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Guest post at YALSA’s blog on bullying

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I’ve got a blog post over at YALSA’s blog today as a guest. I’m talking about bullying and resources and what librarians and other youth advocates can do to be aware of the issue.

Since October is bullying prevention month, I wanted to write something — especially in light of how many bullying books I’ve read in the last couple of years and in light of a number of horrific stories of teen bullying gone too far — and I’m thrilled YALSA wanted to post it over on their blog. But it’s not just about one month of awareness on the issue. It’s about being aware all year long.

Texas Book Festival 2012

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 Read my recaps of previous years: 2011, 2010

The Texas Book Festival is one of my most favorite events in Texas. The Texas Capitol (my favorite building in the state) is thrown open to the public and authors from near and far make their way there to talk books. Not only is the festival a time for me to spend time with my family and “my people” (book lovers), it also supports Texas public libraries. I’m even more grateful for that since the library I work at was a recipient of a Texas Book Festival grant a couple of years ago.
This year was great, leaps and bounds better than last year, which was a little disappointing in some ways.
Saturday

I started the festival off with a visit to “Class Acts,” a panel featuring Tim Green, Adam Rex, and Jon Scieszka. While they each were there to promote their latest books, they did speak some about previous books and their writing in general. This type of a panel is great because all three authors were very funny guys and had great camaraderie. The topic of bullying came up, and each writer talked about how they felt they were both bully and bullied at some point during grade school. Rex talked about how his experience as both informed his main character in Fat Vampire, a bullied kid who gains power as a vampire and turns into a bully as a result. It gave me a different perspective on the book, which I didn’t really care for. (I am, however, an evangelist for The True Meaning of Smekday, and if you haven’t read it, get on that.)

The next stop was a visit to hear two of the Onion’s editors talk about their latest book, The Onion Book of Known Knowledge. Rather than having a moderator who asked them specific questions, they gave a PowerPoint presentation. Unlike most PowerPoint presentations, this one was funny. They had the audience in stitches with gems like “Antelope: Another f***ing kind of deer” and “Egg: The most popular form of child to eat” plus the graphic above. They also talked about how the book was created, including an $8,000 trip to see Mount Rushmore and an additional $8,000 trip to verify their findings. I have Our Dumb World and enjoy referring to it from time to time, but the Onion’s encyclopedia speaks even more to my librarian heart.

Kristin Cashore and the back of my head.

Next up was “Fantasy Gets Real” with Kristin Cashore, Cinda Williams Chima, and Jasper Fforde. They talked about the usual things: writing process, how YA and SFF are often looked down upon by the “literary establishment,” worldbuilding, magic, naming characters. It was mostly interesting, but unfortunately Cashore spoke so softly and her mic was so far away from her that I caught only about half of what she said. (Is it appropriate in these instances to shout out “Could you speak up a little?” if the moderator clearly doesn’t see a problem? Regardless, I didn’t.) I did go stand in line to buy Bitterblue and get it signed, though. And it’s very, very good.

My last session of the day was “With Great Power Comes Great Responsibility,” which was not about Spider-Man at all. It featured Marie Lu, Katherine Applegate, Andrea Cremer, Bree Despain, and Michael Grant. I’m not wild about any of those authors, but I thought the discussion would be interesting (and it was). The thing that sticks most firmly in my mind is that Michael Grant is a high school dropout. It’s also remarkable how many adults are still wild about Animorphs. Before the session started, two women in their 20s showed the authors their Animorphs tattoos on their ankles. (Since I find stories about animals quite dull, this series never appealed.)

Sunday

The first session I attended on Sunday was my requisite nerd session: “Jane Austen: Reading Between the Lines.” David Shapard talked about the process of annotating Austen’s novels, including his initial love for her writing and how his appreciation for her grew as a result of the project. Jennifer Ziegler should get the Best Moderator award for her work here, since her questions were by far the most interesting and thoughtful of any session I attended. Shapard talked some about how he used the OED as a reference to learn about how the meanings of certain words were different in Austen’s time, which I found fascinating (“condescending,” for example, did not have quite the negative connotation we apply to it now). 

There are photos of me more awkward than this, but not many…

Next was “Right Place, Right Time,” which featured Shana Burg, Avi, and was supposed to include Karen Cushman. Unfortunately, Cushman had to have surgery and couldn’t attend the festival, which was super disappointing, since I was really looking forward to seeing her alongside Avi, two of my favorite authors as a kid. But Avi was really great. Favorite line from the session: “I don’t teach lessons, I tell stories.” He also talked about how the author’s notes in his books are really for the parents and other gatekeepers, not the children – in a historical novel, the adults want to make sure the author got it right before approving it for the kids. I purchased his newest book, Sophia’s War, which sounds like something I would have loved as a kid. Normally I just hand the book over and get it signed silently, since I a.) don’t want to hold up the line; and b.) am afraid of strangers, but in this case I told Avi how much I liked his books when I was a kid, that I was now a librarian, and he told me he used to be a librarian as well. And then he suffered Matthew taking a photo of us. Nice.

I closed out the Festival by hopping over to see Garth Nix and Sean Williams discuss their collaborative effort, Troubletwisters. I’m not terribly interested in that series, but Nix spoke about some of his other books as well, including Sabriel and Shade’s Children, both favorites of mine as a child. (It was really great to see so many of the authors I loved as a child still writing and winning awards in my adult years.) Bonus: both authors are Australian, so everything sounded much more interesting thanks to the accents.

All in all, it was a really satisfying event. On to 2013…

Guest Post: Ilsa Bick on Horror

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Today, Ilsa Bick – author of Ashes and its newly released sequel, Shadows – joins us for a guest post on horror influences as part of our month-long celebration of horror writing. We were curious about Bick’s own favorite horror movies and if they had any influence on her books. The answer: not really, but we get a funny story anyway. And I love how she refers to the Changed as having undergone a “lifestyle change.” That’s one way to put it.

What are your favorite horror movies?
Well, I don’t actually watch or enjoy most of what’s offered these days as horror. Slashers are just boring; and, honestly, life is tough enough. Yeah, these kinds of films are horrific, but . . . snore . . . I mean, if you’re into blood and stuff, sure, but way too many people equate a ton of gore with what’s scary. Most of these slasher flicks with the guts and the sadistic chop-em-up sequences? Meh. It’s corn syrup, folks.

What’s much more intriguing/frightening/scarilicious are the things you only imagine and don’t see: that Boogey-Man under your bed, for example, or what you only see out of the corner of your eye. So I guess I really only have two favorite horror films. The first Blair Witch was super because it exploited the unseen. I think I must’ve poked my husband a couple hundred times: What did he say? Did you see that? What was that? I kept trying to see better. You know, squint and bring things into focus? It was brilliant.

My second favorite is Alien. (I just adore and, in my film academia days, wrote about those films, although I have not seen Prometheus and got zip interest in doing so). That first film is another superb example of things that are scariest when they are a) unexpected and b) ever-shifting/hardly seen. Alien is a haunted house-Halloween-style film set on a ship in outer space (and, no, I actually don’t care for Halloween).

And, frankly, the real reason I will always have a soft spot for Alien: the film made my date scream like a girl.

What influences, if any, did these movies have on the Ashes trilogy?
None, really, although I guess you could say that the Changed being so unknowable is a bit like worrying about that Boogey-Man under the bed. They’re creepy because you can’t really get into their heads—and, yeah, they’ve undergone this major lifestyle change.

Now, I can understand where people would think I’m big into slashers or something, but I’m not. Anything I put in a novel is there for a purpose, not simply to amp up the gross-out factor, or because I’ve run out of ideas. My characters are in horrific, horrible circumstances. For me, it’s not about the gore. It’s about what people are capable of doing to one another: the horror of brutality.

I’ll be writing more about the book a bit later, but I can say that the horror of brutality is definitely a part of Shadows, much more so than Ashes. Are you ready to read about being eaten by a zombie from the perspective of the eaten? If so, then you are ready for Shadows.

Ashen Winter by Mike Mullin

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I really dug Mike Mullin’s Ashfall, more than I thought I would. Survival stories aren’t usually my thing, but Mulllin turned me into a fan. The sequel, Ashen Winter, picks up where the first left off: Alex and Darla are at Alex’s aunt and uncle’s place, a passable refuge from the changed world. But Alex’s parents had set off to find him, and now Alex wants to find them and bring them back, reuniting the family. Darla decides to accompany him, and they’re off.

It’s a really simple premise, if a little stupid on Alex’s and Darla’s parts. Maybe it’s just because I knew I was reading a survival story, but two teenagers setting off into this post-volcano world on their own is a recipe for disaster. Let me tell you just a few things this new world has in store for our intrepid couple: cannibals (called “flensers”), rapists, kidnappers, never-ending winter, a desecrated landscape, an incompetent government response, and mercenaries. But both Alex and Darla are headstrong characters, so it’s not entirely unbelievable they would have made this decision, and their family wouldn’t have been able to stop them if they tried.

Ashen Winter is quite similar to Ashfall in a lot of ways: it’s a chronicle of how Alex and Darla survive, heavy on action. Unfortunately, I liked it significantly less due to the fact that it’s chock full of sexual abuse. A very large plot point (actually, the main plot point) focuses on the real and potential sexual assault women and girls undergo in this new world. Sexual assault was a part of the world pre-volcano, as it’s a part of our own world, but it’s practically a way of life for a much larger segment of the survivors post-volcano. Most of the book is spent trying to infiltrate a group of gangsters who steal and/or buy women and girls to use as sex slaves.

Some people don’t have a problem reading about this type of thing in fiction. Some people would say it’s realistic. I’m just tired of reading about it. There’s a particularly icky point near the end of the book that made me feel very uncomfortable as a reader, and I wished I hadn’t read that section at all. I finished this book before reading this thought-provoking post (about dystopias, not post-apocalyptic stories, but there is common ground), which really crystallized my feelings about this book. I want to read about resourceful teens surviving terrible cold, hunger, fatigue, even violence. I like those kinds of survival stories.

Maybe it’s because I frequently read to escape, and I know I won’t be going hungry anytime soon, that I have a shelter that keeps me warm, that my family is healthy and safe, that I won’t be eaten by cannibals, so I don’t mind putting myself in the shoes of a character who has to fight against those things. I do, however, fear sexual assault. I don’t like to read about it.

I guess that was just a really long warning that Ashen Winter focuses much more on this topic than its predecessor, which touched on it only slightly. It’s still well-written, exciting, and interesting. But I didn’t like most of it.

As always, your mileage may vary.

Review copy received from the publisher. Ashen Winter is available now.

Adaptation by Malinda Lo and Beautiful Music for Ugly Children by Kirstin Cronn-Mills

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I started to write two separate reviews for these titles, but the more I thought about them, the more it seemed appropriate to talk about them together. Both Malinda Lo’s new title Adaptation — which will have a sequel — and Kirstin Cronn-Mills’s Beautiful Music for Ugly Children tackle sexuality and identity head on in ways that, on the surface, don’t look to have anything in common but in actuality, touch upon many common themes.

Reese and her crush David are in the airport waiting for a flight home from their team debate in Arizona when it happens. When the birds first crash down. When the world around them starts behaving in erratic, strange ways. They can’t catch a flight home. When people are dying everywhere.

They rent a car, determined to get home to San Francisco to their families. Except, the ride home is about what you’d expect from a world gone mad.

In the middle of Nevada, a bird crashed into their windshield, and shortly thereafter, Reese awakes in a military hospital. Neither she nor David can get answers about what happened or why they’re in the hospital or even where they are. But they’re healed from the car crash.

As soon as Reese gets home to San Francisco though, things become even more bizarre. There are dead birds still. Hazmat teams. All sort of surveillance. And then she runs into Amber Gray. Now Reese is much less worried about busting down the government’s secrets and instead, she’s worried about figuring out who she is and what Amber is to her.

Adaptation takes on one of my favorite scifi tropes: aliens. Aliens. This is a huge and brilliant metaphor in the story. As much as this is a story about Reese discovering the truth of her and Amber’s identities (Are they human or alien? Is it all government conspiracy?), it’s actually a story about Reese questioning her sexuality. Does she have feelings for David or does she really have feelings for Amber? This internal struggle epitomizes the alien aspect, of course — Reese feels alien in either choice because she’s unsure whether she’s ever being true to herself or true to what people want to believe of her. David’s reactions and interactions with Reese make readers want one thing, while she’s unable to make a solid choice because her heart can’t. I’m being purposefully vague because so much of the enjoyment in this book was not knowing what would happen going in and being pleasantly surprised with how the romantic tension played out.

More than being a story about sexuality, though, it’s also a story about love more generally. Reese questions whether it’s possible to love more than one person because the feelings she has for David and the feelings she has for Amber are real and true, but she isn’t sure whether she can truly believe that or not. Is there enough room in her heart to love two people? To do so for such different reasons and purposes? And how do you proceed when you do tangle with that? There’s a great speech from Reese’s father on the topic who assures her it is possible and okay to love more than one person.

While I saw the twist in the story coming from pretty far away, I thought the pacing and the complexity with which Lo wove the alien/sexuality metaphor made this book quite memorable. I always hesitate to use the word fun when it comes to a book that delves into pretty meaty issues — without becoming an issue book, I should add — but this book was a lot of fun to read. It does have a companion and there is quite a cliffhanger at the end. I’m invested enough to want to know what happens next, though.This isn’t a perfect book, as I found the pacing dragged at the end and I had trouble further into the book parsing out the government conspiracy aspects of the story from the personal struggle in Reese, but these are forgivable. I assume some of these issues will be better illuminated in the companion.

Give Adaptation to readers who like stories about sexuality, want something LGBTQ-friendly, and those who like good, thought-provoking science fiction.

Moving from aliens to feeling alien within one’s own body — without the science fiction elements — is Kirstin Cronn-Mills’s powerful Beautiful Music for Ugly Children. Gabe, who was born Elizabeth, loves music and would love nothing more than to be a DJ when he leaves high school. Of course, those jobs are pretty rare, and he knows he’s lucky to be spinning tunes for people in his mid-sized town in Minnesota late at night thanks to his neighbor managing the local radio station.

Gabe feels most comfortable behind the mic, where he can truly be Gabe. It was up until a couple of months ago he lived as Elizabeth and fought against everything he believed about himself. He wasn’t Elizabeth. He was Gabe. Through radio, he can better accept himself and hope people can accept him too.

It’s
the Midwest and while it’s not small-town, there are certain beliefs that permeate Gabe’s world
and impact it pretty profoundly. His mom and dad have a hard time
accepting him as Gabe (despite loving him and accepting him in their
hearts, they still want to call him Liz, thus continuing to hold him
back); school is a place where he’s insulted and taunted for being
different; people actually want to hurt him because of his difference
(more because of their own fear of anything that’s not black and white);
and he struggles with where to go from here not only in terms of work
(he’s graduating and while he dreams of being a DJ, it’s a dying art)
but also in terms of relationships. Does he go after his heart and
pursue his best friend Paige? Does he dare break the friendship in an
attempt to forge a romance? What about Mara, who was the first girl to
call in to his radio show and profess her feelings for his radio persona
(which isn’t a persona at all)? Or Heather?

While the
transsexual storyline is at the heart of the book, I found what stood
out were the relationships here (of course they all go back to the
essential questions of sexuality and of gender and whether or not those
things matter period). Gabe and his relationship with John is different
from many I’ve read in YA, and it got me a bit choked up more than once.
I found his relationship with Paige dynamic and authentic; as much as
she was at times scared or worried for him, she loved him fiercely in
the way he deserved. There is a real vulnerability that exists between
the two of them and reading these moments made my breath a little
unsteady. I worried so hard for both of them because their worlds felt
so fragile, even though it shouldn’t have; I think because the story was
through Gabe’s lens I was led to worry about him and Paige a little
more.

Gabe doesn’t think he deserves
anything. He doesn’t believe he deserves to be happy, deserves to be
loved, deserves to be accepted for who he is. Gabe is hard NOT to like
as a reader, and those moments where two jackasses who
are scared of him want to hurt him because he’s different, I welled up.
He was such a good person, such an unassuming person, even, and the fear
those two had for his being different and accepting himself as such
made me so angry. No one deserves that kind of treatment, and that Gabe
even questioned himself or his insanely brave decisions for a second
because of them hurt. That Gabe didn’t want to seek out police help
because he assumed they wouldn’t care not only hurt, but it struck a
truth about the LGBTQ world, especially that world in the Midwest, and
it only made me care and worry about Gabe that much more. It also
further reflected Gabe’s believe he didn’t deserve protection or help.

John, who is Gabe’s neighbor, has had a rough life, but he keeps it quiet. It doesn’t appear to be the case on the surface, since his career in radio had offered him so many neat opportunities. He’s a fully-fleshed character in and of himself, but his story line further enhanced Gabe’s. John, despite being much older and being pained by loss in his own life, looked at Gabe as an equal.
I think that’s why when he does tell Gabe about his family, it’s such a
huge moment both for him and for Gabe. It’s friends sharing big things
with one another.
John really sets Gabe up on a great path for the future in many, many
ways with a big gift — something he expects no returns on. The acceptance and love he offers Gabe without any questions was
such a contrast to what Gabe experiences at school and, at times, home.

The
music story line here is fresh, and I loved the A-side/B-side metaphor
woven throughout. While Beautiful Music for Ugly Children focuses on Gabe and his acceptance of self as Gabe, it’s really a story about accepting yourself, period. This is where the Ugly Children’s Brigade, a fan group for Gabe’s show, plays in. This is a story about Gabe, who is transsexual, but it’s not a story about Gabe, the transsexual. There’s a big difference.  

I thought the transsexual storyline may have even been underplayed,
actually, and I wouldn’t have minded a little more. For a while I
wondered if this was more about a transgendered experience since it was
so underplayed, but it was the very last scene that cemented the fact
that this was about a transsexual experience. John’s gift was, of
course, so that Gabe could work toward a full physical change. I’m
assuming anyone who reads and gets this book understands the difference
between those two terms.
At the center, this is a story about being a person, and being a person
who accepts that they deserve to be the person who they are. No
question.

Cronn-Mills writes the teen voice so well, and maybe
it’s because my roots are Midwestern, but she nails life in this part of
the country for teens. I love how these kids work and their jobs are a
big part of who they are, too. For all of this, Beautiful Music for Ugly Children is a quieter book,
but it is one that will resonate with readers, and I think they’ll
identify easily with Gabe — the questions of who you are and who you
can be are never limited to one experience.  

Both Adaptation by Malinda Lo and Beautiful Music for Ugly Children are available now. Review copies received from the publisher.