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Two Debut Reviews: Nobody but Us by Kristin Halbrook & The Whole Stupid Way We Are by N Griffin

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These books don’t really have anything to do with one another, except that they’re both contemporary titles, both feature a male and female lead character, and both are written by debut authors. 

In Kristin Halbrook’s Nobody But Us, Will takes Zoe away from her home and on the road to Vegas. She’s escaping an abusive and destructive father and he’s escaping the stigma and history he has as a kid lost in the system. Together, they’re bound and determined to start a new life, a happier life, and a life of loving and caring for one another in only the way two people with such a broken past can.

Except, of course, that can’t happen. Both Zoe and Will can’t simply shed their past. It’s part of who they are, and it impacts their decisions and reactions to one another’s decisions. And this is where the story becomes strong: one character will continue to see the past as their defining present and the other will choose to not let their past define them and instead, use it as guidance to make the hardest choice they’ve had to make. 

This book reminded me so much of Heidi Ayarbe’s Wanted — the setting, the troubled and painful pasts of the characters, and the escape from home are all similar. Halbrook’s writing is gorgeous; the moments of tenderness are as searing and brutal as those moments of insecurity and vulnerability. Not to mention the moments that are panic-inducing for both the characters and the reader. Yes, both of these characters at times make terrible decisions, but their initial decision to run away sets up the story to showcase their poor choice-making skills. But these aren’t choices either Will nor Zoe make lightly. They’re honestly driven to make a better life for themselves and being they’re so young, they’re going to figure it out in very teenage ways. 

Both Zoe and Will are fully-fleshed and interesting characters. While both come from troubled backgrounds, it’s not an angst-ridden story. These characters are determined to grow and to change; however, only one really and truly is able to do so. That doesn’t mean the other doesn’t have a full arc, though. It’s just different. 
My one hold out in the book is a minor one: it almost felt like Zoe was too mature for being 15. Some of the passages and insights into life and appreciating the act of living are so fluid and powerful and I don’t know if they quite ring true to her voice. On the other hand, her experiences may indeed provide her with this wisdom at such a young age. Juxtaposing that with Will’s willingness to risk everything is where I find myself struggling a little bit — if she is this smart, did she choose to leave with Will simply out of desperation? I could buy that, but then I have a harder time with whether or not she is sincere and honest when she tells him how deep her love is for him. I want to believe her, but I’m not sure I can. For what it’s worth, this is teen talk of love and feelings, and those DO ring authentic. It’s just a matter of where I believe her emotionally/intellectually.

I don’t know if I see this as a great read alike to If I Stay, which is one of the titles it’s pitched like. This is a very character-driven novel, and while there is romance, it’s not in the same manner that Forman’s book portrays. I’d say it’s going to appeal to fans of Heidi Ayarbe and Kody Keplinger (particularly A Midsummer’s Nightmare). I also see fans of Nina LaCour digging this one, especially if they liked The Disenchantments and how the road trip line worked in that book. This is a solid and strong debut from Halbrook. 
Where Halbrook’s story is about running away with your true love, N. Griffin’s debut novel The Whole Stupid Way We Are takes entirely in one place: small town, snowy Maine. It’s a story of two best friends determined to make the best of themselves and their lives right in the place they are. 
Dinah and Skint’s story begins in detention — Dinah’s rescuing her best pal yet again, this time after he’s been sentenced for drawing pictures that someone found offensive. From there, Griffin’s debut novels follows as the duo attend a donkey show at the church (to which neither belongs, despite Dinah’s volunteering for one of their groups), their commitment to helping get food to the Rural Routes, and their never-ending desire to be the good in the world.

The book takes place in rural Maine in the winter. The bleak setting is a strong backdrop to the story itself, which at heart sounds like it’s uplifting. But that’s superficial (sort of like the idea of rural Maine in winter). Skint’s life is anything but happy. His father suffers from early onset dementia, and his mother is unable to be patient and understanding any longer. Dinah and her desire to be helpful, to be good in the world around her, is unable, though, to be there for Skint. Except, of course, she IS there for him and in the way he really needs. It’s just that the consequences of her actions completely shift his world in unimaginable ways.

Kirkus called this a highly stylized novel, and I think that’s the perfect description. It’s told through third person, and it shifts from focusing on Dinah to periodically focusing on Skint, and these shifts are not only jarring, but because the reader is so far removed from the characters, it’s hard to understand their emotional complexities. It comes through only in dialog. There’s little action to propel any of the story forward. In other words, the choice in story telling style impacts the way the story moves — this is a character-driven novel but because the characters are so removed from the reader, it is tough to feel the full impact of the story itself. I wanted more insight into what was going on in their minds, into what they were feeling when they were feeling it. I felt like the full impact of just how good Dinah wanted to be was lost because we don’t see her yearning or aching for that except through dialog (she talks about it a lot, but she doesn’t get the opportunity to ruminate on it for us internally). More than that, though, I wanted to know more about how pained Skint was following Dinah’s actions. We know what he does after she reacts. But we don’t ever get to truly know how he felt. 

The biggest strength is that Griffin is able to offer a true portrait of rural life and the ways that members of a community like the one here are all interconnected — and completely not connected — at the same time. At times, this reminded me a little bit of Rainbow Rowell’s Eleanor & Park because of the dynamics between Dinah and Skiny and how both characters brought significant baggage to the relationship. That baggage, of course, helped solidify their relationship. But there’s not a romance here. It’s just a close and strong friendship between two characters. This is a fine read, but it’s probably not among the most memorable. 
Review copies received from the publisher. Nobody But Us is available now through HarperTeen and The Whole Stupid Way We Are is available now through Antheneum/Simon & Schuster.

Nobody’s Secret by Michaela MacColl

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I thought Michaela MacColl’s debut book, Prisoners in the Palace, was a great read. I loved learning about the young Queen Victoria, and the palace intrigue she concocted (based on true events!) was fascinating and fun.
MacColl takes a bit of a different tack with Nobody’s Secret, though it’s still historical YA. This time, her protagonist is Emily Dickinson, and her setting is Amherst, Massachusetts. Fifteen year old Emily is laying out in the field by her home, trying to coax a bee to land on her nose, when she notices that she’s being observed by a young man. They strike up a conversation (a bit of a flirtation, really), but he leaves before she can learn his true name. Instead, she knows him simply as Mr. Nobody, as he introduced himself to her.
This is a terrific meet-cute, but if you’ve read the back cover, you know this is no romantic comedy. Not long after Emily’s meeting with Mr. Nobody, he’s found dead, face-down in a pond on the Dickinson property. The constable and the coroner and everyone else officially involved with the investigation all want to write it off as an accidental drowning, but Emily knows something is off. She’s determined to learn the truth and get justice for her friend.
Famous historical figures solving crimes are all the rage in the adult fiction world, and have been for a while. I don’t know of as many in the YA world, but I admit I do rather like the gimmick, particularly if the person in question is one that already interests me. Emily Dickinson, though, has never held barrels of fascination for me. The poets I like are few and far between, and Miss Dickinson is not one of them. Still, I always enjoy a good historical mystery, particularly when it’s headed by an independent young teenager.
Alas, the mystery itself is not a terribly good one. It’s pretty pedestrian, actually, with a rather small roster of suspects and zero red herrings (meaning there’s no real chance for the reader to guess wrong). So as a whodunnit, it’s not particularly satisfying. As a character study, though, it’s more successful. Through MacColl’s story, we learn about Emily’s life: she was consumptive, she hated doing the baking and washing (which took ages), her mother was frugal to a fault, she had a fascination with bees, and so on. As she is mostly known for two things – her poetry and her seclusion – all these details are a welcome insight into her character. 
As to the central conceit – Emily Dickinson as amateur sleuth – it makes sense that Emily would be one to investigate a murder that everyone else considered closed, given her reputation for oddness.
If you’re looking for a good mystery, I’d probably give this a pass, but for readers interested in Emily Dickinson and her poetry, this would certainly be of interest. Each chapter is titled with a couple lines of her poems, and the way MacColl threads the “I’m Nobody! Who are you?” poem throughout the novel – title included – is clever. For many, Dickinson’s poetry is accessible and understandable where others’ is dense and confusing, so I can certainly see this circulating among her fans.
Review copy received from the publisher. Nobody’s Secret will be available March 1.

Crash and Burn by Michael Hassan

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Michael Hassan’s debut novel Crash and Burn is, in a word, epic. I use the word in the truest sense: there’s a hero at the center of this journey, and it follows him from start to finish.

Steven Crashinsky — Crash — saved his entire school by convincing long-time peer David Burnett — Burn — to stop his plans on taking everyone hostage.

This is the story of Crash stopping Burn. It’s the story of just what Crash said to Burn to get him to change his mind.

Crash and Burn is told from Crash’s perspective, but it’s not entirely linear. Crash received a book contract to tell the story of stopping Burn. So, really, this is the book Crash wrote about what happened, interspersed with chapters about what’s going on in the present, post-hostage standoff. It’s the struggle Crash works through in writing the story in the most honest way possible. And it’s a struggle, sure, when you’re telling a story that begins in elementary school. Because that’s where it all began — Crash and Burn had known each other for a long time. They were never friends. But they ran in similar circles. Crash had a major crush on Burn’s sister Roxanne. Burn told Crash if he was with Roxanne, he’d be in deep.

Of course, Crash had been with Roxanne and it was everything he hoped for and more.

But let me back up a second.

Crash has ADD. Burn has it too, though he has the hyperactive side of it going against him too. Burn is brilliant, by Crash’s records. At least when he applies himself, Burn can be so smart. That’s why his entire hostage set up is so scary to Crash. He knows the power Burn has when he puts his mind to something.

One of the effects of the ADD is, of course, that Crash’s story telling is a little all over. It’s not impossible to follow, but the time jumps make sense in the context of his mental state.

Crash and Burn, when they met, found themselves in trouble quickly. And the trouble that Burn seemed to cause around Crash never subsided. It did disappear for a while, though, when Burn moved away from Westchester. But Burn moves back after his father died in the World Trade Center on 9/11. He’s at a loss, of course. Even though Burn doesn’t admit to his feelings, they’re obvious. They’re obvious to Crash as an outsider, as well as obvious to him through what he figures out through Roxanne. Burn does a lot of driving and a lot of giving himself distance. He likes to slip away.

It only gets worse, though, when Burn’s mother dies. He becomes more withdrawn. More problematic, too, when he is present.

In the interm of this is Crash’s story. Crash needed tutoring, and it was Roxanne who helped him. But it wasn’t just his classroom education. Crash learns a lot about love and feelings and, well, sex. He knows if Burn knew about this, he’d never hear or feel the end of it. That’s why it’s secret. It’s also part of why he and Roxanne have to call it off. Crash was becoming too dependent upon what Roxanne was giving him. Trouble was around the corner.

Also peppering Crash’s own story is the breakup of his parents’ marriage. This came at the hands of Burn, in a way. During Thanksgiving dinner when Burn was invited over (Crash’s mom and Burn’s mom were friends when she was alive), Burn keeps hinting that Crash’s father was getting really friendly with his foreign female friend. They were indeed friendly. They were, how to say, more than friendly. From there, the divorce comes down, and Crash’s father ends up eventually marrying this woman. While this was hard enough on Crash, what makes it harder is seeing that, despite his father’s actions, he’s still successful. He’s still rich. Crash bemoans that because of who he is, because of his ADD and because he’s not all that smart, he’ll never have what his dad has. This eats him alive inside.

Then there’s the partying. All kinds of partying. Drugs. Booze. Sex. Dating and sleeping with multiple girls. Hurting feelings. This is Crash’s story. It’s part of why he feels he’ll never be a success.

He just can’t have Roxanne.

It’s impossible not to spoil the story here, so, be warned. Burn’s been on the brink of self-destruction since the death of his mother, but it was in 2007 when Roxanne died. When she killed herself. That’s when Burn’s real unraveling happened.

That’s also when Crash’s real unraveling happened, too.

Both boys, both suffering from diagnoses, are in bad places. Crash is a good guy. He really is. But he gets messed up with bad things and now that his favorite person in the world is gone, he can’t pull himself together. Burn, despite his behavior, is a good guy deep inside. He’s just wounded. He’s suffering grief and loss in a way that’s impossible to understand. Crash doesn’t try to, either. He can’t. Even as both are now suffering a shared loss, it’s for different reasons. It is, ultimately, what unites them.

Crash and Burn is impressive in what it tackles. This is, if I can be so grand, the ultimate story of being a teen boy in today’s world. Crash and Burn were both impacted by 9/11. Crash and Burn are both impacted by their diagnoses. They’re both struggling to make sense of themselves in this world. Both boys, in a way, fall through the cracks. They deal with non-traditional home lives. They deal with loss on many levels. Interspersed throughout the story — again, remember, it’s told through Crash’s perspective in the style of his own book writing voice — are pop culture references, references to video games and movies and television. While it’s distracting and makes for a lengthier-than-necessary story, they do in some ways ground the story. They give it relevance, at least for today’s readers. What makes this story further the story of today’s teen boy is how much the challenge lies in what is and isn’t permissible on an interpersonal level. These boys are so isolated from everyone around them, and they’re incredible isolated from themselves. This comes through in how they interact with others and when they’re spending time alone. It’s when Crash starts driving at night to “get away” that this makes sense to him. That the pieces of Burn click together.

So what is it that Crash did to stop Burn’s plans? Spoiler here, so skip to the next paragraph if you don’t want it. Burn admits to Crash that he watched Roxanne die. He walked in on her still being alive after overdosing, and rather than do anything — call the police, call his aunt, shake her to her senses — Burn walks out of the room. He lets her die. Obviously, her death is not in any way her fault. But it impacts him profoundly. He loved her dearly. She was his rock when they lost their parents. And now that she was making money by doing really questionable things and now that it was leading her to her death. Burn simply couldn’t deal. When Crash hears this, he does the thing that both boys needed: he hugs Burn. They embrace. They hold each other. There is sheer physical intimacy, contact, kindness, care. They’re reaching out to one another and understanding one another as human beings who are aching and need that kind of comfort. Being pressured by the world to be boys, they never felt comfortable looking or asking for that. And here they are, allowing themselves the thing they most need. True human care. Hassan does a remarkable job bringing the story together here and showcasing the depth of Crash and Burn. I believed every second of this, and I thought it was the seal on what made Crash and Burn the book of today’s teen boy.

While what the story achieves is noteworthy, it does suffer under sheer bulk. Hassan’s choice to make this a narrative through Crash’s writing a book setup feels gimmicky, especially with the ADD aspect. It allows for some lazy storytelling and it allows for some serious self-indulgence on Crash’s part. He is a good kid. But he fixates on his bad stuff (as people tend to do — it’s human nature) and he spends an awful lot of time talking about pop culture in a way that is uninteresting to a reader. In conjunction with the sheer time frame that the book covers — elementary through the end of high school — it makes the 540 pages tough to get through at times. While it’s a swifter read, it’s hefty. It covers so much in terms of content that the extras splashed throughout could have been whittled out to no loss of the story. And while this is a small criticism, I found the overuse of “C” names for female characters challenging as a reader. It’s clear this is done because, for the most part, they don’t matter to Crash. They all kind of blend together anyway. But as a reader, again, I felt cheated here, much in the way I felt cheated in the storytelling choice. Reading something of this length makes me want more depth as a reward to making it through.

Crash and Burn is going to appeal to male readers, no doubt about it. I do think there will be trouble selling this, though, to more reluctant readers because of sheer size. This is unfortunate because those are the readers who will see themselves in Crash and in Burn. Both boys are thoroughly developed and have complete and engaging arcs. They aren’t two separate halves. They aren’t opposites. They are much the same. They complement one another, despite being antagonists throughout their lives.

Michael Hassan’s debut isn’t just about the hostage situation. It’s not just about living in a post-9/11 world. It’s not just about broken boys and broken families. It’s not just about grieving and losing and fighting. It’s not just about mental health or slipping between the cracks or about how people don’t tell each other enough about how much they matter. It’s about all of this, and it’s about much more. Try this out on readers who have read all of Ellen Hopkins’s books and are ready for something new.

As I stated at the beginning, Crash and Burn is epic. What readers will walk away with at the end is knowing a hero and his entire journey.



Crash and Burn will be available February 19 from HarperTeen. Review copy received from the publisher. 

Perfect Scoundrels by Ally Carter

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The Heist Society books are, quite possibly, the most fun books I have ever read. I love a good caper, and Ally Carter’s series provides them in spades. I described the books to a friend recently as “Ocean’s Eleven in book form, if Ocean’s Eleven were a group of teenagers,” and that’s exactly what you get: socially conscious thievery, crackling repartee among the gang, a dash of romance, a con that seems to go awry but then turns out to just be a long con in the end.
Perfect Scoundrels reunites the whole crew once more: Kat, Hale, Hamish, Angus, Uncle Eddie, Gabrielle, and others. This time, they’re recruited by Marcus, the Hale family butler, to investigate Hale’s recently deceased grandmother’s will, which left the entire company to Hale, to be held in trust by the family attorney. Marcus thinks that the will may have been tampered with, most probably by the attorney, in order to steal the company’s fortune. He wants Kat and her accomplices – minus Hale, who is too close to the job – to ferret out the truth and, if possible, steal the company back for its rightful and intended owner.
There are some interesting developments with Kat and Hale’s relationship, since Kat deliberately tries to exclude Hale from any knowledge of Marcus’ suspicions. It doesn’t work, of course, which causes strife among the two. And then there’s the complication of Hale suddenly being thrust into a very large, very important leadership role in the company, something he doesn’t know how to handle.
The heists and cons in this volume are fun ones, if not obvious from the jacket copy. Kat and crew find themselves first needing to break into the Henley – again – and then devising a plan to steal something from the Superior Bank of Manhattan, which may as well be Fort Knox. And then there’s all the sneaking into offices and residences and petty thievery from said offices and residences, not to mention a very fun con where Uncle Eddie pretends to be a slightly batty (and womanizing) long-lost relative. 
I also loved reading the names of the various cons the characters consider: the Princess and the Pea, Where’s Waldo, Three Blind Mice, Cat in the Cradle, Ace’s Wild. The ones they agree to undertake are described, but the ones they dismiss are left to the reader’s imagination (or to Google), making the reader feel like a part of the con – there’s no need to explain a con to the already initiated.
Kat and her crew are the friends you wish you had (maybe you do have friends like these, in which case, please don’t tell me, I don’t want to have to lie to the police). Of course, in real life, these friends would likely be in prison with you, but in Carter’s world, they always manage to avoid the long arm of the law, just as you hoped they would. 
The resolution is a bit of a deus ex machina, but in books about cons, I feel like that’s the way it should be: we realize that, in the end, we’ve been conned too, and it’s never been so much fun. Perfect Scoundrels is a bit stronger than Uncommon Criminals – a bit better developed, a bit more fun – and should more than satisfy fans.

Finished copy received from the publisher. Perfect Scoundrels is available now.

Review and Giveaway: Changeling by Philippa Gregory

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So, Philippa Gregory is writing a YA series, and this is the first installment. It is not great. It is not good, either. Even “mediocre” would be an undeserved compliment, because this book failed so hard to live up to my expectations (which were not high to begin with), that I’m a little miffed. And it’s not even a so-bad-it’s-good book, which would have redeemed it in some way. It’s just pretty bad. And that is a sad thing.
Changeling is the first book in the Order of Darkness series, and both of those titles would lead you to believe that this is a much more exciting book than it is. It’s set in 15th century Italy and features teenagers Luca, a boy tasked with investigating strange goings-on at an abbey (like stigmata!), and Isolde, the Lady Abbess who may be at the center of said goings-on.
This premise could have been so good, but instead it’s boring. The solution to the mystery is telegraphed right from the beginning and will come as a surprise to no one. (It’s sad that it does come as a surprise to the characters.) The dialogue is repetitive, the sentence structure is simplistic, and the “clues” Gregory drops are more like anvils. And then after Luca wraps up the mystery at the abbey, the book goes on pointlessly for another 100 pages, featuring an investigation into a supposed werewolf in another town. This mystery, while blessedly shorter, is even more obvious, and I really don’t know why it was included, unless there was a page count goal. It felt very much like a bad monster-of-the-week episode of a bad tv show.
And then there are the characters. Luca and Isolde are bland, Luca especially. They have hopes and fears, but we’re told about them, not shown. Neither have much personality. The ancillary characters are stock: Luca’s sidekick is the fool who is wiser than he appears, and Isolde’s maid is the exoticized, dark-skinned foreigner with dangerous knowledge from afar. 
All of these factors show that Gregory feels like she needs to write down for her audience, which is a rookie mistake, and an unforgivable one. The characters have no nuance, the writing itself is lazy and unimaginative, the mystery is ridiculously thin, and the romance she tries to foist on her readers near the end is so unbelievable (seeing as her two leads have no personality to speak of), it’s insulting.
I say all this having read and greatly enjoyed The Other Boleyn Girl, which was soapy and fun and fascinating, even though I knew Anne was going to lose her head at the end of it. I compare that to this travesty, which for all its faults could have been made enjoyable if only one aspect of the book (writing or character or plot or setting or something) were engaging. None of it was.
Naturally, then, I have two paperback copies to give away, courtesy of Big Honcho Media! I encourage you to enter, even though I clearly didn’t enjoy the book, because hey, you might like it. Fill out the quick form below for a chance to win. Then you can commiserate with me or tell me just how wrong I am.