I did one of these posts back last spring, and I thought it was about time to do it again. I’ve been reading a ton of books coming out in 2013 recently (even though my goal has been to catch up on 2012, I’m not exactly perfect). I thought I’d give a small review of a bunch of titles that’ll be coming soon, and when their publication dates are closer, I’ll offer up full-length reviews. For now, whet your appetite.

Amy Spalding’s February 2013 debut, The Reece Malcolm List, follows Devan as she’s flown from the home she’s always known in Missouri to Los Angeles. She’s grown up with ehr father, but now that he’s died, she’s being sent to live with her mother, Reece Malcolm. Devan knows nothing about her mother, except that she’s a well-known writer. Her mom has never been a part of her life, and frankly between that and being sent to live in a city she’s completely unfamiliar with, she’s nervous.

Amid the changes and the determination to break into the core of who Reece Malcolm is, Devan’s excited about starting at a school where performance — her passion — is the focus of education. Through musical theater, we see Devan’s confidence soar, and we see how difficult it is for her not to understand her mother. It’s not because she’s nervous or worried about her mom; it’s because the not knowing rattles that self-confidence Devan’s always had.

The Reece Malcolm List is a story with family at the center, and it’s a non-traditional family structure. This isn’t a grief book, despite Devan’s recent loss of her father. Instead, it’s a book about figuring out how to navigate family and how to understand it. Because not only is Devan figuring her mother out, she’s trying to figure out her mom’s boyfriend, too. Spalding’s book is charming, with a nice blend of humor and seriousness and it offers up some really sweet (and clean!) romance along with it. Fans of musical theater will eat this up.

While we’re on the topic of performance, Sara Zarr’s forthcoming The Lucy Variations — out in May — looks at the competitive world of piano. Kind of. Lucy was groomed to be a star performer and she’s been fortunate enough (literally) to travel the world. She’s earned a name and a reputation, all before the tender age of 15. But it all changes when she walks out on one of her biggest performances in Prague after learning that her grandmother isn’t going to live. That moment causes her grandfather, who’d groomed her to carry on the family’s name and reputation in that world, to tell her it’s over. She can no longer perform.

While Lucy is okay with this decision, now that her younger brother has been forced to take on a new piano teacher, she’s questioning it. Why did she quit? Did she do it because grandpa told her to? Did she do it because she no longer loved performing? And can Will, the new teacher, coax her back into playing?

Zarr’s book hit all the right notes for me. Lucy is an exceedingly privileged character, and her family is full of the kinds of people you love to hate. Except, Lucy acknowledges her privilege and she herself is at times easy to dislike as much as her family. She’s full and real and honest. But more than that, this is a book about what it means to have a passion. Zarr taps fully into the question of whether what we create and make is something that is wholly ours or it’s something we make to share with others. It delves into what other people are to our own creative endeavors, and whether or not they should have any part in it at all. This book is written in third person, which was sort of surprising for me, but it’s the right way to tell the story.

Lucy is longing for acceptance and for love, and the way that she projects that upon others is, at times, desperate. But it’s not so much because she’s looking for that acceptance and love from others. It’s because she’s looking to give that to herself in a way she never has before. The Lucy Variations is, I think, Zarr’s best and strongest to date. Anyone who has ever created or wondered what the purpose of creating and making is will find themselves understanding Lucy so easily.

How many times have I reviewed romance novels? I think I can count it on one hand. But Rainbow Rowell’s forthcoming Eleanor & Park — out in March 2013 — captured me from page one and kept me hooked.

Set in the 1980s, this book is not in any way a contemporary novel, so please keep it off your contemporary book lists. The 1980s are historical, friends. But that’s a rant for another day. What I want to say is this: Eleanor & Park follows two Nebraska teenagers, the new girl with the wild red hair, Eleanor, and Park, the half-Asian boy who just wants to get through each and every day without causing a scene and without being seen. So when Eleanor sits beside him on the bus, Park tenses up, worried he’s going to be  suddenly targeted as the weird boy hanging out with the even weirder girl.

But Eleanor starts breaking down his walls, whether that’s her goal or not. And whether it’s Park’s desire or not, he starts to become more and more fascinated with Eleanor. Before you know it, they’re suddenly both flooding each other’s every thought and every moment. The thing is, neither of these characters has it easy, and that’s especially true of Eleanor. Her home life is far from good. The more Park learns about it, the more he aches for her, both because he feels awful for the situation and because he’s utterly interested in being there for her in any and every possible way.

Rowell’s novel brims with desire and longing, but it’s done in such an understated, subtle way. This isn’t a guaranteed romance, and given the stakes that exist in both Eleanor and Park’s home lives, the story doesn’t read like it will be as romantic as it is. Readers experience it right along with the characters. Despite the time setting, there’s little that reads as 1980s here. These are today’s kids, just with a walkman and 80s music. Eleanor & Park is raw yet tender and heartbreakingly honest.

Nova Ren Suma’s 17 & Gone follows 17-year-old Lauren as she starts being visited by the visions of girls who have disappeared without a trace. All of these girls have two things in common: their disappearance and the fact they were 17 when they were gone. Lauren’s worried about the fate of these girls, especially since she can see them and no one else can. But more than that, she’s worried she might be the next one. Because she, too, is 17.

I can’t talk too much in detail about this book, other than to say the prose is some of the richest, most literary stuff I’ve read in a long time. And while it’s got a bit of a mysterious and magical vibe much the way Suma’s Imaginary Girls does, 17 & Gone takes an entirely different route. It’s almost much more realistic. Though of course, part of what Suma excels at is forcing the reader to question what’s real and what’s simply a vision in the character’s mind and in the reader’s mind.

This lush story is absorbing and haunting, and it tackles a complex issue without ever becoming a novel about a particular issue. I warn anyone who hasn’t read this yet to not do what I did, which was read the author’s note first. If you do, you’ll be spoiled about the twist. That did not impact my enjoyment of the book since I got to watch how Suma got to that point, but I suspect the payoff is even more powerful without knowing. The note, if you’re wondering, is the in back of the book.

These should get you started, but a couple other noteworthy reads for 2013 to have on the radar that I’ve had the chance to read — and plan on writing longer reviews for later — include Kristin Halbrook’s Nobody But Us and Emily Murdoch’s If You Find Me. Halbrook’s story follows two broken characters as they try to escape from their past and begin a new life on the road and Murdoch’s follows two girls who are saved from their remote home in the woods and reintroduced to mainstream society. It’s there that bigger secrets are revealed and both girls are seen as not simply backwater but as people who have dealt with tremendously difficult challenges. There’s also Daisy Whitney’s forthcoming When You Were Here which I will be talking a little bit more about in a guest post on another blog later this month. The male narrator, the longing and pain and grief, it all comes together in a powerful, memorable way.