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The Program by Suzanne Young

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In Sloane’s world, suicide is an epidemic among teenagers. No one knows why, but the adults have found a way to combat it: The Program. Teens who are suspected of succumbing to depression are forcibly taken by The Program and have any and all unpleasant memories wiped from their brains. They’re sent back weeks later, supposedly cured, but they’re not the same. They’ve lost the things that makes them who they are.

Sloane fears The Program every minute of every day. Her older brother committed suicide, and she knows she’s being watched for signs of depression. Luckily, she has her boyfriend, James, and they’ve pledged to help each other through these last few months until they turn 18 and The Program can’t touch them.

And then a friend of theirs kills himself, and James cracks. He’s taken by The Program. Sloane is despondent, and she knows when James returns, he won’t remember her at all. She has to concentrate on convincing the adults around her that she’s fine. She can’t show any emotion. She can’t express her grief. If she does, they’ll call for The Program. But it’s already too late – her parents have noticed she’s faking happiness and they’ve called The Program to take her away. Sloane is determined to find a way to maintain her identity while undergoing treatment, to not forget James and her brother and her friends, but what chance does she really stand?

Kimberly’s Thoughts

Young presents us with an intriguing premise, but I’m of two minds about it. I like that she tackles a real issue that teens struggle with daily. I like that it’s not sensationalized, and that the teens’ thoughts and feelings about the Program and their own depression are taken seriously and not trivialized. At the same time, I’m frustrated that there’s no explanation for the suicide “epidemic.” I wonder if treating depression like a communicable disease can come across as insensitive to teens who suffer from this very complex condition.

The book itself doesn’t really dig into the real causes of depression, which is part of the point. The Program is a band-aid, if that. But the fact that the causes aren’t investigated in any other way, that people refer to the suicides as an epidemic and treat it as “catching,” still does give me pause.

I also think the book suffers a little from an identity crisis. It could have been a thoughtful examination of the causes of suicide in teens and legitimate treatment plans, but it’s more about what shouldn’t be done than what should. It could have been a thrilling dystopian romp, but it doesn’t quite get there either. It’s a bit of a strange book, but for many readers, that will be a positive.

I did really like Young’s writing. The book held my attention (though the last third is a bit tedious for spoilery reasons) and I felt deeply for Sloane and her friends. Young writes their depression and fear very realistically. I think it reads a lot like a dystopia with a contemporary/realistic feel, and Young succeeds in writing about a really hard, issue-laden topic without making this an “issue book.”

Kelly’s Thoughts


I like to peruse reviews after I’ve given a book a good deal of thought, and one of the most interesting things I saw a few times about Young’s book was that it made light of issues like depression and suicide. I wonder how many people read the book too fast to pick up the fact that it actually aims to do the precise opposite of this. Which is why I liked this book.

Sloane lives in a world where those who are at risk of suicide — those who are too “emotional” about anything — are sent to The Program. The Program wipes the memories and emotionally-traumatic aspects of a person’s mind in order for them to return to the world with a different perspective. It thereby removes the threat that they’ll choose to kill themselves. In a world where suicide is an epidemic, it seems like a workable solution.

But what Young gets at in the book through Sloane is that a person is a person because of those things that are part of their lives. The good stuff as much as the bad stuff. So Sloane’s brother had committed suicide and the fear was that she’d become too emotional about it and thereby become a threat to herself. It’s a valid fear in this world, but it reduces feelings to a thing to “deal with,” rather than experience and work with. In other words, depression, anger, frustration — what the message is is that these things are exceptionally tough and they are exceptionally personal and they are what shapes and guides a person through making decisions and through understanding the world around them. By removing them in order to “better” someone, they’re removing those aspects that make a persona an individual. There’s no belittling depression at all. Instead, I think this book does a pretty good job of making it clear that depression is something to listen to and take seriously. It’s individual. There’s no one-size-fits-all treatment.

The Program succeeds on a take away for readers, and it succeeds in leaving me wanting to know what happens next. I’m eager to know what happens after. But the book doesn’t just succeed on the story telling level. I felt like the dialog, the romance, and the pacing were strong, and they made the book readable and engaging. Sloane and James are close to one another, and they look out for one another. The romance is sweet without being cloying or over the top. It’s very teen.

What didn’t quite work for me was how Sloane was treated at The Program, and I felt it didn’t work because I wanted more. There is an older “worker” at The Program who attempts to take advantage of Sloane, and I felt he was a little bit too much of a sketch, rather than a truly sketchy character. There was a ripe opportunity to delve into the world of authority and the messages of power and control, but it didn’t quite come to fruition. I also found the end to be a bit of a let down. Leila talks about it a little bit more in her review at Kirkus — it definitely let me down, despite the fact I am eager for the sequel.

This isn’t my first book by Young but I think it is by far her strongest, and it makes me excited to see where she’s going to go next. She writes real teens as real teens. These kids aren’t superheroes. They don’t have all of the answers. They make dumb choices. But in the end, they come away knowing more about themselves and have a desire to make things better not only for their future, but for the future of other teens like them. That’s what makes The Program the kind of book that so many teens will relate to. It’s one, too, that I think tackles the issues of depression and suicide very well and in a way that makes these very serious issues easier to grasp for readers who may have never experienced them first-hand. Because what happens when you aren’t allowed to experience what it is you need to feel? Or worse, what happens when you’re not allowed to experience what it is you feel just because you feel it, without necessarily having a logical reason for your response?

Feminist YA over at Book Riot

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I didn’t get a chance to share the post I wrote for Book Riot yesterday because I was so positively blown away by the response to what I wrote about female sexuality. I read and have thought about each and every comment, even if I haven’t responded. So thank you!

What I wrote about over at BR fit nicely with that piece, too — I shared my starter set of feminist YA novels. I’d love more suggestions if you’ve got them over there in the comments.

Half Lives by Sara Grant

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There’s a special sort of satisfaction I get out of answering the question “What is that book about?” with “The end of the world.” And that’s what Sara Grant’s Half Lives deals with, at least in part. The other part deals with the beginning of the world. Sound intriguing? It is.

We meet Icie (short for Isis) first, the daughter of brilliant, wealthy parents who send her an urgent 911 text out of the blue. They say they’ve learned that a bioterrorist attack is imminent, and they need to get to an abandoned bunker in Las Vegas. The bunker was at one point planned to be used as a nuclear waste disposal facility, but those plans were scrapped, making it the perfect place to wait out the end of the world. Isie and her parents become separated, and Isie finds herself hiding out in the bunker with three other companions she picked up along the way while the apocalype rages outside.

Generations later, we meet Beckett. He’s only a teenager, but he’s the leader of a group of people who live on the Mountain and worship the great I AM. One day, he meets a girl who lives in Vega, the destroyed city they can see from the Mountain. The girl, Greta, is confused by the culture Beckett belongs to, with their strange Sayings, odd nomenclature, and refusal to leave the Mountain. When members of Beckett’s people discover he’s had dealings with Greta, violence ensues between the two peoples.

Isie’s story is an edge of your seat thriller, whereas Beckett’s is a puzzler, causing you to think about each and every detail as it’s revealed to determine how it connects to Isie’s story. I loved them both almost equally, with Isie’s story barely edging out Beckett’s. But really, they’re in conversation with each other, and they need to be read in alternating chapters as they’re laid out. (I read a review where the reader said she read all Isie’s chapters, then went back and read all of Beckett’s. Please don’t do this. Well, I suppose you can if you want, but you’d be cheating yourself.)

Both Isie’s and Beckett’s stories are about what it means to survive, though in different ways. Isie is not your stereotypical do-gooder survivor, helping other sufferers with little to no questions or hesitation. A lot of the times she’s selfish, she thinks of herself first and foremost, and I love that Grant doesn’t make a sweeping judgment about her for it. Icie’s allowed to be human at the end of the world, allowed to think that the 13 year old kid who’s attached himself to her is annoying, allowed to hate the fact that her companions smell bad, allowed to want to grab some happiness where she can even if it means someone else may go without. I’m tired of self-sacrificial females in fiction, and while Isie certainly sacrifices a lot, she’s not sacrificial. I think there’s a difference.

While Isie’s story may be more gripping, Beckett’s is more thoughtful, and it’s much less about character than it is about ideas – what it means to be a survivor of survivors, and how we honor and interpret the past. Any teen who’s ever thought about how their own leavings may be interpreted by future generations will love what Grant’s done with Beckett’s culture. It could have been gimmicky, but instead it’s fascinating. It’s also funny, but not in a way that undercuts the seriousness of the situation. From the outset, we know Beckett’s story is linked to Isie’s, but deciphering the details is what makes it such an interesting read. The plot of his story is not nearly as important as what his story means about people’s reliance on the past, on their faith, and on whatever connection they can muster to those who came before.

The idea for Half Lives was inspired by a news story about nuclear waste disposal facilities, but that aspect of the book isn’t what kept me thinking about it for days afterward, though that’s certainly an important issue to consider. Instead, I was left wondering what my own legacy would be, if any, and what messages I could send, if any, to those who come after me. A couple reviews I read questioned if this was an issue teens could relate to, but I don’t doubt that they can and do.

Half Lives is a standout in a crowded field. I cried twice (not great gulping sobs, since I was in public, but I sure wanted to), which I’m pretty sure I haven’t done since Harry Potter 7 (don’t quote me on that). It’s not strictly a dystopia, though it certainly has a lot of the same appeal factors. If you’re burned out on the subgenre but are still hoping to find something that can inject new life into it, this is your book.

Review copy received from the publisher. Half Lives will be published July 9.

Female Sexuality in YA Fiction: Exploring the Range of Experiences

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I’ve been thinking about female sexuality and sexual experience in YA fiction. Two recent posts have had this thought in my mind even more so lately, so I encourage you to take some time to read through this post about the big tropes we see when it comes to girls and sex in ya over at YA Highway and then follow it up with this post about the way we talk about sex and sexual experience when it comes to female characters in YA by E. M. Kokie. Follow up that reading with this post by Malinda Lo about sexual experience in the teen years for further thoughts on the idea of what may be natural and what may be “cringe-worthy.”


I think it’s inappropriate when the sexual experiences explored in YA are about the way the story makes the adult reader feel when they read it. In other words, it’s uncomfortable to have sex in YA be there for the audience’s enjoyment. It should be authentic to the story and to the character. That’s part of where my problems with what’s being published as “new adult” come about — many of these stories feel like a means of adult enjoyment of very young sexual experiences. This isn’t to say there shouldn’t be takeaways or reflections upon those sexual scenes in YA for readers. There should be. It just shouldn’t be for the enjoyment of the reader.


If it’s real to the story and the characters, sex and sexual experience belongs in YA. I believe this to be exceptionally true when it comes to the female sexual experience because I think that for a long time (and still now), we do a lot of disservice to female characters. Too often, as Kokie points out, the scenes fade out. Or we don’t read/see/use terminology in a way that is true or real. A lot of that has to do with the fact as a society, we’re too willing to ignore what it is a female actually experiences during sex. More so if it is a teenage girl (because in many ways, we devalue teen girls in general — that’s another post for another day).

When I do read a sexual experience in YA and I find that the tropes pointed out in the YA Highway post emerge again and again. And often, they’re paired with some things that leave me feeling like we’re continuing to send sometimes-sad messages to readers. What are those messages, exactly?

We show girls who are afraid to experience sex. They’re maybe emotionally prepared, but they mentally remind themselves, for better or worse, that it’s going to be painful or it’s going to be hard. Rather than allow them to actually experience sex, the girls are reminded that sex is going to hurt and that they are there to be there for their partners — I’m talking about heterosexual partnerships here, since that is primarily where I am reading these stories.

Her body is not there for her enjoyment. Her body is just part of the process. Much of this, I think, comes because this is what we’re taught socially again and again. These messages pervade our culture and come through the literature, as well. Yes, it can often be authentic to the character. But in many cases, it feels like an easy way around exploring the depths of experience that a female character can have sexually. It can be uncomfortable, but I think it’s important.

A Missing Element of Sexual Experience

I recently read Laura Nowlin’s If He Had Been With Me. On the whole, it’s a solid and good read about relationships and how they shift and change as people grow up. But it was those moments where sex entered the story I couldn’t stop thinking about why it was the main character wasn’t allowed physical pleasure or why it was those unintended Messages emerged.

The story features a scene with a female character preparing to have sex for the first time with a long-time boyfriend. She was excited about it, since sex was something her friends had experienced but she hadn’t yet. In that moment, she pauses mentally and reminds herself it’s going to hurt. She reminds herself that she is there for his enjoyment. Her partner climaxes in the scene, but we know nothing about what she experiences physically here. I think it’s in many ways true that characters (and people!) don’t necessarily have a grip on what’s happening to them in that moment, especially since it is a first time, but I do take issue with the fact she’s conscious enough of being scared of being in pain and it hurting and being uncomfortable that she doesn’t ever get the chance to actually experience sex and experience pleasure. She feels good because she did something good for someone else. She is very fixated on the fact that she is giving the boy her virginity. She gave it for him.

The character does not feel good because she enjoyed sex. She feels good because it was emotionally a big deal. There’s a disconnect between the emotional elements of sex and the physical elements in a way that left me uncomfortable because it suggested that her giving her body was what their relationship needed in order to be completely satisfying. She does not get to experience her body. It is a gift for someone else.

But rather than linger on the abundance of stories which tend to do that in YA, I thought it’d be worthwhile to instead turn toward some recent reads that have had amazing and empowering sexual messages for females in the story — and those readers who pick up the stories. While it’s absolutely true and honest that in many ways sex is messy and confusing and awkward, and that the characters in these stories would experience those things (and maybe even be unaware of what their bodies are doing in the moment), I think that showcasing a range of sexuality and sexual experiences is so, so important. As Lo points out in her post, sometimes sex is very natural for a character, even a teenager. It is something they enjoy, look forward to, and don’t find confusing or awkward.

It just is.

Heroines Don’t Have to Be Virgins

Sarah Dessen’s most recent book, The Moon and More, features Emaline, who is in a sexual relationship with longtime boyfriend Luke. Part of the joke of the story is that they have a hard time finding a place to enjoy themselves. Parents, siblings, and home construction mean that their time together alone is regularly compromised. But what’s important here is that Emaline enjoys sex. She enjoys having sex with her boyfriend, and even though it’s hard for them to sneak away to have their private time, it’s something she’s not ashamed of and it’s something she’s not shamed for, either. It is part of her relationship with Luke and it’s part of her understanding of herself. Sex feels satisfying, and that is okay. It doesn’t need to be a secret or shameful thing. It can be a beautiful, healthy, and rewarding element of a relationship. Emaline gets to still be a hero in the story and not be a virgin. She can also choose, as she does, to let go of the relationship when she needs to. Sex is not a string tying her to someone else. It doesn’t make her regret her choices. It’s just an element of what her relationship with Luke includes. It is not the whole of them.

In many ways, owning her own sexuality empowered her. I give huge props to Sarah Dessen, whose books reach so many readers — particularly female readers — in writing a character that can have a sexual relationship with a boyfriend and have it be so normal. There aren’t weird feelings and there aren’t strange and awkward encounters. Sex just is.
Newsflash: Girls Masturbate, too.

The YA Highway post above mentioned that there aren’t really any YA books that talk about female masturbation at all, and I held that in the back of my mind, trying to think of books that do. And they’re right — there really aren’t. Judy Blume broached the topic in Are You There God, It’s Me Margaret but it’s not actually on page as a thing that happens. It is, however, defined as normal.

Then I read Sarah McCarry’s forthcoming All Our Pretty Songs. For the first time in memory, there was a scene where the female main character masturbates. On page. It is a very short moment, but it is a very powerful one — the nameless main character is frustrated and longing for Jack, the music maker, and her outlet in that moment is a personal sexual experience. Reading it reminded me a lot of what happens to Marnie in the HBO show Girls: there’s a lot to unpack in both situations. There was a lot of discussion of the moment in Girls after the show aired, about what it meant to see that and whether or not it was true or authentic. I’m going to be really curious what, if anything, pops up in response to McCarry’s character doing something similar.

But what I think should come out is just how important that scene was to the story and to readers. McCarry’s book is a very feminist novel, with very lush and moving prose, and in many ways, it’s a book that’s about girlhood and the mythical nature surrounding it. For there to be a scene of female masturbation on page only furthers that. I think teen readers who will pick it up and see that self pleasure for girls is normal, that they can enjoy on the merits of exploring the way their body can feel, is immensely important. It is a normal part of growing up, it is a very normal part of adolescence (and beyond!) and it is a very normal experience to engage in and want to engage in. It is in many ways the “safest” form of sex.

All Our Pretty Songs is the first in a trilogy, and as of this point, the main character’s actions and experiences are completely normal aspects of growing up. There’s no shame or fear or disgust in what happens — it’s okay. I’m especially fond for the fact that in this book, which does explore those lines of magic and mystery of girlhood, a girl masturbates and it’s in a way that’s very real to her and to the story. Where there is a story of myth, it’s grounded in those moments of realism. Those real moments bring girlhood back to our world.

If you haven’t spent time on The F Bomb blog — a feminist blog run by and for teenage feminists — I suggest you do, and I suggest starting with this post on the topic of solo sex for girls. Seeing this moment in McCarry’s book reminded me of what the teen blogger said, and I think it resonates: “[G]irls would gain so much confidence by understanding that THEY are in charge of their sexual pleasure, not men, which would also show girls that they don’t need to have sex for approval. Don’t get me wrong, people will still have sex (and should if that’s what they want to do), but it will be because they want to have sex for themselves, not because society is telling them it is the only way they can have pleasure and feel accepted.”

Seeking Sex Doesn’t Make Her Easy Nor Worthless

Part of what led me to want to read McCarry’s book was her stunning piece about the sex in Erica Lorraine Scheidt’s Uses for Boys. I really dug Scheidt’s book, partially because it was so much about Anna’s discovery of self through her sexual relationships — in many ways, those relationships were painful to read, as she was assaulted, as she was made to feel used, as she never quite felt emotionally fulfilled in the way she needed to be. But the responses that McCarry points out are ones I saw again and again and wondered about myself. Why was Anna worthless because she was sexual? Why was who she was at her core without value because so much of her life was about sex.

That was the point.

Scheidt’s book is a look at female sexuality and what it is and is not. Anna seeks it out because that’s what she’d been taught to do by her own mother. It’s what messages she’d been shown over and over again: if she has sex with a boy, she is good. But it backfires on her in many ways, though there are light moments where the sex in the book becomes something different. In those moments, she’s there and she’s realizing the value of her body. That she can enjoy sex and enjoy physical pleasure on the merits of that and that alone. That it need nothing more than that.

Readers walking away with the idea Anna is a slut is why, I think, we need more books that showcase female sexuality in its wide and varied forms.

Her Body Can Feel Good

A few other books have caught my attention when it comes to showcasing female sexual experience in a really positive, affirming, and empowering manner. I know it’s unfair to talk about books that aren’t out yet, but I am going to anyway — it’s a means of putting them on the radar as books worth anticipating because they do something right.

Trish Doller’s Where the Stars Still Shine comes out in September, and it’s a story about a girl who has been kidnapped by her mother and has experienced a number of terrible things at her mother’s hands. When Callie’s returned to her father, she meets a boy named Alex. He’s everything she could ever want in a guy because aside from being good looking, he really and truly cares about her.

Early on in their relationship, when Callie begins revealing her past to Alex, they becomes more physically intimate. But it’s not about Alex here — it’s about Callie. He performs oral sex on her, and does so in a way that empowers her and allows her to regain power and control over her own body and her own sexuality (this is important to the bigger part of the story, which I leave out because it’s too much a spoiler). From the book:

I’m scared and shaking so hard and he keeps asking me if I want him to stop, but I don’t want him to stop. Then he touches me with his mouth and I melt.

When his body finally moves up over mine, my cheeks are damp with tears because I never believed it could feel good or that I would like it. Right now, in this moment, the absence of shame is shaped like Alex Kosta and I don’t want to let go of this feeling.

What I think is so important in this scene is that Callie admits to her own fear, but then she is very open about how good she feels. Not just emotionally, but physically, too. Her body feels good and her body can feel good.

In many ways, what Callie experiences in this scene is reminiscent of what happens to Sloane in Courtney Summers’s This is Not a Test. Where Sloane had experienced physical abuse and lost agency over her own body (which emerges not only in her devaluing of herself and her eagerness to die, but in many observations she makes of other people, including Grace and how much she envies Grace’s body), it’s when Rhys is physically intimate with her she has a moment of realization that her body can feel really good. That even though she’s never been allowed to feel that way before, the possibility exists. And she likes that.

It’s a small moment in a much larger story, much like Doller’s, but those small moments of recognition of the power of physical pleasure and intimacy and ownership of those things are so important for readers — and the characters — to see.

Carrie Mesrobian’s forthcoming Sex & Violence is another one that does something strong with female sexual empowerment, even though the book is told through the eyes of a guy. There’s a girl in the story named Baker who challenges Evan because she’s very conscious of — and confident in! — her sexual nature. She straddles him. She turns him on. She reminds him that he has weaknesses in his own sexuality because of who he is and because of biology itself.

C. K. Kelly Martin is another author who has offered up very sexually empowered female characters, too, and she’s written some incredibly healthy sexual scenes, especially in My Beating Teenage Heart. Though the moments come through the voice and perspective of the male character, it’s clear that the female is experiencing pleasure and valuing what it is her own body can do.

Further Thoughts

I’ve only touched the surface on books that feature female sexual empowerment, but it’s something I’ve been thinking about a lot, and it’s something I hope other people weigh in on here. I am thrilled to see more books that showcase the wide range of sexual experiences and possibilities for female characters.

We DO need those books like Nowlin’s above because there are teens who will have first and fifth and thirtieth times where their own physical pleasure isn’t so much about the physical moment but about the emotional ones.

We DO need books that explore the value of virginity and what it means to remain pure (either for religious reasons or personal convictions).

We DO need books that don’t touch sex at all.

But, we also need books that show female characters experiencing and enjoying physical pleasure. We need books that show it can be empowering. That it can be good. That it can be done alone or with a partner. That it can be safe and that it can be a valuable part of a relationship — whether it’s a relationship that’s long term or one that’s not.

Just like we need a wide variety of female characters in our stories, those who are easy to like and those who are challenging, we need this variety of sexual exploration in YA, too. It’s honest to the world around us, and it’s honest to readers who deserve to experience via those characters the range of possibilities that exist. That remind them their bodies are their own, and they have the power to do with them what they wish to. That enjoying them is nothing to be ashamed or afraid of.

So I’m curious — what other books have stood out to you for how they portray female sexual experiences? I’d love to know the good side and the other side, and I’d love to know what moments stand out to you for being surprising or refreshing to see.

So You Want to Read YA?: Guest Post from Colleen Mondor (Blogger & author)

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This week, let’s hear what blogger and author Colleen Mondor has to say are her must read YA picks for “So You Want to Read YA?” Get ready: she’s got non-fiction picks, too.



Colleen Mondor has been the YA columnist for Bookslut for seven years. She also reviews adult titles for Booklist, writes about aviation for Alaska Dispatch and is the author of the flying memoir The Map of My Dead Pilots: The Dangerous Game of Flying in Alaska. She tweets @chasingray.



Whenever Iʼm asked about adults reading YA, I always feel like I donʼt have enough information. I need to know a readerʼs specific interests in order to best recommend a YA title they might enjoy. If you like Stephen King, then I suggest Libba Brayʼs The Diviners (with the caveat that she writes endings much better), for a straight up thriller with historical overtones (not Dan Brown, not Dan Brown!), Robin Wassermanʼs The Book of Blood and Shadows should keep you riveted. Mystery fans need to take a look at Soho Pressʼs new YA mystery line; they know what theyʼre doing with mysteries better than just about anyone and are bringing that expertise to teen titles. (So far Iʼve found the upcoming Deviant by Helen FitzGerald to be especially compelling.)


And as for paranormal, and you canʼt discuss YA without bringing up paranormal, Nova Ren Sumaʼs Imaginary Girls continues to haunt me. There is a relatively conventional ghost in the plot but more disturbingly, there is a sibling relationship that is utterly and completely devastating. Itʼs not quite “Baby Jane” levels of terrifying but Suma does a masterful job of ratcheting up the tension in this one that will impress any reader.


Having shared all of those novels, the easiest go-to list for me when it comes to any adult seeking YA is nonfiction. I have made it a practice of several years now to gift such titles to adult family members and they have never been disappointed. Because my great grandmother worked in the garment industry in NYC in the early 1900s, I gave my mother a copy of Flesh and Blood So Cheap by Albert Marrin a few years ago. For my aunt, a huge John Lennon fan, this year Iʼll be buying Yoko Ono: Collector of the Skies by Nell Beram and Carolyn Boriss-Krimsky.


Other recent titles I have gifted are Tracking Trash by Loree Griffin Burns, and The Bronte Sisters and Jane Austen: A Life Revealed, both by Catherine Reef. All of these books are notable for their attention to deal, factual accuracy and outstanding illustrations (mostly photographs). They do not talk down to their intended audiences, but rather inform in an entertaining manner, something that is appealing regardless of the age of the reader. For adults who want to learn a bit about a subject (such as the Triangle Fire), but not plow through hundreds of pages, these type of books are ideal and I think an excellent place for curious adults to take a look at YA.

Ultimately, I think readers should look in YA for the same sort of books they enjoy in adult. My only precaution would be against romance, a genre I have personally found to be very difficult for me navigate in this age range. But really you just have to look for what you like here, as you do elsewhere and when all else fails, head to nonfiction where I promise you wonʼt be disappointed!