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First day on Earth by Cecil Castellucci

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One of the best things about speculative fiction is that it sometimes cuts to the truth of real life better than contemporary literature can. Sometimes it nails things in a way that no realistic book ever has and it rips your heart to shreds.

Speculative fiction is quickly becoming one of my favorite genres because of this.

So before I start into what will be one of the most personal reviews I’ve ever written and shared, be warned that this review features spoilers. But they aren’t going to ruin the plot or the emotional heft of the story. In fact, I think knowing these things ahead of time will make your experience with Cecil Castellucci’s First Day on Earth more powerful. It’s a short book — a mere 150 pages — and some of the chapters are simply one sentence long. Those words, though, are some of the most powerful I’ve ever experienced as a reader. I walked away from this book thinking that for the very first time in my life, I’ve found someone who just got it.

In theory and from the description, First Day on Earth is a book about Mal, who is an alien. All he wants to do is go back to where he’s from. And in his Alateen group, he’s met this guy named Hooper who is crazy. Who also claims to be from another planet. As soon as the two of these guys who feel like the loneliest people on Earth meet, though, things change. Hooper knows he has to go back to his home star. Mal doesn’t want to let him go because he’s finally forged a friendship with someone, and Mal is desperate to go with him.

But . . . this book is not at all about the aliens. I didn’t believe for a second either one of these guys is an alien or from another planet.

These two guys are as human as human gets.

Mal is angry. His home life sucks. Mal’s mom and dad recently divorced after being apart for a few years. Mal’s mom has sunk into alcoholism and deep depression and his dad has just disappeared all together.

This is the first time I can recall ever truly feeling like I connected with a character dealing with a father issue. Mal’s dad is gone. Completely gone. He left nothing in his wake, though Mal knows where he lives. His dad hasn’t bothered calling, hasn’t bothered checking in, doesn’t care. He’s moved on. He’s living a new life with a new wife and kids and has completely divorced himself from Mal. What triggers the story is that after his father’s walked out, he’s back in the sense he wants to make his disappearance permanent. His mother got paperwork to make it so.

Mal has every right in the world to be as angry about it as he is. Every moment Mal got angry, I was angry with him. I’ve been there. It sucks. Everything Mal felt is completely authentic. Reading this thin little book brought out some gross emotions I’d shoved deep down because Mal’s story hit that little nerve I like to keep buried. But it felt good to feel them right along with this character. When Mal gets the chance to see his father in his new life as the theatrical director of Our Town (come on, how brilliant is this?) and is asked to help set up the show — his father, of course, not recognizing his own son because of time and sheer ignorance — and all he does is walk away I. freaking. cheered. It’s an incredibly painful moment for Mal to face the fact in order to move on, in order to reach the place he desperately longs for, he has to do the walking away. He needs the closure.

I don’t usually quote from the book, but this moved me to tears, and I think it speaks straight to the power Castellucci’s sparse prose packs:

This is the moment. I think.

“I could pay you forty dollars if you stay and help unload the truck. We really need the help,” he says. “I’ve got to go pick up my daughter from day care. My wife thinks it’s my job.”

I want to tell him that it is his job. To care for a child. To show up.

“I gotta go,” I say. “I gotta move on.”

“Fair enough,” he says.

So I do it.

I turn around.

I walk away.

I’m wrecked, but I’m also one million times lighter.

It’s better to be the one who’s leaving.

I’ve been there myself. The one walking away. At his age, even. And in that moment I connected so hard with Mal. He deserved to be angry and mad and have that moment of taking back his life. I won’t lie — I shed more than one tear. I remember being 15 and making the choice to be the one to walk away. Every emotion here, especially the ones between the lines, rings true.

When a parent walks out of your life with no explanation, it’s hard to articulate what that really feels like. And the fact is, no one truly can understand what it feels like unless they’ve been there. It’s not about the divorce or about what it feels like when parents split. Having a parent walk out on you is devastating and horrific on a whole different level. Knowing they’ve got a new life — one without you, one with new kids and a new wife — and knowing they’re never going to come back to see you? It wrecks you. In First Day on Earth, Mal’s mom becomes an alcoholic, and Mal is abandoned. When it happens to you when you’re 15, you feel like an alien and like you truly, honestly do not belong here. You’ve been dropped somewhere completely foreign without the support you deserve to have.

It sucks. And it penetrates everything — Mal cannot relate to the people around him because he feels so foreign. He can’t forge the connections he wants because he can’t piece himself together. Moreover, he doesn’t believe anyone has ever felt as low as he has. He thinks everyone around him has it good compared to him. And how could he not, really?

Through the metaphor of the alien, of course, Mal does begin to piece himself together. It’s never once about the alien or the spaceship but becoming whole and one with oneself. And it so does that right in the end.

While we’re given the chance to build this sympathy for Mal and to feel his pain, we also realize what he’s not realizing: that other people experience pain, too, even if it’s not the same thing he feels. He’s NOT an alien. He makes a huge assumption about fellow classmates Posey and Darwyn having these glossy perfect lives. But Mal comes to find out that they do not. Their baggage…it’s just different than his. And that’s okay. No one pain is bigger than another. It may be different, but in the end, it’s all crappy. That’s precisely when he realizes that trying to escape it all isn’t the answer. He needs to just embrace it and enjoy what he’s got while he can. Remember: he’s 15. That’s how 15 year olds rationalize. That’s exactly how I rationalized it all, too, at that age.

What Castellucci does in so few words is so powerful. It resonates. This book’s merits outweigh the problematic elements for me — that’s to say, this isn’t a perfect book. I wish we could have gotten a little more, especially when it came to character development of secondary characters. I would have loved knowing more about Mal in the after, wanting to know more about how he put what he figured out to use when he “comes back” to earth. I wanted to know more about Darwyn and Posey. But it makes sense why I don’t. Because really, readers are Mal throughout the story and cannot possibly know more than what I figure out in those final, crucial moments.

If my personal story here isn’t enough to express audience, I’ll be more explicit. This book is going to speak volumes to readers who have or are experiencing life with an absent parent. I’ve read a lot of books in the course of my life, and I say with all honesty, I’ve never read one that captured the reality and the trauma so well. The thing is, it’s a very private and very personal pain. People really don’t understand unless they’ve been there. Mal’s there, and he’s the kind of friend people need to find when they’re dealing with such a heavy and hard situation. More importantly, though, it’s a story about how we all have our baggage and how, despite being so different, the crap we carry doesn’t divorce us from the world. It grounds us more tightly.

I debated posting this review here for a few reasons, including the fact I don’t like being super personal in reviewing. I like to take the most objective path I can. But more than one friend told me I have to let people in sometimes and I like to think in working up the guts to post this, maybe it moves someone to hand this book to a teen (or adult!) who needs it. Or maybe, too, it’s a way for me to ground myself tighter to the world.

ARC picked up at ALA.

The Storm in the Barn by Matt Phelan

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I realize I’m a bit late to the party with this one. I always intended to read it, and then oh look, it’s three years after it was published and I still hadn’t picked it up. I rectified that problem this evening, and I’m glad I did.
It’s Kansas during the dust bowl. Jack is eleven years old and lives on what used to be a prosperous farm. Since the rain stopped, though, the farm has stopped as well, and Jack feels useless. He’s also being bullied and his older sister is sick with pneumonia. One day, he spots a strange shape in an abandoned barn near his home. He initially ignores it, but he eventually investigates…and what he finds there has huge ramifications for the whole town and Jack’s own sense of self.
There’s a big emphasis on storytelling here, which I dig. At the local store, Ernie tells Jack stories about the King of the West Wind, the King of the Blizzards, the King of the Northeast Winds, and so on. These folktales are then reflected in Jack’s own adventures facing off against the being in the barn.
Part of the reason I never actually sat down to read the book is because the art did not speak to me initially. I’m not normally a fan of the kind of art found here: sketchy, with loose lines and washed out colors. For this story, though, it works. In Jack’s world, the dust and wind have invaded everything, so it’s fitting that even the people look a bit swept away. Phelan is also great at creating facial expressions with some very simple lines – with just a small curve, he can show frustration or happiness or anything else necessary to the story.
I think it’s important to note that The Storm in the Barn has more wordless frames than you normally find in a graphic novel. I struggle most with wordless panels, and at times I found it a little hard to follow. Due to the sketchiness of the art, a lot of the figures kind of melted together and it was difficult to tell what was really going on. This was particularly true during some of the scenes in the barn where Jack fights the being there.
The book hasn’t seen huge circulation at my library. I’m not really surprised. Most (note most, not all) kids that are drawn to graphic novels at my library like the ones that are cute or funny or exciting or gross (or all of the above). The Storm in the Barn isn’t any of those, but it will hold appeal for kids who like their stories a bit quieter. For fans of historical fiction, it’s dynamite. The historical setting doesn’t overwhelm the story. Instead, it enhances it, letting the plot and characters shine. Historical fiction is a big awards darling with less popular appeal, but there will always be the kids who dig it. (I was one.) Hand them this one.
Bonus: Jack’s older sister read Ozma of Oz while she’s sick in bed. She relates a lot of that story to what she sees going on around her, which is great, but what’s even better is that Phelan has brought some attention to a lesser-known Oz book.

Our Thoughts on the Printz

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Every year, we like to take our shot at guessing the most likely contenders for the Printz award. We’ve got a little over a month until the announcement, so we thought it about time to revisit our mid-year guesses and add any new titles we thought might have a shot at the list. We’d love any of your thoughts — where do you agree or disagree?

Kelly Says…

Most of the guesses I had in June still hold true for me. Here’s my list of best predictions:

Imaginary Girls Nova Ren Suma: I’ve had this one since my initial list, and I’ve reviewed it with Kim here. I had the chance to read this book a second time since and I think I loved it more the second read — I picked up on a lot of things I missed the first time that made me appreciate how well-written and intricately-woven the threads of this story are. It’s not an easy read but a challenging one, but the reward is worth it.

Chime by Franny Billingsley: This is one I haven’t read but Kim has. This one I’ve put on my list because it has earned six starred reviews and has been praised for its world development and language, which are two things I know the committee looks at closely. I still stand by my original assessment of this one — the cover is atrocious.

Blink and Caution by Tim Wynne-Jones: This one’s been a “best of” list favorite, as well as one that garnered three starred reviews. I read this one and felt pretty neutral toward the story as a whole, but I found the writing distracting. One of the characters is written in second person, and as a reader, I found that tactic pulled me out of the story. Since literary merit is the big factor in the Printz, though, I wouldn’t be surprise if that technique is actually a strength for this particular book.

Everybody Sees the Ants by AS King: I’m hoping that King’s book doesn’t get overlooked because she took home an honor last year for Please Ignore Vera Dietz. This one got six stars, like the Billingsley title, but this one hasn’t made a single “best of” list. I’m not sure how that works. I’ve read this one, and while I wasn’t as in love with it as I was with Vera Dietz, it stands on its own and the writing is top notch. It’s another blend of reality and the fantastic, a style I love. You can read Kim’s review here.

LIE by Caroline Bock: I’ve reviewed this one, and it has earned four starred reviews. It’s a dark horse, I think, but the writing is tight, and the storyline compelling. The message is a bit heavy-handed, but I don’t think that is an issue for the committee, who’ll look at the literary merits, and this one scores high on that scale.

The Watch that Ends the Night: Voices from the Titanic by Allan Wolfe: Another dark horse, but one that cannot be discounted because the writing and the storyline are so compelling. I’ve reviewed this one, and I thought of all the young adult verse novels I read this year (which I think might be all of them), this one made strongest use of the form. Also, it features 24 distinct voices and handles them all very well.

A Monster Calls by Patrick Ness: I tried reading this one but couldn’t for a number of reasons. It’s exceedingly well written — even from the bit I made it through there was no question on literary quality — and it has garnered some strong reaction from those who have made it through. Kim’s reviewed it, and it earned 4 starred reviews.

Life: An Exploded Diagram Mal Peet: Add this to the pile of I tried to read it but couldn’t do it. It’s a challenging text, and from what I’ve read in the reviews, the payoff is worth it. It’s highly literary and plays with human life against the backdrop of major historical events.

Jasper Jones by Craig Silvey: This mystery from Australia has garnered four starred reviews. I’ve reviewed it briefly, too. I have to say, I wasn’t as impressed with this one as others have been — it was sort of a dead story because I figured out the end in the first couple of chapters, and I didn’t quite find the way it played out to be all that fascinating. I realize I’m in the minority here, though, and I do think it meets the writing qualities the Printz committee looks for.

The Daughter of Smoke and Bone Laini Taylor: I think this might be the top contender this year. It’s gorgeously written and has some of the most beautiful prose I’ve read in a long time. I’m not a paranormal/supernatural reader, but Taylor made me love the journey anyway. Kim wrote a really great review of this one — and bonus, it’s earned four stars.

Anya’s Ghost by Vera Brosgol: I was sort of surprised this one didn’t make the Morris short list, but I’m hoping that’s because it’s a real contender for the Printz. I adored this graphic novel, both from the illustration aspect and from the story and writing aspect. This one has garnered 5 starred reviews, and Kim’s reviewed it. It’s rare a book makes me want to go back and reread, but Brosgol’s graphic novel has been begging me to reread.

In addition to these, I’d love to see Blake Nelson’s Recovery Road on the list, though I think it’s a bit of a long shot. I wouldn’t be surprised to see Melina Marchetta’s The Piper’s Son make the cut, though I have a hard time wrapping my head around a story featuring no teen characters making the cut. I did read this one and quite liked it, but I don’t know how much of a serious chance it has. I wouldn’t be entirely surprised to see Libba Bray’s Beauty Queens make the cut, despite all the hangups I had with it (it was too over the top, even for satire, and I found myself not engaged in the story or the writing because of that) nor would I be surprised to see Lauren Myracle’s Shine, either. I would be really excited to see Sara Zarr’s How to Save a Life among the Printz finalists this year, as well.

What I cut:

So on my original list, I had Judy Blundell’s Strings Attached but after reading it, I found a lot of little things throughout the story that simply didn’t work enough to make it as tight a story as the ones I’ve listed above. The Berlin Boxing Club by Robert Sharenow had a lot of passage of time issues I couldn’t forgive as a reader and I think would be called out by the committee. Even though it’s entirely possible to have a book wind up both on the Morris shortlist and on the Printz list, I don’t think Ruta Sepetys’s Between Shades of Gray will do that. There were some writing issues in the book for me, which I talked about here. As for my wish list item of CK Kelly Martin’s My Beating Teenage Heart? I keep it on my wish list.

Kim Says…

My top pick is, unsurprisingly, Daughter of Smoke and Bone by Laini Taylor. With last year’s pick, the Printz committee showed they weren’t afraid to hand the highest honor to a full-fledged genre title, so I’m hoping they’ll agree with me that Daughter is deserving of the prize this year. In terms of writing, it knocks all the competition out of the water, and by a long shot. You can read more of my rambling about the book and its merits here.

My two runners up are The Shattering by Karen Healey and Everybody Sees the Ants by A. S. King. In The Shattering, Healey writes three different points of view and keeps each of them distinct and three dimensional (no easy feat for a writer). It also includes a few big issues that award committees tend to love – LGBT, suicide, diversity – but it’s not a book entirely about those things. It’s definitely a fantasy, but set in our world with meaning beyond the fantastic. Everybody Sees the Ants is more of an issue novel, but King does it so well that it never feels preachy. The use of the ants and Lucky’s dreams add an interesting and literary flair, and Lucky’s voice is one of the best I’ve read.

Kelly has already discussed Imaginary Girls and Chime, which I still believe are contenders, although I didn’t like either of them as much as the three previous titles I’ve mentioned here. The writing in Imaginary Girls is stellar and the story is creepy good, but it didn’t speak to me like the others. Chime I didn’t care for at all – you can read all about why at my review here.

I still favor Glow by Amy Kathleen Ryan for an honor nod. It made School Library Journal’s best books of the year, the writing is crisp, the plotting is fantastic, and the themes (religion, power, loyalty) are all award-worthy. It’s also got some faint historical/literary allusions that serve it well in the award arena.

I haven’t read You Against Me by Jenny Downham, but Abby has a rave review here, and it’s got all the elements of a winner: good writing, high-stakes issues (rape, loyalty, family), excellent characterization. It’s just recently hit my radar and it might be one of the few non-genre books I pick up.

Jen Says…

Since Jen’s been busy preparing for the arrival of her baby (a good excuse, we think!), she wanted to say she still thinks some of the books she originally cast as potential Printz picks still stand, namely Imaginary Girls and Chime.

Added by Jen at the last minute:
I would like to subtract one of my original picks, Beauty Queens, after reading the book and being less than impressed, despite my immense Libba Bray love. This novel felt like way too much of an in-your-face satire to me, with key plot points and character traits being shoved to the forefront, with no subtlety at all.

I’ll also throw into the mix Everybody Loves the Ants by A.S. King and Daughter of Smoke and Bone by Laini Taylor. While I didn’t love Ants as much as I did Vera Dietz, King delivered a truly original, well-crafted book. And Daughter of Smoke and Bone was just plain beautiful, combining elements of traditional mythology with Taylor’s own twist. Daughter wasn’t 100% my usual preferred genre, but I really enjoyed this novel, and loved both its originality and its surprising twist.

Outliers by Malcolm Gladwell

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I’ve heard a lot of great things about Malcolm Gladwell’s writing. Friends and co-workers tell me that his subjects are interesting and his writing style is easy to follow without talking down to the reader. I wasn’t disappointed with Outliers. In it, Gladwell tackles the subject of success – how people obtain it and what contributes to extraordinary success as opposed to everyday success.
The thesis – that our success depends much more on circumstances out of our control than any effort we put forth – isn’t exactly revolutionary. Most of us know it to be true. However, I don’t think I’m lying when I say that most of us also believe that we if we just try that much harder and develop our talent that much further, it will be enough to become wildly successful, despite bad or just mediocre beginnings. Not so, says Gladwell.
Most of the evidence Gladwell gives us is anecdotal, which is my favorite kind to read. I can’t really speak to how scientifically valid it is, but it sure makes for engrossing listening. For example, did you know that successful hockey players are almost all born in January, February, or March? Kids born during these months are older than the others kids when they start playing in the youth leagues, which means they’re already better at the game (because they’re bigger). Thus, they get more play time, which means their skill increases at a faster rate, and it compounds as time goes by. Within a few years, they’re much, much better than the kids born just a few months later in the year. Basically, these kids’ birthdates are a huge factor in their success as adults – and it’s nothing they can do anything about. If anyone could make hockey interesting to a Texan who only grudgingly admits the sport even exists, it’s Gladwell.
Gladwell also talks at length about Bill Joy, one of the co-founders of Sun Microsystems. Joy is brilliant, yes, but he also had a wealth of opportunity presented to him when he attended the University of Michigan in the 1970s. One of Gladwell’s main arguments is it takes 10,000 hours of practice to become an expert at any one thing. At Michigan, Joy had access to a computing center where he could program continuously for hours. It was one of the few places in the country where this was possible. Joy didn’t go to Michigan intending to become a computer programmer, but once he got there, the circumstances provided a way for him to get in his 10,000 hours. Pretty darn lucky.
I could go on and on with the examples. With so much emphasis on circumstances rather than effort determining our success, it can get a little discouraging at times, but Gladwell stops short of saying circumstances are all that matters. All of the people he profiles had both luck and talent. It actually made me think of the ways my own circumstances contributed to my current success, and I realized that I’m a pretty lucky woman (but I work hard too).
I really enjoy nonfiction in audio format, and Outliers was no exception. Gladwell narrates the book himself, and his voice is great for the conversational tone of the book. Like his writing, he’s friendly and easy to follow. I’d pick up another audio by him any day.

Thoughts on the Morris shortlist

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Over the last year, I’ve read a lot of books — and a ton of debuts at that. Part of why I like to read so many debuts, aside from the fact I get exposed to completely new and fresh voices, is that I like to play the “how many can I guess” game come awards season. Plus, the lively discussions (or debates) you can have when you’ve read the books that do get award nods are much better than if you haven’t read any.

This year, when the Morris Award finalists were announced, I was pretty pleased with myself because I’ve read four of the five titles (but Kimberly has reviewed that title here). Of those, three were ones I’d pinned as potentials list-makers after reading them. Since I’ve never fully reviewed any of the titles, here’s a look at the four I’ve read and my thoughts on them. Any thoughts you have are more than welcome, of course. I love a good discussion!

Guadalupe Garcia McCall’s Under the Mesquite takes place in Eagle Pass, Texas (and a bit in Mexico, as well) and it follows the story of Lupita, who is dealing with a cancer-stricken mother, a host of brothers and sisters, and the daily challenges of living in a border town. Of all the verse novels I read this year — and I’m pretty sure I’ve read every young adult verse novel this year — this one was one of the strongest in form. It worked around each page and pass, and I really felt like it captured Lupita’s voice very well.

The story itself is compelling, especially because it really digs into the challenges that come with devoting oneself to family while pursuing one’s dreams. It’s one of those issues that’s particularly important in a lot of first generation immigrants, and it’s one with which readers definitely will identify. McCall offers readers a relatable character, and she tells a story that’s culturally pertinent right now and will continue to be relevant. I read this one immediately after reading Ashley Hope Perez’s What Can'(t) Wait (another debut), which explores similar themes and came away thinking that finally (!) there are authors writing really good stories about the challenges of growing with one’s latino/a heritage in America.

My problem, however, was that the resolution in this story comes out of left field. What Lupita chooses at the end didn’t make sense in context of the rest of the story, simply because what she does was something that never came up throughout the book. I’d have bought it in a heartbeat had she mentioned her desires to do what she did, but she didn’t. This is where I think Perez’s story is much more successful. While I think McCall’s book was strong in writing, it lacked in cohesive plot resolution, and I think compared to other titles on the shortlist, it doesn’t stack up as strongly. It does, however, have good reader appeal, which is a factor (however small) in the decisions of the Morris committee.

Where McCall’s book did feature reader appeal, I feel like Jennifer Hubbard’s Paper Covers Rock lacks. Admittedly, this book was one I had a hard time reading. I would read a page or two, put it down, not want to pick it up, pick it up reluctantly, and the process would repeat.

Here’s the deal: it’s set at a private, all-boys prep school in the 1980s. There are secrets and scandals. And it’s very, very literary. But it’s not just literary, it’s a wink and a nudge to a whole host of literary novels — especially the classic and canonical A Separate Peace. There’s also a lot of reference to Moby Dick and even though that is My All-Time Favorite Classical Read (capitals important because I’m not being sarcastic, actually), I couldn’t revel in them like I wanted to. In being so heavy in references, the story for me got so lost and convoluted. I don’t remember anything about the plot from this one, other than the fact it made tons of use of the references and made me anxious to be finished. The story becomes too aware of itself. As soon as I finished, though, I noted that it reminded me of an awardy book. And, bingo.

Obviously, this one had all of the things I dislike in a book. The arbitrary 1980s setting only enhanced my frustration with the read, and I say as a librarian, I have a hard time figuring out who the readership is for this book other than an adult/award committee. Don’t get me wrong here, though. Hubbard does what she does well. The writing is strong and the ability to make all those connections to other works is masterful. But at the end, I still wonder whether the style ended up taking over substance. Or rather, the substance of the style overtook the story.

Let’s talk now about the non-reluctant reader for a second. I mentioned in the book above I had a hard time figuring out an audience for such a heavy, literary novel. In the case of John Corey Whaley’s Where Things Come Back, I have no trouble knowing that readers who would appreciate this one are those who like their works challenging, substantial, and literary. Where the Hubbard book lacked a strong storyline for me, Whaley’s nails it.

I’ve actually talked about this book before (briefly), so I won’t go too much into what worked for me. This is a book where two very separate storylines compel the reader forward to figure out how they are related to one another. It’s layered and nuanced and complicated, but it doesn’t become overly aware of itself in the process. We are grounded in the story, rather than caught up in the technique to make the story.

As soon as I finished reading this book earlier in the year, it became the top runner in my mind for Morris consideration, and I’m thrilled to see it made the list. I’d love to see this one take the top prize come January because I think that it not only deserves it, but I think it give this gem a little more attention than it’s already received. Cullen’s voice is authentic, memorable, and, I think, relatable to so many readers, particularly those who aren’t city kids but rather are your average, small town kids.

Between Shades of Gray by Ruta Sepetys was a non-surprise for me on this list, and that’s not meant to be a bad or a good thing. The book got loads of good attention, and it’s one that I’m glad I read. I had no idea about this facet of history, nor that Stalin actively deported Lithuanians. It was a horrifying read because of how eye-opening it was. And for me, I don’t see a problem with teen appeal here at all. The teens I’ve worked with are fascinated by World War II stories and devour them. Giving them a book that takes such a different approach to the war and opens up an entire new story is exactly what I want to do, and I know they’ll read it.

However — and I know this is going to be unpopular — I’m not sure how well written the book itself is. Lina, the main character, seems to take forever to develop a real voice. It’s a story of horror and fear and torment and that’s all there. But I often question while reading a book set in this era or similar ones how much of that is the work of strong writing skills versus how much is the weight these events carry on their own. While Lina does eventually gain a voice (and a killer one that led me to mark a few really powerful and moving lines), it took a long time to come. I’m conscious of the fact it’ll be overpowered by the events, as it should be, but at the same time, I go back to the question of whether that’s necessarily a fair argument to even make given the situations themselves carry so much.

For me, the story was completely there, but I would have liked tighter, maybe even more compelling, writing throughout, rather than at the end of the book. I think what pleases me about the Morris shortlist is that, despite my issues with the writing in this book, Between Shades of Gray deserves its spot because of the story itself.

Rae Carson’s The Girl of Fire and Thorns is the one book I haven’t read so far, but I’ll link again to Kim’s review. Even though I’m not a fantasy reader, I’ve put this one on hold because I’m curious enough to pick it up (see, Morris awards have another great purpose!).

What I know about this book, though, is that it’s huge on appeal. A strong girl main character in a fantasy world and comparisons to Tamora Pierce? I don’t see how this book doesn’t sell itself to those readers.

I’m pleased to see that a book which has huge reader appeal made the list, as well as those which have more limited appeal. Even though I don’t get caught up on the idea of balance when it comes to award lists, it feels like this year’s field of Morris shortlist titles is quite well balanced. There are some titles I’m sad didn’t see the list, but on the whole, I think this is a pretty good, albeit not all that surprising, roster.

In the end, my money’s on Where Things Come Back. I’m really looking forward to being able to attend my first Youth Media Awards ceremony and knowing I’ll have read all of these books by then only makes it that much sweeter.