STACKED

books

Audition by Stasia Ward Kehoe

|

Sara’s always been a dancer, and it’s been her dream to pursue it more seriously. When she scores a scholarship to a prestigious dance academy in New Jersey, despite the hesitation she has about leaving behind her family and friends in Vermont, she knows this is the thing she needs to do to get ahead.

She packs her bags and is off to what she hopes will be her ticket to success, but Sara soon realizes that the change isn’t as easy as she’d wanted it to be. There’s not only the challenge of dancing hours upon hours each and every day — something that takes an immense physical toll on her — but there’s also the challenge of attending an academy where the curriculum is more difficult and more demanding than her school back in Vermont. More than that, though, she’s finding the social aspects of her new life to be difficult. And the boys at the Jersey Ballet? Well, they might be the biggest challenge for her. At least, one by the name of Remington is.

Even though Remington has a relationship with Jane, Sara can’t keep her eyes off him, and when they’re partnered for a performance, she finds that he really is magnetic. And single. It takes little time before the two of them are a couple but it takes even less time before Sara starts to question what her role in their romance is. Does he really love her or is he using her simply as his muse?

Audition is Stasia Ward Kehoe’s debut novel, and it’s written in verse. I think she nails the form so well in this book, as it’s not only well done, but it’s entirely suited to the story. Often, verse novels don’t delve deep enough into character or story and instead rely on the space between the words in the formatting to do a lot of the telling-that-can’t-be-said. In this case, though, there is plenty of character and story development, and it’s the verse which actually helps sustain and carry these things. We get a good voice in the novel, too, which is another tough aspect to nail in a verse novel.

Incidentally, this is the second book in the last year I’ve read dealing with ballet and the rough world of competitive and professional dancing (the first being Sophie Flack’s Bunheads). In both books, the main character develops a relationship with a boy that ultimately changes their thinking and the course of their future. But what I liked so much about reading these two books is the synergy between them. They aren’t the same story at all. Where Flack’s book focuses on what happens when a dancer questions what she’s lost by devoting everything to ballet, Kehoe’s book delves into what happens when a dancer finds herself through dancing, even if it’s not necessarily the way she wants to find herself.

Sara’s a quiet girl. She considers herself lucky, even though her friends and family (and the reader) know that to earn a scholarship to a dance academy takes a lot more than luck — she’s hard working, driven, and talented, but she’s less willing to give herself those sorts of labels. Sara’s humble. It’s not until she begins her relationship with Remington, though, that she discovers these very things about herself. Her relationship with Rem is steamy and almost exclusively so. Though they develop an emotional connection at the start of their romance, it becomes much more about their physical involvement than anything else. In the context of the story, though, this makes complete sense: these are two people who are in tune with their bodies on a level most people never are. The fact that their bodies become the centerpieces of their relationship is natural.

What didn’t quite work for me, though, was that despite this making sense, the story could have gained a little more from strengthening this physical relationship. What sets Sara off and makes her question Rem’s motives for being with her is that he borrows the way she moves her body to help choreograph other dancers. Yes, it’s sexual, but it’s actually a lot more about the sensuality than the sexuality; it’s in the way she stretches and moves, period, when they’re together that become fascinating to Rem. She becomes, as she says, his muse. The thing is, as readers, we don’t get to see enough of this happen between them, nor do we get a great sense of how she puts the pieces together. There’s a bit of a disconnect for readers, as Sara doesn’t let us inside her mind enough when she realizes that the way she stretches catlike with Remington is the same sequence of movements he then chooses to implement while training other dances. We’re told this. But we could have been shown just a little more.

In that sense, I didn’t feel like I got enough of Remington. I needed to know him a little more as a character and understand why he would do this. Where we’re immediately connecting with Sara in the story, Remington is more removed. We’re told about him through Sara, but we’re not told enough. He’s a figure a little too far away from our understanding, and thus, it doesn’t feel like a big deal when he’s using Sara as a muse. I wanted him to be a little more evil upfront to buy this. I completely understand Sara and her feelings, but I could have used just a bit more here.

Audition is well-paced and because of the verse, it reads quickly, despite being near 450 pages long. I could have done with a little bit of a shorter read, which could have aided in defining Remington more; conversely, I could have probably read another 50 pages if he were developed a little bit more. The ending of the book wasn’t a surprise for me, perhaps because I had read Bunheads, and I have to say that I was impressed that this book, as well as Flack’s, managed to keep the stereotyping of body image issues in the dance world to a minimum. That’s not to say it’s not in the book because it certainly is, but it’s not an issue with which Sara struggles, and I applaud Kehoe for that. It makes the story more authentic.

Hand this book off to fans of verse novels, as well as those who love a good story about the arts. Those who like stories about non-traditional high schoolers will appreciate the fact it’s set in a ballet academy, and those who read and devoured Flack’s Bunheads will definitely want to pick this one up.

The Watch that Ends the Night by Allan Wolf

|

I’m not going to lie. When I pick up a book that starts with a cast list, I get nervous. Really nervous. I know the book is going to ask a lot of me and I’m going to have to remember who these people are.

Fortunately, Allan Wolf’s The Watch that Ends the Night proved me wrong in my worry, which was a huge relief, given this book is written entirely in verse, and the idea of having to suss out multiple characters within a verse novel seemed incredibly daunting.

If the title wasn’t enough of a clue, Wolf’s novel is a fictionalized account of the sailing of the Titanic in 1912. As much as this is a fictional story, the voices Wolf uses are actually based on real people who were aboard the ship; he offers a really great guide in the back of the novel talking about the personal histories and stories upon which he based his characters, and having been so engrossed in the story, I found myself eager to read the back matter and learn more about the real histories of these people. I note this because it’s rare I want to read the back matter. In this case, though, I couldn’t get enough because Wolf’s book was so well done, he left me desiring more.

I’m not going to offer a summary of this book because it should be fairly obvious what happens and how it all ends. But what’s worth noting is how Wolf manages to take a story that’s been done and make it entirely new and fresh while also providing some of the strongest written verse I’ve read in a long time and simultaneously rounding out fully-fleshed characters in a multi-voiced novel. There are 24 characters in this novel, two of which are non-human, including a mouse and the ice burg. The characters range all social classes and statuses, as well as run the range of immigrant experiences. There are those making the trip because they want to get back to America, while there are those making the trip because they’re trying to escape to America and freedom from their past in Europe. There are businessmen and there are third-class children, and each of them has a voice and a story they add. Their individual voices each add a layer to the ship and to what the Titanic really was — much more than a vessel of movement but an entire place and an entire historical moment.

As much as hearing from all the layers of the social landscape was valuable in constructing the story, what I think I liked best was that we also get the entire social stratus of the ship’s crew. We have the captain and the navigator (who will tell you their jobs are very, very different), and we also have the shipbuilder, the cook, and the postman. We’re going from first class in jobs to third class in jobs, and the parallels to those aboard the ship for their personal reasons are smartly crafted. Since each of these 24 characters gets a chance to talk, as readers, we see how vast the stories and struggles are, and we are momentarily removed from what we know is going to happen to them all. They each speak up and offer the good and the bad, and as readers, we’re poised to feel certain things — we’re happy for those on their way for a new opportunity in America and we’re disgruntled at the inequality at accommodations, as swindlers get their time in swanky first class and those who so deserve a better life live below decks. Of course, on the Titanic, even third class isn’t that awful. At least, that’s kind of what we’re lead to believe from the characters. We also get the same perspectives from the crew, as the ship builder marvels at what he’s done, the captain talks about his vital role in the success of the trip, and the postman and cook offer us the below decks view.

Wolf pulls us into the story immediately, and the story really is that there are 24 stories here. It’s not that the ship’s going down. At least, it’s not in the moments we’re not reading from the point of view of the iceberg or reading the voice of the undertaker. In those moments, we’re pulled from the drama aboard the Titanic and reminded that indeed, this isn’t going to have the resolution we’re hoping for as readers. It doesn’t take us out of the story but further insists that the story has a multitude of ways it could be told. As action picks up, so does the intensity of the varied voices.

Here’s where I point out the biggest problem of the book for me and, I think, for a lot of readers: of the 24 voices, only one is a teenager. She’s a refugee, and while her story is compelling, it’s a tiny fraction of the entire book. This book features primarily adults, which makes sense, but it leaves me questioning why this is for the young adult audience, aside from the fact this feels like one of those books that would make for an excellent classroom read. That’s not a comment meant to denigrate the work, but rather, it’s a comment on the strength of the writing and discussion-worthy merit. As a reader, I would have loved more of the teen voices here, as I do think there is a large readership for Titanic-based stories for teenagers, and I think that’s only going to be furthered in the next year with the 100th anniversary and re-release of the film.

While I could see how this book might be a slower read for many, I was glued and found myself reading it in just a couple of sittings. The verse propels the action forward because it’s tight and varied. Each of the characters has their own style, and it’s evident through the way the verse is crafted. I love good poetry, and this was good poetry. It should be obvious this book will appeal to readers who love stories of the Titanic, as well as those who like a good novel in verse. This is an investment, and it’s one that pays off in the end. I also think this book has sort of flown under the radar this year in the ya field, and it’s one I see having strong Printz potential.

Displacement by Thalia Chaltas

|

More than two years ago, I reviewed a little book by then debut author Thalia Chaltas titled Because I am Furniture. It’s one of those books I still think about and one which I still recommend easily to those looking for a read alike to Ellen Hopkins. So when I discovered Chaltas would be releasing her sophomore effort, Displacement, this summer, I was excited to snag a copy at ALA Midwinter and dive in.

Something terrible happened in Vera’s life. There’s been a tragedy, and her family has been completely non-supportive of her life choices. She’s at the end of high school and ready to change, ready to get away. No, make that, she knows she needs to get away from it all and figure out who she is and figure out where to go. The only way to get out from rock bottom is to look up.

So she leaves. She hitch hikes and ends up in the middle of a small desert town where she knows no one and no one knows her. She takes to talking to people in town, takes up residence in an abandoned home, and begins to unravel the secrets lurking beneath this desolate place. But the real question is will Vera ever find herself here? Can she be happy here? Or does her happiness reside where she doesn’t believe it ever could?

Displacement, like Chaltas’s first novel, is told in sparse verse form, though I don’t believe this novel is quite as edgy as Because I am Furniture. It’s a steady paced novel, and the verse form helps speed up the pacing a bit in some of the spots where there is little or no action at all. For me, the verse works fine, but that’s because I found this book, on the whole, to be a little hard to connect with.

Vera, for me, has no voice of her own in this story. We know as readers going on that something has happened, and she drops hints at a loss she’s recently experienced. But it never feels quite convincing. There’s not enough of a back story and not enough investment on behalf of the reader to buy into Vera’s running away from the onset to give her a real voice. Instead, she undulates much like the girl on the cover, and it’s difficult to know whether we feel sorry for her or we don’t (the girl is living in a house that doesn’t belong to her in the sake of “finding herself,” for one thing).

I didn’t find myself engaged with Vera’s struggle, and in fact, there were times I felt she wanted to push me the reader away. As a plot device to show how Vera feels, this works, but to the reader, it’s off putting; if Vera doesn’t give some hint of interest in letting us in, then the story can’t go anywhere. Since this book is so driven by character, not finding a reason to care about Vera made it hard to be invested in her outcome. It also had me questioning whether verse really was as effective here as prose would have been. For me, voice is key for buying into a story — especially one that begins by a girl deciding to drop into a desert town to begin a new life — and the flatness of voice here made it weak.

The desert landscape and desolation, though, are palpable. Chaltas does a great job building place in this story, even if I didn’t necessarily buy Vera’s connection to it. The locals are believable, and I thought that they really added to the greater picture of this small desert town. There’s a bit of dialect, but it works fine, and heightens the place building.

Overall, this book didn’t impress me as much as Chaltas’s first title, nor does it necessarily stand out among much of the stronger contemporary YA fiction out there. That said, those who read her first title will want to check this one out, and I think Ellen Hopkins fans may still find quite a bit to like here, especially when it comes to style and structure (and to a lesser extent, content, since there is edgy stuff included, of course). I wanted more of the plot, and I feel had this book given a little more at the beginning of the story, the ending would have been more powerful and Vera’s voice could have been easier to parse from the story.

Displacement will be available June 7. Book picked up at ALA.

Unlocked by Ryan G Van Cleave

|

Andy is the son of a janitor, and that has given him a reputation and a nickname. Shaking that off isn’t easy, especially when you’re a freshman in high school and everyone seems to know exactly where they belong in the social hierarchy.

While there are a couple other loners in the school — Sue and Nicholas — it’s Blake that captures Andy’s attention and interest, and it’s not because he’s necessarily interested in being friends. No, Blake interests Andy because of a rumor he heard: that Blake had a gun in his locker.

It’s ultimately Becky Ann, the girl Andy has a mega crush on, who convinces Andy to steal the school’s keys from his father and check the situation out for himself. Is Blake a threat to the school? Does Andy get the girl after snooping in Blake’s locker?

Does Andy have an agenda for revenge on the school?

Unlocked, written in verse, is an extremely fast paced but surprising book on a topic that’s been tread quite a bit in recent years: school violence. Andy is an angry character, but because we’re given the story from his perspective, and because he’s kind enough to give us his impressions of other students experiencing social outcast like he is, we understand why he’s angry. We also know deep down he has a spot of goodness, even if he doesn’t want to admit to it himself. Van Cleave gives his main character and his story a strong voice, something that is essential to a story as short as this one, and he is consistent in his execution.

Andy’s got a strong desire to find a way to fit in, and though he is quick to judge the other “losers” in school, it’s obvious he wants a friend and he wants one bad. And despite being set up by Becky Ann to talk with Blake — a guy who scares him — he finds he and Blake have more in common than he could imagine. But as readers, we hope they don’t form a friendship. We know Blake’s problematic, both from Andy’s descriptions and from our own understanding of the situation the two of them are thrown into, and despite our interest in Andy socializing, this is bad news.

Andy won’t listen though. But he will surprise us.

Books in verse are hit and miss for me, since these stories need to have a real purpose for using verse. It can’t be used as a method without serving the story, and I’m a little mixed on whether it was effective in Van Cleave’s book. Andy’s story and perspective don’t have enough pulse behind them to merit a longer book or to merit standard prose, but I’m not entirely sure that the verse heightened or changed the story, either. The caveat to that is that this is the kind of book that will appeal to reluctant readers, particularly reluctant readers of verse novels. It’s a short book, and the fact it’s written as it is makes it read quickly. There’s not a lot of dwelling on unnecessary details, and we get just enough characterization in the story to make it move. Likewise, I think that this book has great guy appeal — besides the main character being male, there is more emphasis on action than on emotion, despite the fact this is a bit of an emotionally-intense book. But the emotion comes more on the reader’s side than on the story’s side. I don’t think there are enough books written in verse with guy appeal, and this one, despite some of the shortcomings of the structure, is a worthy entry into that category.

What I really enjoyed about Van Cleave’s story was it wasn’t entirely predictable. Because I’ve read a number of stories that tackle this topic, I had a prediction of how the story would play out, but Andy completely surprised me in the end. Throughout the story, I saw these glimpses of something different in his character, something that made him different from these other kids, and in the end, he proved this to me. This is the kind of book that almost begs for a rereading, simply because of the surprise ending; the clues are dropped throughout, and a second read would be rewarding in terms of unlocking them.

Unlocked would make a strong read alike to books such as Hate List by Jennifer Brown, as well as Jodi Picoult’s 19 Minutes and even Dave Cullen’s Columbine. In the past, I’ve talked the former three together, and I’ve found kids interested in one story want to read the rest of them as a means of understanding different perspectives. Van Cleave’s story will reach reluctant readers, as mention before, as well as those who enjoy fast-paced, realistic stories. Hand this one, too, to your kids who maybe find themselves in the outside of high school cliques, as it will make them feel they can make a difference and do matter in school.

Glimpse by Carol Lynch Williams

|

I have a love-hate relationship with verse novels. Despite knowing how hard of a format it is to do successfully, sometimes it seems to me the easy way out of writing a novel. This is the feeling I struggled with when I began Carol Lynch Williams’s new title Glimpse: the verse made little sense to me initially, but fortunately, it begins to make complete sense as the story forges forward.

Hope walked in on her sister Lizzie holding a gun and threatening to shoot herself, and it is that scene that causes Lizzie to be sent away to a mental health facility for the summer. This summer drags long for Hope, as she and Lizzie had always been close. Not only that, but dad was gone and mom’s new job forced Hope to leave the comforts of her home quite often. Mom had to make money some how, and her method of choice involved a new man every night.

When Hope and her mother visit Lizzie, she is extremely strange around her mother. But with Hope, she tries to act normally. Hope is on to something — she knows there is something much deeper going on with Lizzie than she or her mother will let on.

It’s the diary that will tell it all. But just how will Hope be able to track down Lizzie’s diary in the house her mother made them abandon?

Glimpse is a fast-paced story that, despite its pacing, requires a slow reading to pick up on the clues of who Hope and Lizzie really are. Although I didn’t predict the ending, it was foreshadowed quite a bit throughout the text.

The verse format’s sparseness is perfect for the story telling, as the clues to Lizzie’s breakdown and desire to kill herself are pepper throughout but only, well, sparsely. The haunting and mysterious tone of those novel mirror that, as well. As a reader, I feel at once removed from the situation and entirely close to it — but never close enough to put my finger on it. The reader is really Hope, pulling together the broken pieces.

Our narrator here is reliable because of this. I initially didn’t feel much for Hope, but as things began getting stranger with her mother and Lizzie, I began to really sympathize with Hope. The powerful ending made me want to remove Hope from the entire situation, and it made me feel a lot for Lizzie, who I initially saw as selfish.

Glimpse is a powerful book to follow Williams’s prior title, The Chosen One. She has a powerful eye for crafting realistic characters and gripping situations, and I think that Glimpse is a title we’ll be hearing about come awards time. This will appeal to fans of Thalia Chaltas’s Because I am Furniture, though I don’t know quite how much Ellen Hopkins fans will find this satisfying — it’s got some grit, but it is not in the same category as Hopkins’s titles. It’ll also work well for fans of Julie Ann Peters and for fans of the realistic fiction (but not necessarily “issue” driven) titles.