Love in a Dangerous Time: Eleanor & Park Review

I did not expect to enjoy this book as much as I did. It’s been getting flawless reviews, but to be  honest I’ve just about had my fill of contemporary YA romances starring quirky, intelligent misfits. But what sold me on this book was the unique take on teenage obsession and the truly painful depiction of Eleanor’s home situation. 

Park doesn’t know how or when it happened exactly, but somehow he has fallen in love with the new girl, Eleanor. ‘Big Red,’ as she is referred to by most of the school, doesn’t seem to care about what she looks like or making friends with anyone. Eleanor is equally shocked at her intense affection for the beautiful half-Asian, comic-book reading boy on the bus. But despite their differences, their relationship escalates to surprising levels.

Eleanor is a non-traditional love interest. She wears old men’s clothes, is constantly described as big or fat, and in many cases is the more assertive half of the relationship. Park finds innumerable ways to describe Eleanor’s colouring, particularly her red hair, which I loved. Park is also an unlikely male romantic lead. Eleanor describes him as beautiful, almost feminine. I like how the author Rainbow Rowell subverts traditional ideas of masculinity and femininity.

The contrast between Eleanor and Park’s families was fascinating and will be eye-opening for teen readers. I loved the scenes with Park’s family. His parents are dopey in love, even after a number of years. His father, an army man, has some difficulty with Park’s experimentation with punk makeup, but he loves his son and is very supportive of Eleanor. His mother, a Korean immigrant who runs a beauty salon out of their garage, is slow to warm to Eleanor but when she does she embraces her warmly.

Eleanor’s family situation is full of silences, rushed private moments, and fear. She shares a cramped room with three younger siblings who seem to be warming to their monster of a step-dad out of preservation. I truly despised Eleanor’s mother, who has trapped her family in a dangerous family situation with volatile, drunken, violent Richie. In addition to her home situation, Eleanor suffers at the ends of a number of school bullies. I won’t go into the details here, only mention that it is girl on girl crime and makes the reader’s stomach turn.

The book escalates to a point where Eleanor must make a hard choice, and the last few chapters are addictive and adrenalin soaked and I found myself rushing through them, wishing for the best and the impossible. The last few words are open to interpretation, and the internet is a-buzz with speculation about just WHAT is on that postcard.

This is a rich, surprising, and satisfying novel of love, escape, and hope. Eleanor & Park is available now in hard cover.

Hope, Grief & A Pizza Boy: The Boy on Cinnamon Street Review

Phoebe Stone is a master of contemporary voice. Despite a tragically misleading cover*, The Romeo and Juliet Code was (and remains) a favourite book of mine. She has done it again in the funny and cathartic The Boy on Cinnamon Street, the second of two MG books I’ve read recently dealing with grief.

Warning, this review contains spoilers!

Louise has quit the gymnastics team and given up her name for the more apt, outrageous Thumbelina. Unfortunately only her best friends Reni and Henderson are willing to call her by this new moniker. Her grandparents, who she lives with, are too busy calling her Louise and being in love to notice any changes. She is contemplating moving in with Reni and Henderson’s family when a pizza boy leaves a note and suddenly the whole world looks different.

I can’t say I’ve read a lot of books in which the narrator has repressed memories about a parent’s suicide. Even if I did, I doubt they would be as well-rounded, empathetic and hopeful as The Boy on Cinnamon Street. Louise (or Thumb, as Henderson calls her) is irrepressible, even in the states of denial, grief, and anger she experiences throughout the book. She is self-effacing but also totally hopeful, latching on to the idea of the pizza boy as her secret admirer so wholeheartedly that you can’ t help but cheer for her. Of course the pizza boy is not the one with a crush on her, but the reader is very aware of who Thumb’s true admirer is, and you root for him the whole time.

I admire how Phoebe Stone creates unlikable (or at the very least) unreliable parents, but not in a comedic, absurdist Roald Dahl way. These are adults who are ill-equipped to parent, and Stone explores the ramifications of this in her books.  When we do learn about Thumb’s mother and her absentee father, you feel horrified and sad, but this is mitigated because her new family, consisting of her grandparents and The Elliots, are so wonderful. Just like in The Romeo and Juliet Code, when we realize  Felicity’s parents have left her with distant family in order to pursue their careers as spies and are likely not coming back, instead of outrage and numb horror we are happy that she has found her new family.

Stone is also very good at creating a male friend/potential love interest for her heroines, Henderson in The Boy on Cinnamon Street and Derek in The Romeo and Juliet Code. Both Derek and Henderson are interesting, sensitive, and though the romance may not be fully realized in the book, the reader has the sense that it will be at some point. Which brings me to yet another thing I love about Stone’s work- the sense of that these characters will leave and breathe beyond the last page. As a reader, I love feeling like I have caught a glimpse of the characters and the author has created an open ending in which I can image all sorts of lives for them.

One of the things that separates straight-forward issue-driven fiction from just plain good fiction is a well-rounded experience. This isn’t a book solely about grief, it’s also about first crushes, friendship, family, bullying, giving up and starting over again, and body image. You may think, how on earth can all of that fit into one book, but even in a tragic or low point in life chances are there are other things going on. Life is never one plot line. Stone handles this incredibly well, probably because she is a middle-grade genius.

So many of her phrases stick with me but I especially liked how she dealt with body image and weight. Thumb meets Reni in fat camp, where Thumb is teaching gymnastics. Reni is worried about her weight and always trying to lose a few pounds, but it is clear that the Elliot family are all on the heavier side. When Reni wonders why boys love her big sister but not her, Thumb points out that perhaps it’s because “Annais acts pretty.” I loved the awareness and age-appropriateness of this line.

If the premise of this book doesn’ t make you weepy, than the author’s note definitely will. Like Louise, author Phoebe Stone lost a parent to suicide at a young age. She is careful to point out the differences in her experience and Louise’s story, but it is clear the story is personal.

The Boy on Cinnamon Street is available now in hardcover from Scholastic. I picked mine up at the charming and wonderful Curiosity House in Creemore, ON. If you can, make sure you drop in and ask for Jenn- one of the most passionate, charming, and generous booksellers I know! I mean how many bookstores offer free wishes? (see below)

*Upon further reflection, it appears Arthur Levine may be branding Stone’s books by using shoes on her covers. I’m not opposed to shoes on covers, in fact I rather like it. This cover is very effective. But when the shoes in question are coloured high-top Keds that are supposed to evoke WWII, I have some issues.

Dealing with Grief: See You at Harry’s Review

I’ve been reading a lot about grief in middle grade fiction these days. This is the first of two reviews that focus quite heavily on grief versus guilt, a concept one generally thinks of as too heavy for middle graders, but in the hands of a fantastic author is not only manageable  but important.  See You at Harry’s has a fantastic first chapter that captures Fern in a nutshell. I read one page in the bookstore and had to have it. Fern is reminiscing about her best day, which just so happens a day she is home with the flu and spends the entire time with her mom. It is the kind of scene that is slightly nostalgic without being unbelievably wise for a 12 year old.

Like many middle grade narrators, Fern feels invisible. Her father is always working on a crazy business scheme to put their little family diner on the map, her mother retreats to the office to meditate, older sister Sara is too cool for any sisterly bonding, and even big brother Holden, the person she is closest to, is keeping secrets. More often than not, she’s stuck looking after her baby brother Charlie, who may only be a toddler but is a lot to handle. Things get worse when she begins high school and discovers that Holden is in fact the target of a group of bullies. Thank goodness for Ran, her ultra-laid back friend (and possibly crush) who keeps telling her to relax. But then the unthinkable happens, and Fern would give anything to go back to the days before her family is forever changed.

There is a lot of emotion packed into this tight little book. The general plot reminded me a bit of Sara Ellis’ sublime novel The Baby Project (known as The Family Project in the US), though See You At Harry’s is for a slightly older audience. I appreciated the way Holden’s family deals with his homosexuality, which is accepting overall, but with some reservations. This felt very realistic. None of the characters are perfect or 100% likable all the time, but I thought this was a smart and accurate portrayal of a family in crisis. Fern is dealing with some pretty heavy guilt for a 12 year old, but she manages to come through the other side in the end.

This book felt very much like a before and after shot. Before the incident, the family is going along at a crazy pace, annoyed with each other, not always connecting, but not so dysfunctional that you worry about anyone. You especially get a sense of how irritated Fern is by her younger brother Charlie. I was definitely irritated. When the incident happens, as a reader you feel Fern’s guilt just as much as she does. This was a stroke of literary genius on the part of author Jo Knowles.

See You at Harry’s is ideal for readers who enjoy a contemporary story with a dash of romance and tragedy, a la The Romeo and Juliet Code, The Reluctant Journal of Henry K Larsen, or Walk Two Moons.

See You at Harry’s is published by Candlewick available now from Random House in Canada.

The Power of Pink: Pink Shirt Day CONTEST

Are you wearing pink today?

Pink Shirt Day is a great anti-bullying initiative inspired by the actions a group of grade nine students who decided to show their solidarity for a student who was being picked on because of a fashion choice. This kind of harassment is sadly not unusual, but the massive student response is. I am a big fan of student run, grass-roots initiatives like this one.

When I was writing Words That Start With B I knew I wanted to give my character Benji a strong friend (Clarissa) and support group (Mattie and Michael) to help him deal with his own bullies. My hope is that children will see themselves in my characters- whether they are the bully, the bullied, or a bystander- and recognize that things can get better, they are not alone, and most of all, that anyone, anywhere can affect change. And wouldn’t you know it? The cover is pink! Spooky!

To support Pink Shirt Day and anti-bullying awareness, I am donating a COMPLETE set of my books, including Words That Start With B, Love is a Four-Letter Word, and the brand new Days That End in Y.  Tweet, share, or like this post to enter!

Contest open to Canadians only

Out of This World: Maggot Moon Review

The always fabulous Sally Gardner has outdone herself with a chilling speculative vision of a fascist 1950s regime in her Costa award-winning novel, Maggot Moon.

Standish lives in Zone 7, a forgotten slum of The Motherland where every day is bleak and violent. Without Gramps and his friend Hector, life would be unbearable. But when Hector and his family disappear in the dead of night and the day of the much-anticipated first moon landing draws nearer, Standish decides that something must be done. Despite his challenges (Standish has difficulty reading), he could be the person who throws the rock that takes down the giant.

The novel takes place in what feels like 1950s England, should the Nazi’s have won WWII. The Motherland is racing towards the first moon landing to prove their supremacy to the rest of the world. The author has been a bit mum on the exact setting but gives an eloquent explanation of it here.   In this lovely piece Gardner also talks about dyslexia, something her character Standish (and she herself) struggles with. Standish’s narration is full of unique observations, something the author contributes to his dyslexia, which allows him to see the world differently. This makes for some memorable and fresh descriptions.

The narrative is steeped in metaphor and told in jagged, non-sequential sections. There is a lot left to the imagination in terms of the setting, the details of The Motherland’s rise to power and regime, and what exists in the outside world. Despite some graphically depicted scenes, there are moments of tenderness and hope, such as Standish’s dreams of a world in technicolour, with ice-cream coloured Cadillacs and Croca-colas, his friendship with Hector, and his loving, supportive Gramps, an ex-scene painter who is part of the resistance (if you can call it that). One of my favourite moments is when a relentless bully sides with Standish and sticks up for a child who is brutally beaten by a cruel teacher.

This is a powerful book with scenes of graphic violence and horrifying abuses of power. It reminded me in parts of The Boy in the Striped Pajamas and Janne Teller’s Nothing, a book that chilled me to the bone. Though it may be too strong for some readers, it provides an excellent basis for discussion on power, rebellion, hope, humanity, and change. Sometimes a piece of well-written speculative fiction is the perfect mirror in which to reflect what’s happening in the world today. The central metaphor of David taking down Goliath is well drawn and moving. There is just enough distance that readers can disassociate from the truly terrifying situations, but there are lots of opportunities for them to make comparisons to our own world. Very powerful stuff.

Maggot Moon is available now in hard cover from Penguin Canada.

The ABCs of Middle Grade: Encyclopedia of Me Review

In my pledge to read more middle grade in 2013, I give you the latest from a wonderful Canadian author who totally gets the tween experience. The Encyclopedia of Me came out in mid 2012, but I did not get around to it until recently. I am very glad that I did!

Tink Aaron-Martin has decided to tell her story in a way that interests her: through alphabetized encyclopedic entries. Through these entries we learn about her loving but complicated family and her changing friendship with so-called best friend Freddie Blue, which is further tested by the arrival of a cute new neighbour, Kai.

Tink Aaron-Martin is a modern gal, complete with a bi-racial family, a sibling with autism, and a hyphenated last name. She is quirky without being twee, and completely relatable. Her voice and personality is the strongest part of the book. She is quietly confident and author Karen Rivers does an excellent job of exploring the pain of a tween friendship in crisis.

Over the course of the book Tink begins to realize that her best friend Freddie Blue is not actually all that nice, or that much of a friend. The realization is slow and Tink struggles with it. I loved the authenticity of this relationship. Although Rivers’ solution was a bit too neatly tied up for my liking, it does provide closure and reassurance and will likely resonate with young readers.

Although the structure of the novel is a cute idea, at times it didn’t work for me. Some entries felt too tangential and others felt contrived. It also complicated the overall  narrative and made it feel bulky instead of a streamlined plot. It did fit Tink’s personality and I loved her voice so much that it didn’t take away from my enjoyment too much. Readers who enjoy stories about contemporary girls, such as The Mother-Daughter Book Club series, my books, and the work of Susin Nielsen will loved The Encyclopedia of Me.

The Encyclopedia of Me is available now from Scholastic Canada.

Painfully Honest: (You) Set Me on Fire Review

In this hard-hitting, dark exploration of  toxic relationships Tamaki nails the experience of first year university- the good and the bad- with teens gone a little crazy on freedom and alcohol.

Allison has good parents, great potential, but a dark past. When she enters her first year at university she is bewildered, unimpressed, and disconnected from the hyper-social, highly intoxicated atmosphere of residence. But then she meets Shar. Beautiful, irrepressible, and ultimately dangerous, Shar is everything Allison has ever wanted. But as the year spirals out of control and Shar’s charms start to wear off, Allison wonders if it will ever be possible to gain control of her life.

Two things really struck me about this book. First, what a talent we have in Mariko Tamaki. Having read  the graphic novel Skim, created with her cousin Jillian Tamaki, I knew I would be in good hands, but her first person narrative blew me away. Allison is an angry, wounded person and an excellent observer. I didn’t always agree with her, but I believed her, with one exception. I never really bought why Allison was drawn to Shar. I understand the allure of the aloof, beautiful, enigmatic friend, but not enough time was spent developing their relationship or describing Shar’s intoxicating qualities for me to 100% believe that Allison would be as devoted to her as she was.

This brings me to the other thing I loved about this book, which was the theme of toxic friendships. Every girl I know has had one female friend in their life who was toxic.  Maybe she was the queen bee of your group of friends, or someone you knew forever so you tolerated her behaviour because of your shared history. Whatever the reason these friends are usually fun, exciting and make you feel special and indestructible one moment and then are completely dismissive or cruel the next. She is the kind of friend who helps you get ready for a date and then flirts with the object of your affection in front of you to see if ‘he’s good enough for you.’ While Allison and Shar’s relationship has romantic overtones (at least on one side), I would argue their relationship is more an example of toxic girl friendships than a romantic relationship gone awry.

I’m so glad Tamaki went there- not a lot of YA writers do, or at least not with such authenticity and grit. I sometimes wonder if YA readers can relate to the endless romantic relationships they are fed through contemporary YA fiction, but I know for a fact that a lot of teen readers could benefit from reading about toxic friendships. Sometimes you need to read about something before you can identify it in your own life. (You) Set Me On Fire could go a long way in enlightening some girls  on the subject of bad girl friendships.

This was an uncomfortable but addictive read. I found myself cringing inwardly at many moments and wanting to tell the protagonist that she would get through the upheaval of first year. Reading this book brought back the darker moments of my own first year at University. Though my experience was rather tame and overall very positive, there were days and weeks I don’t care to recall, and is too Tamaki’s credit that she made me re-live them through Allison’s visceral narrative.The overall metaphor of being burned (romantically and literally) felt a bit forced, and the story was strong enough that it didn’t require an overarching metaphor to pull it all together.

Fans of older literary YA, such as Why We Broke Up, Speak, and Amelia Anne is Dead and Gone will appreciate this harsh but unforgettable narrative.

(You) Set Me on Fire is available now from Razorbill Canada

Simply Sweet: The Year of the Book Review

This month has been a whirlwind of travel, books, and contest-promoting, but I promise to be a more diligent reviewer from now on. Besides, I’ve read a ton of amazing books I can’t wait to tell you about! First up, the wonderfully-titled, charming early middle grade novel The Year of the Book.

This book covers the ups and downs of Anna Wang’s grade four year. Anna is a quiet, meticulous child who enjoys reading and sewing. She is less enchanted with Chinese school, which her mother insists she attend, and is wary of her fair-weather friend Laura, who seems to prefer the company of mean-girl in training Allison.

Author Andrea Cheng nails the politics of childhood, especially triangular relationships. Laura seems to prefer Anna’s company, but chooses Allison over Anna when push comes to shove. Allison is that dominating, bossy person who pits people against each other and makes everyone vie for her attention. We’ve all known girls like this. Under Cheng’s careful character study, neither Allison or Laura are totally demonized, but we (the reader and Anna) are given little insights into why they behave the way they do. This is a fine balance to achieve but Cheng pulls it off marvelously.

This is one of those rare early chapter books that gets everything right: the level of language (not too sophisticated), friendship and parental anxieties, chapter length, font size, use of illustration. Everything here is perfect for grade 3, 4 maybe even 5 readers. Her tone reminds me of Jean Little’s middle grade; straight forward, honest and sensitive. She is a writer who knows how important moments of comfort (food, routine, family) are to young readers. Abigail Halpin’s black and white spot illustrations add warmth and charm to the story.

Fans of Ivy and Bean who are ready for something with a bit more substance and emotional impact but are not ready for the full-on literary drama of say Rebecca Stead or Jenny Han will appreciate this novel. I sure did!

The Year of The Book is available now from Houghton Mifflin.

Knocked Out (Again) by Nielsen: Reluctant Journal of Henry K. Larsen Review

If you follow this blog you know that I love Susin Nielsen like Garfield loves Lasagna. You can read evidence of the love here and here. After reading Nielsen’s latest offering, I am happy to say my love is as deep as ever.

Henry and his father have moved into a sketchy apartment in Vancouver, leaving his mother in an institution in Ontario following a horrific event that claimed the life of his older brother and another student. In a new city, in a new school, Henry attempts to start fresh, leaving the nightmare of his brother’s actions behind him. His therapist has suggested he keep a journal. In it, Henry records his membership in the Reach for the Top team, burgeoning friendship with Farley, the King of Dorks, and his crush on the fearsome (but beautiful) Alberta (a person, not the province). As the events of that fateful event are revealed, we see glimpses of the pain, inner strength, and hope at the core of Henry K. Larsen.

Henry is my favourite protagonist yet. He manages to be sweet and vulnerable without being cloying or un-relatable. Sometimes I worry that male readers don’t gravitate towards sensitive male narrators, but that won’t be an issue here. Henry is too specific to be an “everykid” (thank goodness), but Nielsen has given him lots of traits and worries and interests that will endear him to a wide range of readers.

His grieving process is handled carefully. Henry has moments of anger, fear, regret, and deep sadness. This is not a book about grief, though it permeates every page. There are some harsh revelations, and I love how Nielsen never beats around the bush or alludes to things- she just goes for it.  This applies to “rude” jokes, violent bullying, or “unsavoury” language. There is no sugar-coating or avoidance. I appreciate this honesty and so will her young readers.

All this being said, this is one of the funniest middle grade books I’ve read all year. I don’t think Nielsen could NOT be funny if she tried (this is a compliment). In this country literary merit is not associated with humourous writing, at least not in children’s fiction. A quick look at the GG winners and finalists over the past decade demonstrates a preference for historical fiction and/0r gritty subject matter. These books may have moments of humour, but they are by no means funny books.Humour is exceedingly difficult to pull off, especially for children. When done right, it speaks to them in a way that no other style does. Kids need funny, they crave it. Shouldn’t we recognize those skilled authors who can pull it off?

Nielsen is by no means stranger to awards, as her previous work has scooped up numerous nominations (and a few wins), mostly in children’s choice award categories. Again, here is the discrepancy between child friendly and awards- friendly. A few authors manage to bridge this gap but most end up being one or the other. The Reluctant Journal of Henry K. Larsen may be about the aftermath of a murder-suicide, but it is a deeply funny book. I hope that this year awards committees give Nielsen the literary cred she deserves.

The Reluctant Journal of Henry K. Larsen is out now in hardcover from Tundra Books.

Vancouverites! Kidsbooks is throwing a launch party for Susin tonight, Thursday, Sept 20th, at 7pm. I am sad that I can’t be there, but am happy to live vicariously through all of you!

Gorgeous Heartbreak: A Monster Calls Review

A Monster Calls is a gorgeously rendered piece of literary art. A compact, powerful novel, the best way I can describe it is Skellig by David Almond meets J.K. Rowling’s “The Tale of Three Brothers” from Tales of Beedle the Bard. This book is a love letter to Siobhan Dowd, a rising YA star who died young of breast cancer. Keeping this (and Patrick Ness‘ exquisite letter about how this book grew out of an idea of hers at the beginning of the book) in the back of my mind made the story all the more tragic.

Conor’s mother is sick, but he doesn’t want to think about that. He has other things on his plate- like the kids at school who wait for their teacher’s back to be turned and then attack, both physically and with words, cruelly taunting him about his mother’s illness. And now there is a monster that comes to him in the night- a monster that seems to be made of the Yew tree in his backyard and claims to have three stories to tell him. When he is finished telling his stories, then Conor must tell the fourth.

I imagined the monster as the faun from Pan’s Labyrinth, monstrous and humanoid but made of a tree, and was rewarded by Jim Kay’s eerie illustrations, which basically depict him in the same way:

Like the faun, you’re unsure if he is a monster with bad intentions or a somewhat aloof and frightening guardian angel. His stories do nothing to clarify this.  The tales told by the monster are folkloric and allegorical: a prince who runs away from an evil step-mother with the baker’s daughter; a preacher who begs an apothecary for help when his daughters fall ill; an invisible man who wishes to be seen.

Though the stories seem straightforward and traditional, the monster reveals a twist in each one that is unsettling. The function of the stories is to show that good and bad- like right and wrong- have little to do with truth, which lies somewhere in the hazy gray space between these opposites. All of this helps Conor tell his story, which allows him to forgive himself and experience catharsis. You will be experiencing catharsis too, by this I mean bawling your eyes out.

The story of the invisible man, and how Conor internalizes it, was one of the most effective sections of the book. In this story the two narratives- the midnight fairytale magic realism section(monster) and the stark daytime reality section (bullies)- blend, ending in a vicious attack that leaves Conor visible to everyone in his school, but not in the way he wanted.

I have never felt sadder for a character than I felt for Conor. His beloved mother is dying, his grandmother is cold and bossy, his father lives in America and can barely stick around for a weekend, he’s being targeted by bullies and he’s turned away from his only friend, Lily, because she told everyone about his mother’s illness in the first place. There are lots of beautiful and sad observances about grief and love, but the bullying stuff was just as powerful to me. Heavy stuff, yes, but somehow after finishing the book I didn’t feel weighed down. Such is the genius of Patrick Ness that you are able to experience extreme emotion and catharsis just as Conor does, and walk away from the book not totally depressed. In lesser hands the book would feel melodramatic or depress you so much you would be unable to get out of bed for days.

So who will read this book? Children’s literature nuts like myself will of course adore it, but it is a dark story that will make the reader feel dark things. Not all children are ready for this at the same age. It is middle grade, although it has that rare quality of truly classic stories that seem to exist outside an age range. I’m not sure it would alleviate grief, but it strikes me as a great book for angry children. Anger is addressed extremely well in the book, as is grief, guilt, and absolute first class storytelling.

A Monster Calls is available now in hard cover from Candlewick Press.