that doesn’t mean other people are.

Sometimes, the conversations will never end — sometimes, the conversations about gender, about power, about what it means to be seen as a leader or what it takes to earn recognition don’t have an end point.

But it doesn’t stop them from being important.

What we do at this point is keep talking. We keep lifting one another up, and we keep celebrating the achievements made through the course of living our lives day to day. We continue to support and encourage one another to speak up and out and do so in the exact way that they need to do so — that we acknowledge the value in and of speaking, of conversing, of approaching this dialog as a dialog. Because it’s not only about what’s being said. It’s also about how it’s being said.

I’m not tired of lifting people up yet.

I’m also not sorry for keeping this dialog going.

Anonymous comments are off. You can own your words. 

Little White Duck: A Childhood in China by Na Liu and Andres Vera Martinez

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I mentioned previously that the Cybils graphic novels categories had two memoirs this year, and Little White Duck was the middle grade selection. It’s the story of Na Liu’s childhood growing up in 1970s China, beginning near the end of Mao Zedong’s life. Rather than tell one linear story, she instead chooses to show us her early life in a series of vignettes, some more engrossing than others.
The vignettes cover a range of incidents, some touching upon major national events (Chairman Mao’s death, the great famine), others relaying a more personal, familial story (a visit to some poorer cousins, a mistake with some chicks while attempting to emulate elders). Through these very short stories, Liu makes the reader aware of the how different her childhood was from our own childhoods in a different place and time. Importantly, though, she also makes us realize what we hold in common: love of family, childhood fears and jealousies and confusion, the need to impress the adults around you.
Vignette-style stories are always a risk, in much the same way that short story collections are: it’s very unlikely all stories are going to be knock-it-outta-the-park incredible. The vignettes in Little White Duck are a bit uneven, some memorable, some not. What is consistently excellent, though, is the art. Wow, this is some gorgeous art. Everything about it is beautiful: shapes, colors, expression. I could pore over these pages and completely ignore the words and I’d be a happy reader. It’s easily digestible art, too: not cartoony, but not too photo-realistic either. I know some kids who would really dig it.
For kids inquisitive about another (real!) place and time, this would be a great choice. And the vignette style could be a real plus for kids who sometimes struggle to read what can seem like very long chapter-less graphic novels (or the longer chapters in traditional novels).
I tried to think of some good readalikes, but really, Abby gave me plenty: The Wall by Peter Sis, Kampung Boy by Lat, Drawing from Memory
by Allen Say. Her Goodreads post has a few more.