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Playing Hurt by Holly Schindler

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Chelsea always wanted to play basketball in college — it was her ticket to a big scholarship and it was a game she loved. She was passionate about it. But then an accident on the court her junior year leaves her wounded
and unable to pursue this dream.

She aches.

Clint is a former hockey player who works at a lake resort in Minnesota. Something terrible has happened to him — something so awful he’s quit playing hockey and vows never to play again. When Chelsea’s family takes a trip there for three weeks during the summer, her father hires Clint to help Chelsea regain some of the physical strength she’s lost during her recuperation.

Even though Chelsea’s in a relationship and Clint’s not a believer in the summer fling, their shared struggles to overcome the loss of their dreams may bring them together in surprising ways.

Playing Hurt is Schindler’s second novel, and it is a completely different story than her first, A Blue So Dark (reviewed here). Although both stories deal with loss and grief to some degree, this one focuses on what it feels like to lose the thing you love the most. For Chelsea, this is basketball. It’s ripped from her prematurely, and it’s done in a manner that is completely out of her control. It was a real accident, and it’s a moment she lives over and over, both in her mind and in person: she has a video of it. She continues watching it, hoping for some sort of solace in it. It’s aching because as readers, we know how it feels to have a dream like that and have it torn from you.

For Clint, we’re left a little more in the dark about what happened to him. We know he’s experienced pain and loss, and frankly, he’ll never tell. He’ll admit when confronted, but he won’t be the one to tell Chelsea or the readers. Since I don’t want to ruin it, I’ll say it goes back to his beliefs about love and relationships.

The book is written in dual voices, beginning with Chelsea’s and then going to Clint’s. Their voices are distinct, though I wasn’t entirely convinced of Clint’s voice nearer the end of the story. Chelsea’s is pitch perfect, though, and Schindler really grasps her pain and her need to recover. The story is well paced, and like in A Blue So Dark, it is quite literary in execution. There are moments when the language really begs to be read aloud.

One of the issues I had with this book was Chelsea’s preoccupation with losing her virginity. Although that in and of itself wasn’t problematic, it doesn’t really present itself early on. We know she has a boyfriend at home, and we know he’s gone to great lengths to arrange a date for them to have sex for the first time together after she returns from her trip. Well, because she and Clint become an item, his work will be for naught. Chelsea gives it up to Clint. The bigger issue, though, is the writing in these intimate scenes — and there are quite a few of them. I found it clunky and unbelievable, especially from Clint’s voice. It came off more Harlequin than teen, more of a voice of experience and sensuality than of two clumsy teenagers in the backwoods of Minnesota. As much as I didn’t want it to, it did mar some of the great aspects of Chelsea and Clint’s characters.

Moreover, there is nearly no remorse in Chelsea for cheating on her long time boyfriend. She’d been with Gabe for two years, but she spent no time really thinking about him while engaging with Clint. Sure, she sent him letters and checked her email from him, but in those intimate moments, it never crossed her mind. This made me really dislike her as a character, despite the point of the story being to care about her and want her to overcome the loss she’s experienced with her injury. And trust me when I say it didn’t make me like Clint anymore, either, since he knew full well she was in a relationship.

That said, this is a story focused more on character than on sport, but your maturer sports readers who appreciate stories like Catherine Gilbert Murdock’s Dairy Queen will enjoy this one. Chelsea and Clint are relatable characters and what they go through in terms of mourning loss and accepting change will resonate with readers who’ve done the same.

Between Shades of Gray by Ruta Sepetys

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June 14, 1941. Fifteen-year-old Lina Vilkas is sitting in her bedroom in Lithuania, ready to compose a letter to her cousin Joana, when a violent pounding on the door startles her. With that noise, her life is upended, as officers of the Soviet secret police, the NKVD, barrel into her family’s house and take Lina, her mother Elena, and her brother Jonas prisoner. Separated from her father, a university provost, Lina and her family are forced onto a caravan of train cars, then sent on a perilous journey across Lithuania and Russia, all the way to Siberia and the Arctic Circle. While enduring starvation, abuse, and excruciatingly difficult labor picking beets in a work camp, Lina nevertheless manages to endure these hardships through the few things she has left–her family; her desperate belief that her father, sent to a Soviet prison, is still alive; the kind boy, Andrius, that she meets along the way, and her love for art. As Lina witnesses the horrific treatment of her fellow prisoners, fears for her younger brother’s heath, and desperately wishes for the life she has left behind, she continues to draw the atrocities that are happening around her and the people she has met along the way. This art both sustains her, serving as a record of her experiences, and gives her hope: as she passes her drawings through other prisoners’ hands and through the mail, she retains the hope that her father will somehow find them, and realize that they are still alive.

I am ashamed to say that before Between Shades of Gray, I had not realized what happened to the residents of Lithuania and other Baltic region countries in the 1940s, where the ‘educated’ and ‘professional’ citizens were listed as anti-Soviet, and were rounded up to be sent as slaves to Siberia. Wrested away from their homes, which were seized as Soviet possessions, these citizens were treated as criminals, separated from their families, and sentenced to hard labor, little food, and utter cruelty.

Sepetys based Between Shades of Gray on her own family’s history, which lends an extra sense of gravity to the plot unfolding in its pages. While Lina does get to stay with her mother and younger brother as they journey the 6,500 miles from Lithuania to Siberia (a map depicting their journey is included at the beginning of the novel), this is only because of her mother’s sacrifice, who bribes a guard with a precious family heirloom to prevent him from taking Lina’s brother Jonas away. As Lina states simply, “Have you ever wondered what a human life is worth? That morning, my brother’s was worth a pocket watch.” Sepetys depicts the familial bond so strongly in this novel, as the reader can feel the devotion that Lina’s mother has for her children, and the desperation that Lina has to keep both her mother’s and Jonas’ spirits alive.

The other supporting characters, who the Vilkas family meet when they are first herded into a stuffy, cramped, and unsanitary train car, also become their surrogate family. The bald man, who injured his leg trying to escape, and whose complaints become a cantankerous soundtrack to their journey, is nevertheless treated with never-ending compassion by Lina’s mother. Ona, who was dragged from the hospital minutes after giving birth, struggles to breastfeed her newborn child. And Andrius Arvydas is a gentle, yet often infuriating, voice for her to talk to. The community this group forms, which tragically diminishes throughout their incarceration, is strong and inspiring.

While Lina does meet Andrius, a boy her age, there is no sweeping romance that overwhelms the utterly serious narrative. And this is as it should be. The history presented in this novel needs to stand on its own. Yes, it is humanized by Lina and her family, who give us a window into the lives that Stalin’s regime destroyed. But these characters and their humanity can, and should, be enough, should not be overshadowed by stolen kisses or angsty crushes.

Sepetys’ writing is spare and beautiful, full of simple descriptions that utterly fit the serious subject matter. Lina’s brief flashbacks to her life before the Soviet raid are well-placed, complementing the present-day narrative and giving the reader an emotional juxtaposition to the carefree, well-to-do life that the Vilkas family enjoyed prior. Well-researched and well-plotted, this book does not simply end, as there were no happy endings for these citizens, whose entire lives were transformed. As Sepetys noted in her Author’s Note, the prisoners who lived spent ten to fifteen years in Siberia, returning to a transformed Lithuania, where they were still treated as criminals, evildoers who were forced to keep their imprisonment and abuse a secret.

And a secret it was, to so many people. Between Shades of Gray brings a horrific period of history to the forefront, imbuing it with emotion, humanity, and hope. This book will not let us forget. As Lina noted with horror, “Two Soviets pulled a priest down the platform. His hands were bound and his cassock was dirty. Why a priest? But then…why any of us?”

Copy received from Pam at Iwriteinbooks.

Illegal by Bettina Restrepo

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I read and book talked a book a couple years ago by Will Hobbs called Crossing the Wire which still sticks with me today — it’s one of those books where the story and the character just won’t leave. It’s about 15-year-old Victor who crosses the border from Mexico into the US illegally, in hopes of finding stable work to make money for his family back in Mexico. It’s not an easy story to read, and it’s one where you as a reader must set aside any of your political feelings in order to really grasp at the stakes.

When I heard about Bettina Restrepo’s Illegal — a story of a soon-to-be 15-year-old girl’s decision to cross the border from Mexico into Texas to find her father (and a way to make money to save their struggling farm), I was immediately intrigued. We need more stories like Hobbs’s, and while this story does compare nicely, I think it let me down a bit in execution and development. However — and this is a huge however — I think that Restrepo might be opening up a whole new world to readers and to writers. I think she’s offered up a ton of interesting fodder to work with, and that in and of itself is a huge accomplishment.

When Nora’s father left her family three years ago to find work in Houston, he promised to be back in time for her quincenera. This is a huge deal to Nora, who, along with her mother and grandmother, live in a remote area of Mexico, in a down that dies a little more each day with its poverty. Fortunately, her father’s been good about sending money regularly. That is, until just before her 15th birthday and suddenly, her world is turned upside down. Why did her father stop sending money? Is he coming back like he promised? Or did something much darker happen?

Nora decides she and her mother need to investigate, and she convinces her mom they should pay a coyote to get them across the border, into Houston. And this is where the story begins, as we see these two learn to navigate a new city, a new country, a new language, and a new way of doing things. Not only that, but they’re there to find Nora’s father, and it’s through the underground network of people in their neighborhood they are able to find him — and that’s about all I can say without spoiling the story.

Illegal didn’t really convince me. I thought that the story was good and I liked the plot of it, but the actual execution of the story never came together. There were a lot of elements going into the story, and there was a lot of really interesting fodder to pull from, but it didn’t seem to me a lot of the strings that could have been explored were. There wasn’t enough emotional thrust behind the story — despite knowing what Nora and her mother were doing was incredibly dangerous — to make me connect to them at all. When I read Hobbs’s book, I immediately connected with Victor. I wanted him to succeed and I really cared about what he was doing and why he was doing it. In Illegal, I didn’t. It seemed too convenient that the entire adventure would transpire immediately before her 15th birthday and no time sooner or later. I know why this birthday was so important to her, and I wanted her father to be there with her. But the fact he disappears at that time worked too well for me. Perhaps I would have appreciated it more had the birthday been an incidental, rather than a key plot point in the story. I also didn’t get enough trepidation when Nora and her mother snuck across the border. Rather, I got more of Nora’s anger with the coyote. I wanted to smell and feel the fear, but I couldn’t.

Nora as a character read really young to me, which might have been part of the challenge I had connecting with the story as a whole. She makes a lot of very adult decisions — something I appreciate — but her voice feels very young. In convincing her mother to follow her (much less let HER cross the border), I feel like she should sound older and wiser, but she doesn’t. When she comes to Houston, she again asserts her decisions and power via more fist force than voice. As a reader, I wanted more insider knowledge of Nora, but I’m not given the access. Even though the story’s told in her perspective, I still needed more. It makes sense to me why she is almost 15 in the story (she needs the maturity to rationalize and make these big decisions), but I wanted a voice to match. Part of this had to do with the writing, as well, as the sentences and descriptions came off choppy and uneasy in parts.

I was also a little frustrated by the appearance of another character in the story, as if by magic. As a reader, I was forced to believe in this happening without much back story, and I didn’t. I didn’t want to suspend my belief in this story once because it is based in so much reality and there is such an audience for these books, but I had to do it a little too much.

What worked for me though was the use of the underground system. Even though Nora and her mother are dropped off in the middle of Houston, a city where they do not speak the language or know a soul, they’re immediately accepted into a community. They’re given jobs and they’re given insider information for survival. Even though they’re foreign and everything should be horrifying to them (which it is, don’t get me wrong), there is a built-in support system for them in their neighborhood. This is reality, and I think it’s something that’s not explored a whole lot in fiction. In her author’s note, Restrepo thanks some of the people she met at Fiesta (a Texas grocery chain that caters to a Mexican patronage); I love this because it’s clear she’s done her researched and talked to people, and she’s worked to make this as honest and realistic as possible. It’s through this underground system, too, that Nora and her mother learn about her father. It’s also through here that Nora and her mother begin to meet people, and it’s here Nora can pursue some of the things she’s only heard about from the girls she’s met at the local pool, like school.

As I alluded to, though, something Restrepo does with her book is open the doors to future stories like this. She’s opened up a ton of interesting threads for books that I’d love to read — I want to know the immigrant experience that Nora has. I want to see a whole book of her navigating the school system. I want a whole book of her crossing the border. I want a whole book of her learning how to speak English and how she could possibly determine for herself if what she did was the right thing or wrong thing. I want a whole book, too, on what she does when she reaches 18 and realizes she has to figure out how to get a job. These are the stories that happen every single day and yet don’t get much attention. Politics aside, they’re incredibly rich with real emotion and real decision making, and there is a well of potential characters and stories waiting to emerge.

That said, while this book didn’t work for me, it will reach many readers. It’s one I’m glad we have out there, as Nora’s voice and story will resonate with people. I’d hand this to those who liked Hobbs’s story, but I’d also hand it to anyone looking for a good story about contemporary events. The book is appropriate for tweens through older teens, and I think it’s one that can be book talked exceedingly well, particularly to middle school students or early high schoolers. There’s not a lesson to be learned here, and readers will appreciate that they’re not being lectured to while reading the story.

Wither by Lauren DeStefano

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Debut author Lauren DeStefano’s book Wither is getting a lot of buzz.  It’s in that hottest of YA trends – dystopian fiction – and it has many elements of a bestseller.  I was happy to get my hands on a copy.
Sometime in the future, humanity has mastered genetic engineering to a point where disease no longer exists.  The first generation of babies born this way is perfectly healthy and long-lived.  The second generation is healthy to a point – and then they die in a matter of weeks.  Boys live to age 25, and girls to age 20.  People are panicked about the human race dying out, so young girls are kidnapped and sold into polygamous marriages with young boys in order to produce babies.
Rhine Ellery is a sixteen year old child bride who is kidnapped and sold into marriage with Linden, the 21 year old son of a man named Vaughn, who belongs to the first generation of long-lived people.  Vaughn is very wealthy and obsessed with finding a cure for the condition that kills everyone so young.  He conducts experiments on Linden’s wives (three including Rhine) as well as Linden’s children to further his research.
Rhine is not a willing bride.  She wants only to escape her prison mansion and rejoin her twin brother Rowan back home (her parents, also of the first long-lived generation, are already dead).  The novel describes Rhine’s attempts to escape as well as her relationships with Linden, her two sister-wives, Vaughn, and a servant named Gabriel whom she starts to develop romantic feelings for.
I like my dystopias to be able to give meaning to our world today.  Hunger Games does that.  Delirium does that.  XVI (another book concerned largely with sex) does that.  Handmaid’s Tale (which this book is being compared to ad nauseam) does that.  Wither doesn’t, and I don’t even think it tries.  It has the potential to say a lot about how we view marriage and procreation in our own society, but this potential is never realized.  It says a little about the danger of messing with the genetic makeup of embryos, since that’s what caused the early deaths in the first place, but this is only part of the plot’s setup and is not explored further.  Social or political or cultural commentary, done in a subtle way, is what gives a dystopia meaning.  Without it, the book is just a series of events.
I had a number of other problems as well.  Some of the premise just doesn’t make sense – namely, I don’t see the reason for the polygamous marriages.  If people are so interested in finding a cure for the disease that kills everyone at such a young age and they need babies for experiments as well as to carry on the human race, why are polygamous marriages the solution?  Why not concubines?  I understand that marriage is socially accepted in our society, but polygamous marriages are not, and haven’t been for quite some time.  It would make a lot more sense to just accumulate a horde of concubines and impregnate as many as possible.
Moreover, this could be done more quickly and efficiently via in vitro – they have the technology.  (The explanation given is that such technology caused the problem in the first place, but this explanation is cheap.  Engineering the embryos is what caused the problem, not just impregnation via a petri dish.)  It seems like the polygamous marriages were an attempt to make the book seedy.  It succeeds in that regard, but the consequence is I cannot buy into the premise.  That’s a huge strike against a dystopia.
Additionally, a major plot point is that the young girls who are kidnapped but then not chosen to be wives are killed.  What, why???  When the motivation of these kidnappings, marriages, and rapes are to produce as many offspring as possible, why on earth are viable girls (and they are girls, not women) killed?  Couldn’t they use as many of them as possible?  It doesn’t make sense.  Actually, there are so many things about Wither that don’t make sense, I can’t possibly cover them all in a single review without trying our readers’ patience.
 A few other things that bothered me:
  • Why do boys live five years longer?  This book is, of course, the first in a series, so I can assume that an explanation is forthcoming in future books.  This explanation needs to happen and not just become an unanswered question.
  • Rhine refers quite a bit to how her twin brother, Rowan, protected her before she was kidnapped.  Why didn’t she learn how to protect herself, instead of relying on her brother, who is the same age as her and therefore not necessarily better equipped to care for them?  It would have been awesome if the roles were reversed and Rhine was the protector – then she’d have even more reason to want to escape and reunite with Rowan.  I understand that not all female protagonists can be kick-butt girls, so this is my own personal preference rather than a criticism.
  • This is not a complete story.  Obviously I won’t give away the ending, but if someone had spoiled the ending for me after I had read about half of the book, my reaction would have been “And…?  That’s it?”  Sequels.  I loathe them sometimes.  But even books with sequels should tell a complete story.  (That’s beginning to be a motto for me.)
I’ve given you a laundry list of complaints about Wither, but I don’t mean to say it’s a bad book.  It’s just a mediocre one.  I thought the writing was solid and most of the characters well-drawn.  I finished the book and didn’t feel like it was a waste of my time, and I was rarely bored.  DeStefano can definitely produce an interesting story.  But that doesn’t make the book good. 
There are plenty of people who disagree with me, and that’s fine.  The book currently holds a 4.17 out of 5 rating on goodreads.  Even by goodreads standards, where book ratings tend be rather inflated, that’s an impressive score.  I’m sure many readers don’t really care about any sort of social commentary and can forgive a lot of nonsensical world-building, so Wither would suit them well.  But when a niche genre such as this is flooded with so very many books, readers can and should demand better stuff – stuff that is not only written well, but has a believable premise and something more to say beyond just “This book is trendy.”
Wither will be released March 22.  Review copy received from the publisher in exchange for my honest opinion.

Audiosynced: Stargirl by Jerry Spinelli

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In the small Arizona school of Mica High, the social structure is about to undergo a major upheaval: Stargirl Caraway has enrolled.  Previously homeschooled, Stargirl enters Mica High in a sort of whirlwind of oddness.  Her clothes are way out there, she carries around a ukulele and serenades people at lunch on their birthdays, and, of course, her name is Stargirl.  What’s more, she doesn’t seem to care that she is so different from all of the other students.  She just is.
Ridiculed at first, she soon gains a following.  Kids start dressing in really unique ways, they dye their hair different colors, and they start bringing ukuleles to school.  Her biggest fan is 11th grader Leo Borlock, our narrator, who falls in love with her almost immediately.  Stargirl’s popularity grows, and Leo asks her to be interviewed on his school’s television show for a segment called The Hot Seat which he produces. 
Somewhere between her agreement to be interviewed and the interview itself, Stargirl’s popularity takes a nosedive.  For the first time in forever, Mica High has a good basketball team, and it looks like they might be tournament-worthy.  Stargirl is a cheerleader, but she cheers for both teams.  To the students at Mica High, this is traitorous.  Undeterred by the students’ growing antipathy for her actions, Stargirl continues to cheer for Mica High as well as their opponent.  And then she gets a tomato in the face.  When she goes on the Hot Seat, the other students’ interview questions are malicious and incredibly mean-spirited.  Stargirl is flabbergasted.
Somehow, Leo convinces Stargirl to start acting more normal (and consequently, less like herself).  She starts going by her given name, Susan, and dresses like everyone else.  She buys into the idea that it’s important to be popular, spurred on by Leo, whose own popularity is at stake (he is dating her at the time).  But it doesn’t work – Susan doesn’t regain her popularity.  So she decides to be Stargirl again.
It’s easy to be cynical about a character like Stargirl, especially as a teen.  There were plenty of kids in my high school who (it seemed to me at the time) were weird just for the sake of being weird.  But I never got that impression from Stargirl.  She always comes across as genuine, particularly in the conversation where Leo convinces her to start acting more normally.  Leo tries to explain that she can be accepted by just trying to act like everyone else, and Stargirl comments on how difficult and exhausting that must be.  Of course, she’s right.  It’s a completely foreign concept to her.  Seen through Stargirl’s eyes, it’s so much easier to be yourself, it’s amazing more people don’t do it.
What makes Stargirl such a great character isn’t just her overall oddness and her resolution to not be swayed by social pressure (aside from the brief period where she reverts to Susan).  She’s also a genuinely nice person.  She nice to the nth degree.  It’s not an air or an affectation; she doesn’t do it to be recognized or for a thrill.  She’s nice to be nice.  She sends cards to strangers who post on bulletin boards (will mow your lawn for cash; elderly woman needs companion; etc.).  She reads the filler stories in the local newspaper so she knows if someone is in need and she can help them.  She drops coins on the ground for children to find.    You might think that this is all just too much (or too creepy), but trust me when I tell you that it’s not.  It’s heartwarming without being cloying.  It’s moving but also practical.
The epilogue of this book is one of the best I’ve ever read.  I can’t say too much about it without major spoilage, but I will say that it made me choke up.  It’s the perfect ending.
John Ritter narrates the audiobook, and he is wonderful.  He’s the perfect Leo – he manages to imbue Leo’s voice with just the right amount of shyness, selfishness, and uncertainty.  He makes Leo likable even when he is pressuring Stargirl relentlessly to conform, to change from the person he fell in love with.  We’ve all been there – we’ve felt the pressure to conform, and we know what it’s like to see the people we love ridiculed.  We also all know what it’s like to be embarrassed by the odd behavior of these loved ones.  It’s a testament to Ritter’s skill that Leo still emerges as a three-dimensional character we feel for even as we condemn his actions.  Ritter’s narration is particularly poignant considering the fact that Ritter passed away in 2003.
This is one of those classic young adult books that I didn’t read as a teen, even though I was a teen when it was published.  Then as now, I avoided contemporary books like the plague, but this one is universal.  I’d recommend it to anyone.