STACKED

books

Books that didn’t capture me

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In the midst of my wild streak of Cybils reading, I’ve picked up more than one book that, unfortunately, I’ve stopped at the 75 page mark. Here’s just a sample of some of the ones that didn’t work for me and why — and why they might just work for other readers.

The Julian Game by Adele Griffin: This book’s premise is that two girls create a phony identity for themselves on Facebook in order to get payback on a cute boy who did them wrong. There is certainly appeal here in the contemporary setting, the use of technology, and the use of cliques and insider/outsider feelings therein. But as a reader, I felt distanced from the characters, never quite feeling that they were realistic enough. The slang didn’t click for me either, unfortunately, and I needed to give it up. Fans of Johnny Tucker Must Die will eat this up, as will fans of other stories of revenge and redemption. I bet, too, that the language in this book will appeal to many readers, even though it didn’t work for me — that alone sets it apart from the crowd.

The Kid Table by Andrea Seigel: What initially was the huge appeal of this book for me was the fact it’s a family story; there’s going to be a little romance and a little bit about friendships, but the bulk of it centers on family dynamics and growing up in a huge family. This is precisely what became the downfall for me, though. There were too many characters with the same voice (or no voice) for me to keep up with. For many readers, though, this will be the appeal factor: it’s relatable to those who grew up in large families. Pass this light hearted read to your fans of stories that aren’t the norm for contemporary reads. It’s different enough that it’ll hold shelf life for quite a while, and many readers will think this is their story.

The Not-So-Great Depression by Amy Goldman Koss: Premise-wise, this book held so much promise for me. It’s the story of what happens to a teen who’s mother loses her job because of the economy (and her dad is in the same situation, but he’s living back at home with his mom since her parents are divorced). However, the tone of this book was much too light hearted for me, as was the cover. I think this one had such possibility to be strong and powerful, but the execution didn’t work for me as a reader. I didn’t get the character development I anticipated, either. But, for fans of contemporary stories that do take a lighter approach or fans of books with a humorous tone, this is a great choice. The main character, in my mind, was a perfect rendering of a high school freshman: a little lost in her world but enjoying every minute of it in her naivety.

Jump by Elisa Carbone: P.K. is a runaway and her partner in crime, Critter, has just escaped from a mental institution. The two of them head west, away from their former shared town, in order to forge a new life based on climbing. This book sounded so great: it had athleticism in a different way and it would feature fresh characters. For me, though, I couldn’t get to the whys of either character within the first 75 pages. This is a relatively short book, and I hadn’t gained either sympathy or empathy for either character and I had yet to have any climbing experiences described. I was a little bummed, as I wanted the adrenaline and the excitement of climbing sooner. I think this is one that’s a super easy sell to teens, though: the alternating points of view are distinct and very short, making this a fast paced read. Likewise, the rock climbing theme will resonate with many, and those who are more patient than me will likely be quite rewarded.

Have you read any of these and loved them? Share your thoughts in the comments! Sell ’em to me again.

Guest Post: Horror Lit 101, Part the Fourth

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Guest blogger Matthew Jackson continues his series of posts for the month of October on horror literature. Today’s post is part four of four. Make sure you’ve read up on the entire series by reading the first installment here, the second installment here, and the third installment here.
Horror Lit 101, Part the Fourth: In which we attempt to crystal gaze.
Some say horror fiction is dead. It’s bleedin’ demised. It’s passed on. It is no more. It has ceased to be. It’s expired and gone to meet its Maker. It is a late genre. It’s a stiff. Bereft of life, it rests in peace. It’s run down the curtain and joined the choir invisible. It is an ex-genre.
These people are cynics, but I won’t hold that against them. If you read as much grim fiction as people like me have, you tend to lean toward grim opinions. But I’m not among this crowd. I don’t believe the genre is dead. It’s evolving, just like it always has.
It’s not what it used to be, of course. It would be easy to argue that horror is alive because vampires and werewolves and the like are alive. A quick browse of any bookstore will tell you that. But they don’t exist solely in horror anymore. They’re busy with other things. Seducing teenage girls (But not going all the way. That’s important.), seducing women, brooding, seducing more women, brooding some more, getting thrown into scenes of Victorian courtship and, most importantly, sparkling. 
I’m not judging, by the way. If paranormal romance is your bag, read your heart out, but don’t mistake it for horror. Horror can titillate and romance and erotica can horrify, but we’re talking about different things here. It would also be easy to argue that horror doesn’t exist on its own anymore. Sci-fi horror exists, and fantasy horror, and modern horror and mystery horror and so on and so on. But this to me is a misstatement as well, because these genres don’t encapsulate horror. The fact that horror is the only unifying part of these terms means that horror is the broader encapsulating genre, not the other way around.
So where is all of it going? Do we need to fear the loss of our beloved ghouls and ghosts? What is the future of horror? If we attempt to gaze into that psychic voice of trembling future visions, what will we see?
In attempt to answer these questions, we will have to comb the details. Rather than look at bodies of work, we must look at individual works by authors currently working in horror. To keep things brief and tidy, I’ll focus on five works (long and short) by five different writers working to some degree or other within the genre. I do not claim to be a soothsayer by any means, just someone who cares a great deal about these kinds of stories. Still, I shall attempt to delight you with feats of psychic talent. Dim the lights, please.
From Hell by Alan Moore
This is the oldest of the works on my list, published in volumes from 1991-1996, but it’s worth talking, not only because it represents a return to horror in the graphic novel form (Horror comics were big in the early part of the 20th century, but died off when the Comics Code Authority came to prominence.), but because it was written by one of the great writers of our time, Mr. Alan Moore (The Great Bearded Wizard of Comics). 
From Hell is a massive (more than 500 page) re-interpretation of the Jack the Ripper tale that employs holistic crime solving theories (To solve a crime you must solve the society in which it takes place. See Douglas Adams for more information.), psychogeography and other realms of the bizarre where Moore is king. In addition to all this complexity, it’s simply a terrifying portrait of a murderer. Never once are we in doubt of who the Ripper is, but the fact that we get to follow him around just makes it scarier. Moore’s story, like most of his other genre-bending masterpieces, raised the bar for both comics writers and horror writers. The new face of horror was going to be a more complex one, and Moore, along with Clive Barker, whom we discussed last week, was among the first writers to declare it so.
Coraline by Neil Gaiman
Scary stories are becoming more of an all-ages phenomenon than ever before, stretching even beyond that cutesy Roald Dahl kind of scary stuff. Apart from having a wonderful fairy tale feel, Coraline is just damn scary, from its atmospheric treatment of things going bump in the night, to its creation of an all too familiar monster in The Other Mother, the title character’s Mom in a parallel universe. Buttons for eyes, long, clawing fingers and a tendency to devour beetles are just a few of the more terrifying traits of this witchy creation, and the fact that the whole tale is grounded in the perspective of a young girl who’s just bored and tired of her own parents makes it all the more real. 
Gaiman himself has been pushing a “new tradition” in which we give each other scary books for Hallowe’en, something the blogosphere has dubbed “All Hallows Read.” This is the book I would recommend for anyone in your life, young or old, who could use a good fright.
“Abraham’s Boys” by Joe Hill
The son of Stephen King has proven himself quite the scary scribe in his own right, producing two acclaimed novels (Heart Shaped Box and Horns) and a collection of short stories, 20th Century Ghosts, which includes “Abraham’s Boys,” a tale of the sons of Abraham Van Helsing and their education in the art of executing vampires. 
All of Hill’s work is wonderful, but “Abraham’s Boys” is my favorite, because it seems to be the best indicator of the kind of badass horror story to end all horror stories he sets out to write. It ties in a legendary character from what some would call the greatest horror novel ever written, gives it a slightly more modern twist, and gives a fresh perspective to the vampire phenomenon by setting his story in the hearts and minds of children just learning about such terrors, even as their father is the world’s foremost expert. It’s an example of the ambition of modern horror. There are fewer writers attempting to pursue the genre in the classic sense, but the ones that are give it everything they’ve got.
The Passage by Justin Cronin
Like Stephen King’s The Stand and Robert McCammon’s Swan Song, The Passage is a book about the end of the world and how the remnants of humanity cope with what’s happened. While both King’s and McCammon’s stories use somewhat supernatural elements pitting man against man, Cronin’s pits humanity against a super and/or subhuman element, a horde of vampiric creatures known as “virals.” They were humans once, beginning as a few laboratory test subjects given injections of a virus that might have given them powerful healing ability. Instead they turned into monsters and took over the world, and now what’s left of the uninfected are just fighting to survive. 
This is the first book in a proposed trilogy on the battle to overcome the virals, so it’s not clear yet exactly where Cronin will wrap all of this up, but The Passage itself is certainly a novel of very modern fears. We’ve always worried that technology would be the death of us, and Cronin takes that one step further, creating a very literal metaphor for how man makes its own monsters. Horror of this kind is no longer about a foreign beast come to conquer us. It’s about how we devour ourselves.
“The Cult of the Nose” by Al Sarrantonio
You can find this story in the wonderful anthology titled simply Stories, edited by Neil Gaiman and Sarrantonio and featuring tales by both editors along with Joyce Carol Oates, Peter Straub, Michael Moorcock, Jodi Picoult, Diana Wynne-Jones, Jeffery Deaver and more. Some of the stories are scary, but all are wonderful. The one that affected me the most was Sarrantonio’s. It’s a simple tale of paranoia in which a man begins to see grinning, masked figures everywhere he looks, including historic paintings and photographs. It’s a story about the paranoia of always being watched, of always being closed in on by phantom shapes. In an age where privacy is ever-shrinking, it’s a tale that’s both highly contemporary and timeless, and it’s a deeply unsettling read.
So, with these random samplings at hand, we can conclude that…Well, this is embarrassing, but I don’t really seem to have a definite conclusion. Did I have that planned all along? Maybe. I’m a crafty little bugger. But perhaps it’s good we can’t arrive at a conclusion. It’s fortunate for readers that we can’t find a trend. There are too many trends in the realm of speculative fiction these days. Too many mash-ups, too many sparkly vampires and sensitive werewolves, too many perversions of things that used to be cool. It’s good that horror is still unpredictable. The field is not dead, but it has shrunk, shrunk to a band of writers who are doing it because they love it, because they’re really gifted. The future isn’t clear, but it is full of startling and wonderful possibilities. And for that, we can be thankful.
That being said, I’d like to say that it’s been a great pleasure to spend four weeks here at STACKED with all of you. I hope you enjoyed the experience as well, and I hope I can visit here again in the near future. In the meantime, please do participate in “All Hallows Read” should the spirits move you, and Happy Hallowe’en.

I Am the Messenger by Marcus Zuzak (audiobook)

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Ed Kennedy is nineteen years old, one year too young for the cab driver job that fills up his directionless life. His life consists of being nagged by his mother and playing card games with his best friends, Marv (who drags Ed along to his rugby games and hoards money, yet drives a falling apart car), Ritchie (real name Dave Sanchez, but nicknamed after the tattoo of Jimi Hendrix on his arm that suspiciously resembles Richard Pryor), and Audrey (the blonde beauty and fellow cabdriver whom Ed is hopelessly in love with). Once content to drift through life, Ed’s world is shaken up when he is stuck inside a bank during a robbery, surprising both himself and others when he thwarts the criminal, picking up the criminal’s dropped gun and shattering the window of Marv’s car, which luckily refuses to start for the fleeing criminal.

Suddenly lauded as a hero, Ed’s face is splashed across the newspapers…And that’s when the first ace shows up in his mailbox. Three addresses are scribbled on the playing card, and Ed soon discovers that he has been called upon for a mission. He is expected to make a difference in the lives of the people at these addresses, to get to know these individuals and find out how he can better them, whether in small or big ways. From the Ace of Diamonds through the Ace of Hearts, Ed travels throughout his run-down town, deciphering the code of the playing cards and finding out more about both himself and the people around him.

I Am the Messenger was absolutely astounding. While Zuzak’s The Book Thief is one of my favorite books, I had somehow held off on reading this for a few years. I am incredibly glad that I chose to experience it in audiobook form, as the narrator, Marc Aden Gray, brought Ed to life perfectly. His voice was a perfect mixture of grave, familiar, concerned, determined, and caring.

The power of Zuzak’s story lies not only in the character of Ed, who undergoes a complete transformation within these pages, as the messages lead him to finally care about both others and about the direction of his own life, but also in the supporting characters whose names and addresses appear on the Aces. There’s Sophie, the beautiful blonde girl who runs like the wind, and whose innocence and determination inspire Ed forward. There’s Milla, the elderly woman who still grieves her lost love Jimmy, sixty years after his WWII death. There’s Father O’Reilly, whose only wish is to revive and renew his diminished congregation. And there’s Marv, whose rapidly increasing bank account is hiding a deep secret.

While the middle two Ace’s characters aren’t quite as well-developed as the first and last Aces, Zuzak maintains a steady narrative momentum throughout I Am the Messenger, leading up to the final revelation of who is actually sending Ed these playing cards. While I was a bit disappointed with the ending (I actually preferred my guess), Zuzak’s conclusion does make sense for the book, and sends a solid message home with the reader. Any book that sends home the message that “Maybe everyone can live beyond what they’re capable of” without being preachy is accomplishing something huge.

This goes on my list of favorite reads of all time.

Double Take: Running With the Dogs

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I noticed this double take at the Texas Book Festival a couple weeks ago.  While perusing the tent of books for sale, I noticed Abraham Verghese’s novel Cutting for Stone, pictured below:
I immediately recognized the image of the two individuals running with the dog from another book, Patrick Ness’ The Knife of Never Letting Go:
Upon closer inspection, it’s apparent that the image is not exactly the same – the position of the front runner is entirely different and the back runner slightly different.  But it’s pretty darn close, aside from the color of the sky. The dog looks identical on each cover.
Who did it better?  I may be biased, considering my love for the Chaos Walking trilogy and my antipathy toward Verghese’s sentiments about critical reviews, but I think The Knife of Never Letting Go makes better use of the image.  I love the font used on Ness’ book, whereas the font on Verghese’s is too plain and saps interest rather than adding it.  I also prefer the color scheme on the second book – it really highlights the running figures.
What do you think?

Love Drugged by James Klise

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It’s rare a book surprises me with what it has to offer. There are a lot of good reads and a lot of interesting, insightful, exciting characters and stories. Don’t get me wrong. But it’s rare when a book hits on a topic that is so rich with something that just feels new, and it’s not just about being new, it’s about being important, too.

James Klise’s debut Love Drugged may make my short list in 2010 for favorite read. The back of the book has a question as its copy: If you could change who you are, would you? Should you? That’s the entire crux of this book.

Jamie Bates, a 15-year-old Chicago native, lives in the same condo as his grandparents do, as his mother and father can’t keep a stable job (though to be fair, they’re working at gift wrapping and shipping at the time). He just wants to get through high school and get on with his life. It’s rough in the high school world, but he’s been lucky: no one knows the biggest secret about him — he’s gay. No, no one knows the secret because he spends a lot of time with Celia Gomez, one of the most attractive girls in school. She has a total crush on him, and he might have one on her too. They might be dating too. It’s not super clear to him, either.

When Jamie spends more time with Celia, he learns that her father is a druggist (by that, he creates pharmaceutical drugs to help with different physical ailments). And eventually, he learns that her father is working on an experimental drug to help cure gay people of their homosexual feelings and beliefs. It changes the brain chemistry — or at least that’s what the goal is. Despite not knowing the side effects, the dosage, or the consequences involved in such a drug, Jamie steals some in an attempt to keep fitting in and sliding by in school.

Love Drugged is a well-paced book and one that almost feels straight out of the headlines. Klise spoke at the Anderson’s YA Conference I attended, and he was told by his editor that the story was funny. He wasn’t so sure about that assessment, and I’m going to agree: I don’t really think that this is a “funny” book. There are certainly funny moments, and I think many teens might get a humorous feeling out of some of the events that happen (not to mention Jamie’s parents and the job situation therein), but this is a book with a lot of depth and a lot of issues with which to grapple.

What really stands out in this book is Jamie as a character. It’s rare to read such a real character, but Jamie here is one. He has all of the feelings of insecurity and the despite to just “slide by” like a typical teenager, but it’s also real that he’s troubled with the knowledge he’s gay. He doesn’t dislike being gay, but he also doesn’t want to be loud and proud about it. That idea scares him, as is seen in an episode where he finds out someone he’s been talking with through a few gay chat rooms is another student in his school. Fear permeates. Likewise, Jamie’s decision to take the drugs is less about the wanting to not be homosexual than it is about just wanting to get by without trouble. Jamie has fantasies and dreams and goals like all other teens, and I think Klise has a rare ability here to make a very real and relatable main character.

Dialog works well in this book, and I particularly found a lot of the character interactions worthy of consideration (and worthy of discussion). When Celia’s dad talks frankly with Jamie about the purpose of the drug, I think there are a million discussion points worthy of being made. Celia’s father is *not* against homosexuals; instead, he said he chooses to work on this project in order to help homosexuals fit in. In the back of my mind as a reader, I could buy that but I could also buy the thought swimming in Jamie’s mind about the potential profit from such a “miraculous” product. Jamie, at the end, thinks back on this but is able to now consider the ethical issue of whether it’s okay to change who he fundamentally is or not.

Is this the perfect book? Of course not. I found some of the characters to be more furniture like than fully fleshed and some were used merely as a way to move along a subplot. However, our three main characters — Jamie, Celia, and Celia’s father — along with the engaging, sometimes enraging, situations make this work so well. I’m not a terribly interactive reader, but I found myself at times talking to Jamie as he did or thought through things. And boy, did this book feel refreshing and different after the string of dead parent stories I’ve read lately.

Love Drugged brings up some politically delicate issues but does so in a manner that allows teens to think for themselves and ones which homosexual teens will understand 150% because they live them every day. This is the kind of book we need to see more of. It’s an empowering book, and one that will linger in the minds of readers for a long, long time.

If you’re a librarian, please add this to your library. The cover will hook readers, but the content will keep their minds hooked.