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books

Bumped by Megan McCafferty

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Like in any good society nowadays in ya lit, the world which Megan McCafferty creates in Bumped starts with a virus that makes everyone over the age of 18 sterile. Unlike in other worlds, where teen girls are forced into birth-slavery though, in this one, girls are paid big bucks to carry children for those who have crossed the 18 year threshold. Melody, one of the two main characters in the story, has been offered a mega deal by a couple, and her womb has suddenly become gold territory in the world. While her adoptive parents are excited, she’s a little worried and angry about the deal because she’s got a massive crush on her friend Zen. See, in this world she can’t express that or follow through on it because that would be a waste of her physical resources.

Things get even more complicated, though, when Harmony, Melody’s long lost twin sister, shows up at the door. Harmony’s come to grab her sister back from the dark side and instead train her in the ways of her lifestyle on the religious Goodside. Toss in a case of mistaken identity sure to happen when twins are involved in a story, and you suddenly have more and fewer problems than you had from the beginning of the novel.

Bumped was one heck of a hilarious book. So many reviewers have commented on this book, suggesting it’s strange or not as enjoyable as they hoped, but I actually really liked it. Though this is not my usual fair, I loved the spoof on the influx of dystopian worlds in the ya world today. This is satire done well.

In the beginning of the story, readers are tossed in the midst of this world, and there’s little to grasp. McCafferty doesn’t offer us the rules or the history of this society for quite a long time; in fact, it’s not until many chapters in that we understand why Melody’s fertility’s been sold off to a high bidder. It’s not until near the end we understand why she has scored such a mega deal with a genetically perfect rockstar of a bumping partner, Jondoe. Likewise, we don’t really get exposed to the relationship that exists (and develops) between Melody and Zen for quite a while: it’s not really important. It ends up playing a pivotal role in the story later on, but the growth and investment in that relationship doesn’t matter that much in the context of the story. It’s more a plot device. Then when Harmony enters into the story, the plot becomes even more complex and unexplained.

What McCafferty does is trust us to go with it and experience the absurdity right along with both the characters. She wants us as readers to draw upon our knowledge and experience of future and dystopian worlds and see what it’s like when every single one of them collides. This is what many readers seem to be missing in the story — it’s not meant to be a fully realized world and the characters aren’t meant to be fully developed beings. Instead, we’re supposed to get a kick out of the idea of twins separated at birth reuniting then experiencing (and perhaps reveling in!) mistaken identity; that anyone over 18 suddenly gets a virus and loses fertility and must resort to bribing teenage girls to have babies for them; that there’s a girl who gets a great deal but instead is considering throwing it all away in the name of love to another teenager; and, of course, the fact that one twin comes from the crazy religious group and wants to save her sister from her life of sin. Let us not forget, too, that this is indeed the first book in a series.

It’s insane. It’s hilarious. It’s spot on. And in this strange way, it works so well.

Perhaps my favorite part of the book, though, was the language. Like any sci-fi, dystopian world, there’s a lexicon to learn. The way it was used reminded me a lot of M. T. Anderson’s Feed: it’s strange enough to be different but understandable enough to make perfect sense to the reader. For some readers, it might be a turn off, especially given the lack of laying out the world and its rules clearly, but other readers will eat it up.

I think many readers have been unfair to this book because it’s the first book that McCafferty’s published since her Jessica Darling series. Whereas that series is a contemporary fiction and one that many readers (yours included) fell in love with, it’s a completely different and unrelated book to Bumped. Comparing the two isn’t fair, and in fact, I think it speaks to McCafferty’s strengths as a writer that she can produce two entirely different story lines successfully.

Pass this story off to your fans of quirky stories — I would think your fans of stories like Natalie Standiford’s would appreciate this book quite a bit, even though it’s less contemporary and more science fiction. This will also work quite well for your fans of dystopian fiction: they will see what McCafferty’s doing and appreciate it. I think those who appreciated Julia Karr’s XVI, M. T. Anderson’s Feed, and similar titles will eat this up. Of course, this is one to also hand off to those who enjoy a great satire. Be warned, though: there is frank discussion of sex and reproduction in this book, so it’s not one for your younger or more sensitive readers.

Review copy received from the publisher. Bumped will be published April 28.

Back When You Were Easier to Love by Emily Wing Smith

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Joy’s a new girl in town, but not totally new. She’s been in the small town of Haven, Utah, for a year now, but this year’s different since Zan, the boy of her dreams and first guy who noticed and cared for her in this town, is now out of the picture. He’s left Haven for a college near Joy’s original home town in California. He’s also left no contact information, no way for them to stay in touch. It’s like he’s disappeared off the map all together, and he never even gave Joy a proper goodbye — nor did he properly end whatever relationship they had.

Now that he’s gone, though, Joy can’t move on. She needs closure, and she’ll get it thanks to the help of Noah, Zan’s ex-best friend and the guy who Joy wants to ignore. But she realizes he could be the key to her closure, and with him, they travel to Zan’s new college and seek him out.

Back When You Were Easier to Love was a book I went into with high expectations, but I left feeling a bit left down. The book is exceptionally fast paced, as chapters are only a page or two long; as a result of this, though, the characters are a little underdeveloped for the complicated and lengthy-feeling plot line. While the pacing and set up certainly mirror Joy’s own journey, the structure wasn’t strong enough for me to forgive the weaker aspects of the story.

As a reader, I wanted to care for Joy: she’s in a really tough spot, being a new girl in a small town. But the thing is, she’s not really a new girl. She’s a new girl only in the sense that the guy she clung to when she was new has left her for college. Rather than use this as an opportunity to slide back into life as she should have a year ago, she instead chooses to fixate on Zan. As a reader, I was annoyed because Joy had no interests outside Zan, both when he was a part of her life and after he leaves her. During the course of the story, we see hints of what her interests are, but so much is focused on her obsession with this boy that she quickly becomes an irritating character. I didn’t quite care about her finding her closure because it seems like something she should have done during the summer between the end of her first year at Haven and the start of the second. Instead, there’s a bit of a gulf in time.

I will admit that this fixation/obsession is well done. Joy blows off everything she has in her life for this guy, including Noah, Zan’s former best friend. Noah was probably my favorite character in the story, as he’s clearly moved on from being ditched by his best friend, and even though he’s moved on, he’s willing to put up with — maybe even encourage — Joy’s obsession because he wants to be a good friend to her. She ignores him and treats him like dirt, yet he still comes back loyally to her. I liked this about his character, but I also wrestled with it because I wanted him to find someone new who’d actually care about him. As much as he wasn’t outwardly struggling with the loss of Zan, it was clear he was internally wrestling with losing a huge part of his social life; the thing is, he was unable to express it because no one would bring it out of him. Joy was far too self-centered to step back and consider what Zan’s departure meant to his best friend.

Zan was never developed as a character to me, and as a result, I found the obsession Joy has frustrating. She describes him as brilliant and gorgeous, but we get little else. It’s clear she’s idealizing him (as seen when she finally gets her closure later in the story), but because I have to believe her for a long time before “meeting” him, I wanted a little more reason to believe in him. I didn’t; perhaps that was because as an adult, I’m under the belief any person who just disappears and doesn’t leave contact information prefers not to be reached. And maybe that person is just a jerk who needs to be forgotten about, too.

What I did enjoy about this book, though, came after Joy finally gets her closure. As a reader, it was what I wanted to happen to her — as painful as it was — and it was through this and this alone that she finally figures out who Noah is and why he’s important. More than that, though, Joy realizes that there’s much more for her to have in Haven, even when she was earlier convinced it was a worthless place to be. Even though the Vegas scenes were strange to me, I let them slide under the belief they’d make Joy a stronger person, and they did. For me, these scenes read a little bit like some of the scenes between Amy and Roger in Morgan Matson’s Amy and Roger’s Epic Detour, meaning they were a little uncomfortable/too much like a honeymoon scene (that is, much older than a teen’s perspective). That said, though, I think most readers who enjoyed Matson’s book will eat this one up because it’s of the same premise of dealing with grief and love through a road trip.

As I mentioned earlier, there is a lot tackled over the course of this fast book, and one of them is faith. This is a Mormon-friendly read, although I felt this aspect of the story really got buried beneath Joy’s obsession with Zan. It’s not until about 3/4 of the way through the book do we see Joy talk more candidly about her spiritual beliefs; this made me sad because I thought had this aspect been amped up sooner in the story, I would have found Joy such a fuller character. Instead, this got a little buried, and part of me wonders if it was the case that had it been a bigger aspect of the story, this book would become too easily labeled as religious ya fiction (a label that carried a certain weight when you use it).

Back When You Were Easier to Love will appeal to those looking for a light-hearted and extremely clean book. Even though I had issues with character development and plausibility within the story, the right readers will overlook this. For them, it’ll be a story of reconciling lost love and moving on into a new relationship. There’s nothing blush-worthy in here, so you don’t have to worry about a heavy or sexual relationship among the characters. It’s definitely a book with greater appeal for female readers, and I’d be comfortable handing it to middle or high school readers.

Review copy picked up at ALA. Smith’s novel will be published by Penguin/Dutton April 28.

Chime by Franny Billingsley

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I think the best word I could use to describe Franny Billingsley’s Chime is “odd.”  It’s a very different sort of fantasy written in a very different sort of way.  I do think it’s well done, but it’s going to appeal to a specific kind of reader – a patient reader who enjoys leisurely stories and takes the time to absorb the writing style.
To be honest, it’d difficult for me to explain exactly what this book is about.  It doesn’t have an easy plot that can be summed up in a few snappy lines.  Briony is a teenager and lives in Swampsea, which is (I believe) supposed to be somewhere in England.  Swampsea is built on a swamp (obviously), and the town leaders have decided to drain the swamp to improve the economy of the city and the standard of living of its inhabitants.  Evidently swamps aren’t great places to live.
The Old Ones, supernatural-type beings with names like Mucky Face and Boggy Mun, have a problem with this swamp-draining idea.  The swamp is their home and they’d like it to remain as it is.  The Old Ones inflict the swamp cough, an incurable disease, on Swampsea’s inhabitants on a whim, and one of the cough’s victims happens to be Briony’s odd twin sister Rose.      
Brought into this mix are the Chime Child and the idea of witches.  The Chime Child is a person born at the stroke of midnight who can determine whether a person is a witch (in this world, witch=bad).  And she’s not always correct.  I suppose everyone makes mistakes.
The book opens with Briony telling the reader that she’s a witch and deserves to be hanged.  The rest of the book involves Briony telling us what led up to her arrest – she believes she’s responsible for her sister Rose’s mental condition as well as a massive wave that injured her stepmother’s spine and eventually led to her death.  (This is all revealed very early on, so don’t worry that I’m spoiling it for you.)  Briony has a lot of self-hatred, and this permeates the entire novel.  It can get a bit depressing, but it’s not surprising considering what Briony believes she has done.
And there’s a boy.  Of course there is a boy.
So, have you got all that?  And that’s not even half of the weird stuff going on in Chime.  There are so many elements at play, a reader has really got to be patient and wait for it all to fall in place at the end.  Patience is also required for the writing style.  Billingsley’s writing is heavy on metaphors, particularly odd metaphors you wouldn’t have considered before.  She also uses some really quirky phrases that add to the mood of the book, but also cause the reader to do a double-take at times.  Instead of being drawn further into the story by the writing style, it made me feel further removed.  It also made for a very long read – make no mistake, this is a slow-moving book.
Most times when I review a book I didn’t particularly care for, such as in the case of Chime, I have something fairly critical (but valid) to say about it.  Usually it’s mediocre writing, flat characters, or a nonsensical or boring plot.  In many of these cases, the book can still be enjoyed if one is willing to overlook these factors.  In the case of Chime, however, I don’t have anything specific in mind to criticize – it simply isn’t my cup of tea.  It’s slow, certainly, and it’s the weirdest book I’ve read in a long time, but these can also be strengths for the right reader.  Billingsley was going for a particular mood and she achieved it – it’s just not one that really appealed to me.
Copy checked out from my local library.

Even more cover changes: the good, the bad, and the ugly

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It wasn’t too long ago I posted about a number of ya books that went through cover changes when they were published in paperback. After that post, I noticed more and more covers I thought were worth sharing and comparing. Some of these are excellent recovers and some really don’t work for me.

Let’s start with a few of my favorite books published in the last couple of years.


You can read my review for this book here. While I have always loved the purple of this cover — given the symbolism it holds for the story and for the fact purple like this stands out on a shelf — I was never a fan of the girl cowering in the corner. The font over the girl isn’t a technique I care for either, but it works for what this story is quite well.

Then it got a makeover.


Talk about a completely different feel. This cover is much more inviting and positive feeling than the original. I find it curious, though, that the girl’s hair cut and color is so much different than before. I do like the font and the placement on the cover, as it’s much easier on the eyes than the original. I don’t love this cover or hate it, since I think it looks like a lot of other ya covers on the market, but what I do love is how well this one will fit with Freitas’s forthcoming novel’s cover (I love that cover so much).


You can read my review of this title here. I dig this cover. It has everything it needs to have, and the balance between text, dead space, and color is perfect. There is an immediate guy appeal factor to the cover, as well.


Grittier. Edgier. And perhaps even more boy appeal. The thing is, I don’t care for it too much personally. I wouldn’t pick this one up off the shelf by the cover — the orange is a little off putting when mashed up with the all-gray images. But boys certainly will. I love how they kept the guyified heart on the cover in the paperback version, using it in the “o” rather than as the “no” symbol. The only thing I can really say is that the cover doesn’t scream car destruction or environmentalist fervor, but it does scream punk edge.

Now for discussing the covers of one of my favorite series of books, The Dairy Queen series (reviewed as a whole here).

Here’s the original hardcover version of the first book in the series. I like how simple and quirky it is — we have a cow dressed with a queen’s crown, and we have pink font on the cover. It doesn’t tell too much about the story as a whole, except it certainly gives us a sense of the story’s setting (which is a key component of the books themselves). Then they made a change for the paperback:

I like that some of the same elements are present in the paperback cover: the wide open blue sky and the simple placement and font of the title. What I don’t like are the people. That girl is far too pretty to be DJ; it’s not that DJ isn’t a pretty girl, but she’s so average. She wouldn’t want to be on the cover of her own book, you see.

But this month, the book was reprinted in paperback with yet another cover:

I would believe DJ to look like this girl, I really would. But could we stereotype farm girls any more here? I hate her shirt. DJ would never wear a cow print tank top. I also really dislike the cow-inspired title. It’s all too much on the cover. If the girl were to wear the awful shirt, that would be ok with a solid colored font, but this is just a little too much. Here are the rereleased covers of the other two books in the series, both of which also suffer from stereotyping-farm-girl syndrome:



I hate the skirt more than the boots. I’m not sure how much the new covers heighten appeal on this series. As much as I didn’t care for people on the covers for the original paperback releases, I think those had more wide appeal than these.

I’ve talked briefly about the cover blurb for this book when I reviewed it here. I like this cover a lot. The green is lush and inviting, the girl has a certain sway to her in the cover that invites you to read the book, and the title placement works well. Although I don’t think she’s a true Retta character, it doesn’t matter; we know this is a story about a girl addicted to music. This cover has everything I want as a reader and as a librarian — this one sells itself.

But then the paperback cover kicked it up a notch!

THAT is Retta. She’s got enough sass and sway to make it on her own in Nashville, and she’s certainly an image of contemporary country music. I love the brick wall and the burn out font for the title. The blue boots are the perfect pop of color to keep this cover from being too one-note in its color palate.


Susan Shaw’s One of the Survivors wasn’t one of my favorite books, but it is one of my favorite books to book talk to middle schoolers. I love the cover: it’s perfect. It captures the story simply and is something instantly recognizable for readers. The tone is set from the start. I dig how the title is located in the center of the fire alarm and that it gets smaller as it goes on.

But I really dislike the cover make over. I don’t like the image of the boy — far too young even for middle school readers. His hair is what ages him for me. I also don’t like that he’s a strange rust orange, since it doesn’t give a strong indication from the title why he might be glowing or burning. I’m also not a fan of the blurb; a little more white space on this cover could make it feel less overwhelming. For me, this book isn’t as easy a sell as the hard cover because it doesn’t tell the story as well and the guy on the cover just isn’t compelling.

Now on to a handful of covers for books I haven’t read that have also undergone some cover changes. First up, one that Kim’s reviewed.

Something about this cover works for me. It’s the swirly font and the girl running through the forest in heels. She’s not a damsel in distress, but she instead looks like she’s having fun (it’s the hair). This is the kind of book that feels like a fantasy story but not a heavy one with a lot of world building. The green on the cover and the off-centeredness of the trees just work — from a design perspective, the cropping and adjustments made on the image are spot on and visually appealing. Nancy Werlin’s talked about the cover design process here herself and it’s well worth reading.


So the paperback is quite different, but it has a lot of the same elements: the fun swirly font and the green sprigs of grass. And as much as I hate the girl-on-the-cover trend, I am actually incredibly intrigued by this girl. I want to know the story. The feel for the paperback is completely different from the hardcover; where the hardcover was light and airy, this one feels a little darker. The thing is, it doesn’t look dark, either. The girl has the right amount of smirk on her face to make you realize she’s having a little fun and there may be a little mischief. Also: I want to learn how to do my eye make up like that.


I’m not a huge fan of this cover for a number of reasons: while the girls are interesting and modeling well, they aren’t telling me much. The black on white on pink feels dated to me, though I am a fan of the font for both the title and the author’s name. I’m an ampersand fan, so that totally works for me too.

Look at what a huge change the paperback cover is, though:


I don’t know how I feel about this one, either. It’s such a dramatic change — the book now looks like a Sarah Dessen or Elizabeth Scott title. Since I haven’t read the book, I can’t judge whether or not this is a smart marketing tactic, based on content. I really like the font style and placement here, and I love how the untying of hair fits into the idea of being “undone.” The thing is, the first cover looks like a story about sisters, while this one looks more like a story about a romance. As much as the hard cover looked dated to me, it stands out a little more than the paperback does.


I really like the hard cover version of Carolyn Mackler’s Tangled. It fits with the trends of her other book covers: simple and eye catching. The use of white works well here, as the hearts and the author’s name stand out. My only complaint is that the title does get a bit buried in the cover; the image of the hearts and her huge name pop more than the title does.

Ready for a dramatic make over?

Talk about a huge change! There is far more color and far more going on. There are two people on the cover — is it me or do they look like they’re 20-somethings, rather than teens? It’s interesting that the title again seems lost on the cover, as this time it’s lost a bit in the sky and butterfly images. Again, Mackler’s name is quite large on the cover, though it doesn’t overwhelm it. I’ve gone back and forth on my thoughts regarding the butterflies, but I think they’re a necessary part of the cover; despite the fact I think they look a little comical, they help make this cover stand out a little more from the rest of the covers that feature a couple on the front, laying on the grass (need I remind you of The Dairy Queen?). But when I saw this cover, I was immediately reminded of the paper back cover of Mary Pearson’s The Miles Between:

It’s all about the superimposed monarchs.

I know this post is getting lengthy, but I have one more to share before asking you to share your input. I’m posting this one since I really love the hardcover edition of this book:


I really dig the pink key and how the color deepens its hue the lower it gets. The cursive font at the top of the key and the author’s name and blurb along the teeth part of the key work, since neither are overwhelming the cover, nor are they hidden. This book stands out on the shelf, and it’s a stand out when faced out, too. There’s such a great story in the image — who needs to go home? Why do they need a key? Is this the right key? I think there’s a sense of hope in this cover, too.

Then it was changed:


It’s so different, but it works so well. The girl’s patchwork skirt against the blue-green cover pops. Though the font for the title and the super tiny font for the author’s name don’t work as well as they do in the hardcover, I still think they work well on the cover. The biggest difference I find in this cover, though, is the tone. Whereas the hard cover has a sense of hope, for me, this cover feels desperate and almost hopeless. It’s such a different style and sense of story. Again, not having read the book, I can’t comment on which fits the story more.

Your turn! What do you think of any of the changes? Any work better for you than others? Agree or disagree with my comments? Spill your thoughts in the comments.

Graphic Novel Roundup

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It was another comics-reading weekend for me, and I feasted on a crop of middle grade books plus one for adults.  Fortunately for me, I enjoyed them all and wouldn’t hesitate to recommend any of them.

So cute!

Jellaby, Volume 1
Kean Soo

I am such a sucker for the cute, and Jellaby is about as cute as they come.  Portia has just moved to a new city with her mom (her dad mysteriously disappeared sometime before) and is having trouble making friends.  One day (or night, rather), she decides to investigate the woods behind her house and finds a big purple monster she names Jellaby.  Jellaby doesn’t speak, but he (or she?) is very friendly and communicates in ways that don’t require words.  Portia makes an unlikely friend in Jason, a boy who is always being picked on by the school bullies, and together they try and hide Jellaby from the adults of the town, ultimately hatching a plan to somehow return Jellaby to his home – wherever that may be.

I really enjoyed the art in Jellaby.  It’s done in mostly whites and purples, with some black thrown in when Portia experiences a flashback.  You’d think with all that purple and a cute, cuddly monster (seriously – cutest monster ever), the book would fall on the wrong side of saccharine, but it doesn’t.  It’s got a warm-hearted story about friendship at its center (friendship between Jellaby and Portia as well as that between Portia and Jason) and a good dash of adventure.  The wordless panels are among the best in the book at conveying emotion and creating character.  My only complaint is the book leaves us with a major cliffhanger – and now I have to hunt down volume 2.  Oh well.  I’m much more forgiving of this with comics than regular books.

Robot Dreams
Sara Varon

Sara Varon has done something pretty brilliant: created a dialogue-free (and nearly word-free) treatise on friendship that isn’t your usual warm and fuzzy fare.  A dog buys a robot, puts him together, and they become fast friends.  They visit the library together, visit the beach, go for a swim…which is a mistake for the robot, because he starts to rust.  Soon, he can’t move, and the dog leaves him on the beach.  The dog comes back to try and rescue the robot later, but the beach is closed.  Time passes and the dog makes other friends while the robot lays on the beach, dreaming about being rescued, going on adventures, and generally living (as much as a robot can live) again.  Eventually, the summer rolls around again and the beach re-opens, but things don’t happen as you think they would.  Robot Dreams is one of those books that deserves repeated readings.  Bonus: multiple uses of reference books!

Zita the Spacegirl
Ben Hatke

The concept of this one is simple: A mysterious device zaps Zita’s friend through a portal to an alien world, Zita follows, and adventures ensue.  The alien world they are transported to is in the path of an asteroid, and the indigenous people have walled themselves up with Zita’s friend held captive, believing he will save them.  Zita meets up with a motley band of adventurers (not your usual band – more than half of them are robots) and must battle strange-looking aliens and double-crossers and hostile landscapes in order to rescue her friend.  Adventure, humor, bright colors, odd tentacled creatures (Zita finds a whole reference book of odd tentacled creatures, in fact) – what more could you want?  Bonus: the volume tells a complete story!

Hereville: How Mirka Got Her Sword
Barry Deutsch 

The tagline for this book is terrific: Yet another troll-fighting 11-year-old Orthodox Jewish girl. How can you not want to read this book now?  I loved two major things about Hereville: its tongue in cheek plotline (involving a rampaging, talking boar and a fight with a troll) which is funny but also a terrific adventure, and its insight into Orthodox Jewish life, which is incredibly fascinating to someone who knows almost nothing about it (me). Deutsch sprinkles Yiddish words and phrases throughout the book, defining them at the bottom of the page.  The lifestyle of the religion is an integral part of the story and informs the interactions between the characters, who are likable but also have believable faults.  Mirka herself is an engaging protagonist, feisty, full of energy, argumentative, and always talking back to her decidedly un-evil stepmother.  The art is terrific too.  This is a particularly well-done graphic novel that stands apart from its fellows.

Fables: 1001 Nights of Snowfall
Bill Willingham

The lone comic book for adults I read this past weekend, 1001 Nights of Snowfall was one of the most enjoyable.  I’ve waxed rhapsodic before about how much I love the concept of Fables – all the characters from fairy tales and legends you’ve known about since you were a child are living in New York City as exiles, having fled a terrifying adversary that conquered the Homelands.  Despite its fairy tale background, this series is decidedly for adults.  While I mostly read books for kids, it is nice to step outside of that and read something written for people my own age every once in awhile.

1001 Nights of Snowfall uses a twist on the story of Scheherezade as a frame tale: in Willingham’s version, Snow White travels to the Arabian lands to try and broker an alliance with the Sultan in their fight against the Adversary.  Instead, he takes her captive and threatens to chop off her head in the morning.  To keep him placated, she tells him stories, and those stories just so happen to be the origin stories of the characters we’ve come to know and love throughout the series proper: Snow White herself, Bigby, Old King Cole, the Frog Prince, and more.  It’s a great way for Willingham to showcase his creativity, bending the stories we know from our childhoods to suit the characters he’s created.  As a bonus, each of the stories is illustrated by someone different, and if you read comics at all, you’ll recognize at least some of the names (Derek Kirk Kim, for example, is featured).  Great for fans and also a good entree to the series for those new to it.