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Secondhand Charm by Julie Berry

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I’m not usually a reader of much fantasy, and in my reading years, I’ve definitely neglected the fairy tale sorts of fantasy. They don’t really appeal to me. However, I know that there are a number of writers that teens love in this genre: Mette Ivie Harrison, Shannon Hale, Jessica Day George, and more recently, thanks to The Amaranth Enchantment, Julie Berry. Because I know this is a popular genre, I wanted to give Berry’s newest, Secondhand Charm, a shot. I’m glad I did.

Evie lives in a small, secluded village with her grandfather. She’s been blessed with the power of healing, too. She herself is rarely, if ever, sick and when a poor villager or visitor falls ill, she is able to nurse them quite quickly back to health. Oh, and the stonemason’s son has taken quite a shine to her, even if she hasn’t noticed. Evie wants to do a little more in her life, especially since she has a bit of a natural talent, but living in such a remote village won’t permit her to do so easily.

That is, until the big announcement that the King is coming to their village’s festival. When the townspeople scramble to put together the festival and the king arrives, Evie’s intellect and skills catch his attention when one of his footmen becomes ill. Her offers her the chance of a lifetime by extending her the money and admission to the University. The only catch, of course, is she must get there.

While at the festival herself, Evie purchases three charms from a gypsy, and those charms might be just the things that help or hinder her trip to the University. Is Evie the possessor of serpentine powers that she’s never known about? Could this unravel truths about why her mother is gone or help her see what the stonemason’s son could offer her life?

Secondhand Charm, despite not necessarily being the genre I’m comfortable with, was an enjoyable read. I felt the world was pretty easy to fall into because it was more fairy tale than fantasy. Evie was a great character, and I rooted for her throughout the entire book. She gets into a couple of tough positions on her way to the University, but I was always on her side. It’d be tough not to like a girl who has drive and desire to be a healer and get to school. Catching the attention of the king for her intellect, rather than simply beauty, just made me like her that much more.

The mythos of the serpentine powers worked quite well, too. I did find some of these passages in the story a little clunky, which may be the result of my inexperience as a reader, rather than the author’s writing. As far as plotting, this story does it well, moving at a solid pace as Evie travels, then encounters a bit of a challenge in actually getting to the end point. Even the road blocks that come up — a ship fight, a marriage between two people who shouldn’t be wed, the discovery of a horrible scene to steal land from the king, and the whole keeping a serpent hidden under one’s clothing for protection — don’t come off too quickly or drag too long. The only challenge I did have was a bit too much “tell” when Evie learns of potential serpentine powers from Annalise. The use of the charms Evie picks up on a whim works conveniently, as readers will discover at the end of the book. I quite liked this element of the story, as I wondered to myself more than once when certain charms would show up.

Because this is a clean story, with no language issues, and because it falls into the fantasy/fairy tale genre, this is a perfectly good story to hand off to your younger readers. The book suggests the audience as 10-14 year olds, and I think that’s spot on. Older teens will appreciate it, but I think this might be a true “tween” book. There seem to be few stories of this ilk aimed at that audience (much more traditional fantasy tends to be published here). Plus, isn’t this the age that dreams like Evie and hopes to change their lot through fantasy? Fortunately, they’ll discover that it’s truly Evie who held the reins entirely, changing the course of her life with her own intelligence and strong will.

In My Mailbox (9)

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Welcome again to In My Mailbox, hosted by Kristi at The Story Siren. I’m also going to leave you with a list of books still needing to be nominated for this year’s Cybils award consideration (in the YA Fiction category) in hopes you get a vote in before the October 15 deadline.

For Review:

Demonglass by Rachel Hawkins (Hyperion Disney, March 2011): There’s no cover yet, so I didn’t want to show you a blank gray one. This is the sequel to Hex Hall and will be my huge treat after Cybils.

From the Library:

Take a deep breath — this is a long list, thanks to the Cybils!

When I was Joe by Karen David: Looks like an edgy title about lies and deceit. I hadn’t heard of it before I saw it come into work a few weeks ago.

A Little Wanting Song by Cath Crowley: An Australian title that involves music, I believe. I’ve been looking forward to this one for a while.

The Freak Observer by Blythe Woolston: I read this one this week, and there will be a review up soon!

Losing Faith by Denise Jaden: A 2010 debut title about secrets and the death of a sister. It sounds a little bit like a few other books I’ve read (the dead sibling part) and the mystery part reminds me of a Ellen Hopkins’s Identical.

Boys, Bears, and a Serious Pair of Hiking Boots by Abby McDonald: I liked McDonald’s first title, Sophomore Switch, and I am looking forward to the environmentally-vested title.

Sorta Like a Rock Star by Matthew Quick: Jackie tells me this one is a treat, so I’m excited!

The Kid Table by Andrea Seigel: This is another 2010 debut, and its focus is on family. It’s humorous and not at the same time. I read it this past week.

Nothing by Janne Teller: This European translation is an existential title with a lot of Lord of the Flies elements. It depressed the heck out of me.

So Over My Head by Jenny B. Jones: Jones’s series was super popular at my former library. I’m diving into this one without having read the first two, in fairness to the idea that books need to be judged in their individual merit, but I’m excited. It looks fun and squeaky clean.

Change of Heart by Shari Maurer: This sounds a lot like Loretta Ellsworth’s In a Heartbeat.

A Blue So Dark by Holly Schindler: Of madness and mental illness, along with an artist to spice it up.

Beautiful by Cindy Martinuson-Coloma: Another author who was wildly popular at my former library. She writes Christian fiction, but it’s less over-the-head than some of Melody Carlson.

Purchased:

Alea wanted someone to do some of the crafts in this book with her, and I jumped at the chance! Lots of cute and fun Halloween crafts here.

And as promised, here’s an updated “to be nominated for Cybils consideration in the YA Fiction category” list. You only have till the 15th to go here and do it! All you need is the 13-digit ISBN, which I’ve conveniently linked to for you.

$65 Giveaway from CSN Stores!

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As some of you may know, we’ve done a couple of giveaways from CSN stores here before.  This time, they’ve offered us $65 to give away – that $65 can be used at any one of their 200+ stores.  They sell pretty much everything – bed sets, holiday decorations, some very nifty-looking wine racks, and of course a huge selection of bookshelves.

To view the full list of stores, visit www.csnstores.com.

To enter to win this giveaway, simply fill out the form below.  We’ll randomly select a winner on October 23.

Guest Post: Horror Lit 101, Part the First

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Our guest blogger today is Matthew Jackson, journalist, photographer, film critic, and Entertainment editor for the Huntsville Item, a newspaper in East Texas.  He’s also a tremendous book nerd and blogs about film, reading, and other nerdy (aka awesome) topics at A Walrus Darkly.  This is the first of four in a series of posts he’s written for STACKED on horror literature.
Horror Lit 101, Part the First: In which we speak a little about scary stories.
“All our fears add up to one great fear, all our fears are part of that great fear – an arm, a leg, a finger, an ear. We’re afraid of the body under the sheet. It’s our body. And the great appeal of horror fiction throughout the ages is that it serves as a rehearsal for our own deaths.”     Stephen King
Scary stories are as old as dirt. Older, even. I think it highly likely that two amoebic organisms were floating around in some corner of the Primordial Ooze eons ago, discussing whether or not to migrate to some newer, slimier corner of the ooze, when one of them said to the other: “No, you don’t want to go in there. There’s bad stuff in there. Vinnie went in there and never came out.”
And yes, I know amoebas don’t normally talk (And that they’re not normally named Vinnie. Gordon is a far more likely name for a unicellular organism.). The point is that mysteries breed speculation, speculation breeds darkness, and that in turn breeds fear. Many of us get the same feeling when we enter our homes at night, and we’re alone, and the whole joint is plunged into some kind of epic blackness created just for the occasion of being alone at night.
We all know that the most likely thing to happen is that we’ll turn on the lights, and our house will be our house, and nothing will be out of the ordinary. But we also know that we could turn on our lights and find a person who shouldn’t be there sitting at the kitchen table, or that a grimacing, masked face is peering through the window. Or maybe we won’t even make it to the light switch; maybe some cold hand will wrap around our wrist and jerk us into the darkness…
These thoughts I just forced on you, like running into a cemetery at night and seeing which one of you can sit in a particular spot the longest, are all just a form of flirting with the darkness. We don’t actually want to go in. Of course we don’t. Not even the kids who wish a vampire would nibble at their jugular really want to go in. We just want to examine it, prod at it, turn it over in our heads. Some call it a subconscious desire to prepare for death, or to collect all these pieces of mysterious blackness in the hope that, when assembled as one, they’ll make some sense of all the ill in the world. Some label it instead a very conscious desire to thicken their own skin. Most of us just call it fun.
In honor of the coming of a Hallowe’en (Yes, I spell it like that, and yes, I’m OK with being slightly pretentious in this instance, thanks.), I’ll be traversing the landscape of horror fiction as I know it for the next four weeks, pointing out the best landmarks along the way and (I hope) providing a somewhat accurate picture of where the road goes from here. We’ll visit the classics: Poe, Stoker, Lovecraft and the like. We’ll visit the moderns: King, Barker, Bloch, Straub. We’ll even talk a bit about the current state of the genre, and hopefully point out some essential reading that will aid in October’s grim celebrations.
As for my qualifications, I can present (in addition to an English degree) only a rabid love of the genre, and a decade-long relationship with many of its best practitioners. Unlike many horror readers, who treat it like some sort of guilty pleasure, I make no apology for loving any of it, including the really farfetched stuff (One of my favorite Stephen King tales, “Battleground,” is about toy soldiers coming to life and attacking a hitman.). 
As for the snooty-minded who claim that “we can’t really call horror literature ‘literature’ at all, now can we, old chap,” I have only two responses. First, if you’re snooty-minded about this sort of thing you’re likely missing out on too many things to do anything more than claim knowledge of what you’re snooty about. And second, the purpose of good art, no matter how far out or freaky, is to call forth something universal about us. This might be as profound as our inherent loneliness in the world or as primitive as our inherent desire to boogie. The point is to get a rise. When it’s good, horror fiction will keep you up at night, fighting that anxious twitch in your stomach, reciting affirming mantras to wish away your terrors. When it’s great, horror fiction will simultaneously provoke both that anxious twitch and a deeper understanding, a sense of standing at the edge of the void and being exhilarated by how damn fragile everything is.
I promise that’s as far as I’ll venture into how profound and misunderstood the genre is, because the real point of consuming horror, or any other popular fiction, is to enjoy yourself, after all. So, no more ardent pontification on why it’s important, and much more ardent rambling about what among these works should be read, and why, and how (when it’s really great) horror fiction is the most exhilarating fiction there is.
We’ll get into that next week. But first, ground rules. We have a lot of ground to cover in a very short time. Whole books could be written about what I’m being asked to do in a few thousand words. So, I’m going to stick to a fairly strict interpretation of what horror fiction is. There will be no thriller fiction (which is meant to provide suspense more than terror), no science fiction (unless the focus is more on the monster and less on the machinery) and absolutely NO paranormal romance (Because fangs and mysterious brooding do not a monster make.) I’m boiling this down to the writers who set out to terrify us, to leave us worrying over every bump in the night; the writers who really and truly make it difficult to walk into your house alone.
So leave a light on, boys and girls. We have a dark journey ahead.

Plain Kate by Erin Bow

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Plain Kate lives in a world of superstitions and curses, where a song can heal a wound and a shadow can work deep magic. As the wood-carver’s daughter, Kate held a carving knife before a spoon, and her wooden talismans are so fine that some even call her “witch-blade”: a dangerous nickname in a country where witches are hunted and burned in the square.

For Kate and her village have fallen on hard times. Kate’s father has died, leaving her alone in the world. And a mysterious fog now covers the countryside, ruining crops and spreading fear of hunger and sickness. The townspeople are looking for someone to blame, and their eyes have fallen on Kate.

Enter Linay, a stranger with a proposition: In exchange for her shadow, he’ll give Kate the means to escape the angry town, and what’s more, he’ll grant her heart’s wish. It’s a chance for her to start over, to find a home, a family, a place to belong. But Kate soon realizes she can’t live shadowless forever — and that Linay’s designs are darker than she ever dreamed
(Summary from Amazon.com)

Plain Kate is one of the most beautiful books that I have read in ages. ‘Beautiful’ is honestly the first word that comes to mind to describe Erin Bow’s prose, which is as lovingly shaped and whittled as the figures and objarka, or talismans, that Kate so artfully carves to protect others from the curses and mysterious sicknesses that threaten the land. The writing is so simple and straightforward, much in the vein of the classic fairytale, but at the same time manages to infuse worlds of emotion and description into each paragraph and every sentence.

Bow creates a well-developed, three-dimensional heroine in Kate, whose plucky, adventurous, and stubborn nature does not allow her to languish in misery or self-pity after her father dies. Although she is persecuted by her fellow townspeople and encounters suspicion once she joins up with a band of Roamers, she still stays strong in her desire to find acceptance and a home. Throughout Kate’s struggles: to not get thrown out of her village, to find belonging with the Roamers, to escape Linay, and to ultimately save the village of Lov from destruction, she never loses hope. Perhaps it is this idea of hope that is so central to fairy tales and that is key to why I adore fantasies so much. Plain Kate embodies this idea.

The supporting characters in Plain Kate are amazing. Linay, the villain, is creepy and compelling, bargaining for Kate’s shadow and then stealing her away for further sacrifices. Without giving spoilers, I will say that his ultimate scheme is incredibly eerie, and one of the most original motives I have seen in ages. Drina, the Roamer girl who befriends Kate and is ultimately and inextricably linked to Linay’s devious plan, is a welcome companion, providing a wonderful look at a best-friendship that is nurtured and developed throughout the course of the book. Scenes with Drina and Kate plotting, sacrificing for each other, and huddling together in the dark hours talking made me yearn for the sleepovers of my youth.

And who could leave out Taggle, one of the most adorable talking cats I have ever had the pleasure of being introduced to. In the depths of her loneliness after her father’s death, Kate only desires friendship and companionship. When this, her heart’s desire, is granted to her, it is embodied in the talking form of her cat, Taggle. Taggle’s humorous lines (“Look, I’m still damp. Fuss over me.”), preening arrogance, and deep love for Kate are the heart of this novel.

Full of mystery, superstition, heart, and pure emotion (I dare you not to cry–you’ll know when I mean), Plain Kate is one of my favorite books read so far this year.

(Also of note for Harry Potter fans: the table of contents of this book is done in the exact format and font as the Harry Potter books (both are Arthur A. Levine books)—that, more than anything, will tell you how good this is!)