Review of "Bluescreen"

"Can you even do that?"

     This is the question of the day in Bluescreen, the latest novel by Dan Wells. It's 2050, and technology has flipped the world on its head. Virtual reality is accessed through the djinni, a computer surgically implanted into the human brain, complete with a port at the base of the skull. The djinni is Marisa Carneseca's portal to the net, including the Overworld, a sports-and-combat game where her team is rapidly becoming famous. When Anja invites the rest of the team--that is, the members who live in Los Angeles--to her house for a surprise, the Cherry Dogs are happy to comply. That is, until they see what Anja has discovered: a computer virus called Bluescreen, which hijacks the user's djinni and gives them a massive high. More importantly, it takes control of their body, which means that whoever controls the code is about to have access to an army. And it's just been distributed to her neighborhood.

     Marisa and her team, known best as the Cherry Dogs, are quite the diverse lot. Quicksand and Fang live in different countries, Anja is a local rich girl, and Sahara is a fashionista who streams live video footage of her life to the net forums. Then there's Bao, pickpocket extraordinare and possibly the only human on Earth without a djinni. Meanwhile, Marisa is simply a poor-ish daughter of a restaurant owner in Mirador, one of LA's Mexican neighborhoods. These six complicated individuals joined by their lust for adventure, but Bluescreen is something else. It's a threat few see coming, and one the Cherry Dogs shouldn't be able to defeat. On the other hand, since achieving the impossible online is a regular occurrence for them, doing the same in real life will be easy. Right?

     Wrong. That doesn't stop them from trying, though. Rather, it doesn't stop Marisa from trying, or from dragging her friends along with her. The six-some soon find themselves entangled in more scrapes and near-misses than they care to think about, even as the gang problem in Mirador becomes steadily worse. These subplots bring out extra facets in the characters and settings that really lend an air of believability to the entire work. And when the team breaks open a case of coding or hacking skills, the atmosphere alone is enough to make them easy to swallow. Unfortunately, this doesn't stop the secondary cast from growing static from time to time, a side effect of such an ambitious plot.

     In a world like this one, it wouldn't be a surprise if Marisa was an only child, if not an orphan. As it turns out, she's a middle child wedged between a gangster and two school-aged kids. Her parents run a Mexican restaurant, pay protection money to the local "police", and care a great deal for their progeny. Their continuous interference in her life drives our heroine up the wall, but is just the thing to ground her life in this vast fictional world. It contributes to the plot as well, and not in a minor way: her parents' reaction to her Overworld addiction, coupled with her younger sister's hero-worship, provides a large chunk of twists, cliffhangers, and boosts to the plot.

     The flag-raisers within these pages are few and far between. The cursing is primarily in Spanish, so non-speakers will merely see italicized words that get the point across. What is said in English is minor enough that most parental inspections should approve. Violence is well-placed and hardly graphic, though it certainly isn't G-movie clean. There's no romance, just a wholesome group friendship that want to save the world.

     I would recommend this book to readers interested in a distinctly cyberpunk future in which the core of society is at risk of destruction. The threat to the djinni system is terrifying, never mind the fact Bluescreen is everywhere. Marisa and her friends are fun, compelling, and strong-willed, just the kind of people who might be able to pull this off. They're also teenagers, and their home lives--or Marisa's, at least--play a very real part in the overarching plot. Dan Wells has aimed impossibly high with Bluescreen, and that ambition has paid off with a grand total of four stars.

Review of "Burning Glass"

"My weapon was no saber or pistol; it was the aura of legions."

     In Kathryn Purdie's debut novel Burning Glass, Auraseers don't just observe others' emotions--they absorb them. After years spent hiding her gift from the Riaznin Empire, Sonya Petrova has finally found refuge in a convent where she can learn to master it. When she loses control and accidentally causes dozens of deaths, however, Sonya realizes just how dangerous years on the run have made her become. Before she can begin her penance, a message from the emperor arrives: the sovereign Auraseer is dead, and she is next in line. Against her will, Sonya is pulled into a world of politics and twisted loyalties where she doesn't know who to trust--the emperor, the nobles, or kind Prince Anton. If she runs away, the ones to take her place will be children--and almost certainly dead.

     Many fantasy tales are set in exotic lands with soaring trees and glittering cities. Others take place in a grittier, more urban atmosphere. In the case of Burning Glass, it is the Riaznin Empire, an enormous country with a strong culture and a great deal of Russian influence. Where other titles have horse-drawn carriages, Riaznin has troikas. Instead of flowing silk dresses and priceless jewelry, Sonya is provided with fur robes and a pearl-studded headdress...much to her dismay. Unlike most Auraseers, who experience only the emotions of those they come near or touch, Sonya has the ability to feel the last emotions and sensations of the deceased as well. Ultimately, this power could either drive her mad or set her on a course to save her nation. And with such a richly detailed empire on the line, this threat feels very real.

     The plot is not as simple as it seems, though. Because of the manipulation of others' auras, Sonya can very rarely trust even herself. Despite this, she is determined to do the best she can to protect Emperor Valko as his sovereign Auraseer. Yet when she sees the way he schemes to conquer their neighbors and shuts down his brother's plans to aid the poor and helpless, she cannot help but wonder if he is the leader this empire needs. As he makes advances she doesn't know how to counter and his brother begins disappearing without explanation, she finds herself and her country on the brink of a war only she can stop. The trouble is, she may not want to.

     While Sonya is certainly out of her depth, she fares admirably well in the emperor's court. That is, when she's not drowning in the emotions of those around her or fighting an unhealthy relationship with the emperor himself. Her sanity is held in place by two things: the pain of her headdress's pearls, which steadies her, and Prince Anton's steadfast support. There's a splash of romance that doesn't grow until the perfect moment, even as her relationship with her lord becomes ever more violent. Any cursing is minimal, and while there's fighting it is generally clear of gore. Sonya performs daily penance for her sins--which include fire, a locked door, and a hungry pack of wolves--by absorbing a late friend's final emotions.

     I would recommend this book to anyone interested in one girl's complex journey from untrained Auraseer to her country's last line of defense against evil. Though it features a highly unhealthy relationship, Sonya's story is chock-full of meaning and power. The true romance emerges later on, once all else is established, and progresses beautifully. Add to this an intricate web of political turmoil, an almost magical ability with a high price, and a struggle between brothers that will decide the fate of the empire. Sonya is the key to it all, and a marvelous one at that. For strong characters, a vivid pseudo-Russian culture, and a brilliant sense of pacing, Kathryn Purdie's Burning Glass definitely deserves five golden stars.

Review of "Messenger of Fear"

 "I will atone."

     In Michael Grant's Messenger of Fear, every evil action has a consequence. When Mara wakes up alone in a field, though, stripped of memories and barely clinging to her name, all she can think is that this is a dream. What else could explain the boy in morbid clothes, who calls himself Messenger and claims to hold the key to her past? As it turns out, her imagination could never have conjured up a being like the Messenger of Fear, whose life purpose is to determine guilt and innocence and punish the wicked accordingly. He offers his victims a game and a gamble. If they win, they walk free. Should they lose, they'll face their darkest fear. It's a terrifying job, and as Mara is pulled deeper into Messenger's world, she realizes it's one she's faced before. To uncover the horrifying secrets of her past, Mara will have to accept her role as this strange boy's apprentice--and the next Messenger of Fear.

     Mara is a strange mind to delve into. The way she expresses herself is unique, her thought processes thought-provoking. Her voice is a mix of social outcast and popular girl that should feel unbelievable yet isn't. As she strives to figure out how she came to be here, what Messenger wants from her, and what she's going to do about it, she begins a subtle shift in character that leaves her inner self untouched. Mara is Mara, and that is that. Except the Mara we get to know is not the only one she's been, and it is her discovery of this and the subsequent internal struggle that reveals who she has been all along.

     Interestingly enough, Mara's journey takes place in a setting that can only be described as a kind of dream world. Messenger possesses the ability to take her between eras, locations, and life stories, revealing the most intimate details or glossing over anything he deems unimportant. His fascination with humans is balanced by his occupation, which leads him and his apprentice to several people in need of judgement. Some of these people know they're there, while others are scraps of history used to teach a lesson. These sudden jumps from one time and place to the next are actually quite handy and fit perfectly with the rest of the story.

     One of the things Messenger tries to teach Mara is to examine every side of the story. When he shows her the downfall of a girl named Samantha, there is more to the end of a life than mere bullying. Mental illness is in play, and there is the bully to consider. What about her story? What about her family troubles? This novel plays with questions about morality and justice without losing any grip on its plot or premise, balancing them with ease.

     Due to the nature of the Messenger of Fear's job, there are more than a few flag-raisers within these pages. Messenger is known to force those he deems wicked to face the things they fear most, no matter how terrible. Those who lose his game don't always make it out with both life and sanity intact. The scenes detailing these losses are rather graphic, and not recommended for readers with sensitive constitutions. And he is not alone. Two coworkers appear here and there throughout the narrative, one of which is quite proud of her likely magical physical allure. While there's no romance, Mara is easily caught up within her spell. There's surprisingly little cursing, though quite a bit of violence. A girl plagued by bullies takes her own life. Messenger toils in service to a theological heptarchy.

     I would recommend this book to teenagers looking for a complex morality tale that considers everything that contributes to evil. From bullies to killers to an author with OCD, Mara gets to know the minds of people from all walks of life. She learns about what they've done, why they've done it, and what kind of impact it will leave on the world. In time, the decision about punishments will be left in her hands, as it is in Messenger's now. Mara's depth of character is drawn out by those around her, and vice versa. The setting suits the piece marvelously. However, the violence and lived-through fears are disturbing in their level of detail. Thus Michael Grant's Messenger of Fear deserves four stars.

Review of "The Season"

“Now you’re ready to make your appearance as the Stafford you are.”

     In Sarah MacLean’s dramatic YA novel The Season, the Victorian era’s famous matchmaking event is about to take off. Lady Alexandra Stafford and her friends Vivi and Ella are about to be presented to the ton, London society’s elite, for the first time. Unfortunately for Alex, courtship and marriage are simply abhorrent to her—until Gavin, her childhood friend and surrogate brother, emerges from mourning a stunningly handsome earl. Torn between her once-staunch determination to remain single for life and her new, ever-growing feelings for Lord Blackmoor, Alex will have to tiptoe carefully through her first Season if she’s to remain on the market—and alive. After all, her mother doesn’t know about Gavin. And Gavin doesn’t know about the man trying to kill him.

     While this tale likes to pretend it’s a murder mystery, it really is a romance at heart. Lord Blackmoor may have lost his father in a suspicious riding accident recently, and Alex and her friends may be convinced they can prevent another tragedy, but center stage goes to their swoon-worthy love story. They’ve known each other quite a while before the plot begins, so the sudden feelings between them can’t be called insta-love. And their words and actions strike sincerely enough that their inability to be cross at each other for more than a chapter is mostly forgivable. Between this and the splendid knots tying life-threatening drama to the romantic side of things, everything that happens between these covers is more than relevant. It’s vitally essential to the narrative.

     Aside from her shift in personal beliefs, Alex doesn’t change much over the course of this novel. Neither do her friends and family, or even Blackmoor. This simplicity lends a rather refreshing air to the whole thing, making it easier to concentrate on the romance and plot without becoming distracted by terrible secrets, hidden allegiances, and tragic backstories. Much of the crises Alex finds herself trapped in take place at social gatherings such as dances and dinner parties, increasing their impact tenfold. That being said, a little more expansion on Vivi’s and Ella’s histories wouldn’t be amiss—the two are darling friends and lovely secondary heroes, but sadly receive hardly any spotlight despite their unwavering support of their best friend.

     It should be noted that the author of this review is no expert of 1800’s etiquette. However, there seemed to be a few minor inaccuracies throughout this otherwise fantastic piece, such as those of decidedly lower class attending dinner parties hosted by those of the uppermost crust. History buffs, then, may want to avoid this particular tale. On the other hand, social norms and fear of ruination keep the language fairly clean and the romance strictly PG, so prereaders have nothing to worry about. Violence is minimal, as well. And the three plucky females who head this work are sure to turn the heads of any reader who passes by.

     I would recommend this book to anyone interested in a lighthearted romance about a headstrong girl who falls in love against her will with a man whose life is in danger. There’s mystique, adventure, and quite a bit of flirtation, all set against a solid background of the Victorian “Season”. While experts on those times may find a couple of details confusing, for most others the setting is the perfect backdrop for Lady Alexandra’s little dilemma. Strong characters and a straightforward endgame make the plot of Sarah MacLean’s The Season easy to follow and surprisingly absorbing, earning the title a grand total of four stars.

Review of "She Is Not Invisible"

"One final time I told myself I wasn't abducting my little brother."

     So begins Marcus Sedgwick's She Is Not Invisible. Laureth Peak is sixteen years old when her father goes missing. Although her mother doesn't seem to be worried, it's not in Dad's nature to ignore her phone calls while she's out of town. More importantly, his author notebook has been found in New York City--a far cry from Switzerland, where he said he'd be going. Panicked, Laureth does the only reasonable think she can think of: she whisks her brother off to America, where they'll attempt to track down their father on their own. The only catch? Laureth is blind, which means she's going to need more than a seven-year-old and his stuffed bird on her team if she's going to navigate the concrete jungle and find her dad. And in an unfamiliar land like New York, she isn't sure who she can trust. Assuming she can trust anyone at all.

     Laureth is a very intriguing character. She walks with a confidence that belies the unease that haunts her every step. Not because she's blind, though that is a factor, but because she's in over her head and knows it. New York is a big, and occasionally dangerous, place, and she has only one lead to go off of. Her strength, self-awareness, and relentless determination has forged her into a protagonist firmly grounded in believability, all the while leaving room for doubt and worry when dead ends and confusing leads begin hinting at terrible things happening to her dad. She's flawed, to be sure, yet this combines with her strengths to give her a delicious internal arc.

     Then there's Benjamin. Laureth's brother is a cute kid with a stuffed raven toy and a habit of making technology go haywire. Though simple enough on the personality front, Benjamin has a knack for lightening the mood of a scene just by showing up. He treats helping his sister navigate their strange new surroundings as an adventure, and is all around a good person. If it weren't for Benjamin, this story would be over before it'd begun--and not just because he helps Laureth get around. He's the glue that holds everything together, and does a great job doing it.

     The plot, on the other hand, never seems quite certain where to go. From tracking down the notebook that holds Dad's story concepts to searching it for clues, it's fairly obvious that if this lead doesn't work out, the entire operation is doomed. However, the deeper they dive into his head, the more they realize how obsessed he is with coincidences--and begin seeing them themselves. Thus a sense of madness takes hold partway through the narrative, casting suspicion on even the most innocent of actions. While coming from the right place, this gives the work an air of trying too hard. Laureth's story is interesting enough without deep, slightly unhinged discussions about coincidences and the universe thrown into the mix.

     Though this novel isn't primarily about visual impairment, it isn't not about that, either. Laureth's blindness gives her other senses a boost, sometimes realistic and occasionally not. Her inability to see leads to plenty of trouble, but it also grants her a deeper insight into human nature, as well as social issues such as racism. There's a bit of violence, though nothing too extreme, and it isn't unheard of for characters to swear a bit. However, foul language is kept simple enough. While some older fellows send uncalled-for comments Laureth's way, they aren't exceptionally crude. Unfortunately, there's a bit of a letdown near the end, but the journey to it is generally worth the read.

     I would recommend this book to anyone looking for an interesting tale led by a girl who cannot see. Though digressions into the science of coincidence make things a tad confusing further in, Marcus Sedgwick seems to have done a solid job describing the experiences of a blind teen as honestly as possible. In the end, Laureth is the biggest appeal this novel has to offer, which no one can claim is a bad thing. And, of course, there's Benjamin, whose stuffed bird and mysterious superpower are sure to draw readers in. For adventure, mystery, and a believable glimpse into the mind of a blind girl, She Is Not Invisible is definitely worth three stars.

Review of "Of Better Blood"

"Why did you go back?"

     For those plagued by illness or disability, the world of Susan Moger's Of Better Blood is the worst place to live. It's 1922, and sixteen-year-old Rowan Collier's father is a big figure in the New England Betterment Council. He speaks at conventions and supports the forced sterilization of those "unfit" to add to the USA's next generation. What he doesn't mention is that when Rowan was eleven, she lost her legs to polio, and only one has fully recovered. Now she's a laughingstock in a traveling show, proof that people like her are a blight upon society. When a carny named Dorchy convinces her to escape the show's cruel directors, Rowan is exposed to a world she'd forgotten could exist--a world where she can be herself without fear of punishment. But things go wrong when a summer job reveals a terrible plot against the "unfit". It's not enough anymore to save their own skins. Now children are at risk, and the girls are determined to save them--no matter the price.

     This doesn't read like historical fiction, although it technically is. In fact, without the dates and city names, Rowan's tale could take place at any time or place, real or imaginary. That is one of the things that makes it so good: it makes good use of its setting without being defined by it. Yet, in some ways, it could not exist without this glimpse into the United States' past. It's a glimpse of twentieth century eugenics through the eyes of one of its victims, yet is not centered around Rowan's struggles against this movement. The primary conflict, when it finally reveals itself, is fought over the orphans whose lives have been threatened by members of the Betterment Council. This focus on plot over world brings a strong sense of realism to the piece, making everything much more immersive.

     Despite this, the characters are not all rounded and dynamic. Though Rowan and Dorchy are certainly great heroes with a story worth following, there are times when they are a bit on the static side. On the other hand, this could merely be a side effect of the great changes that transform them over the course of the story. These changes are so subtle, and take so long to reveal themselves clearly, that for a while it's as if no change is taking place at all. Regardless, their personalities are intricate and likable, two ingredients that make for strong protagonists. And when their inner arcs come to fruition, it's at the right moment and with a worthy impact.

     When it comes to the plot, Rowan and Dorchy are never short of surprises to throw at their readers. From a high-speed getaway to a desperate climb and a call for help, there are as many twists and turns within these pages as in a lab rat's maze. Between the occasional flashback and villains too wicked to describe here, they've got their hands full simply staying alive. Yet they want to do more than survive. If they have their way, innocent lives will be spared. The only trouble lies in the hardship it'll take to accomplish just that. Their mission is not only admirable, it's absorbing, making turning these pages quickly that much easier.

     The flag-raising content in this novel is rare and sprinkled with a careful distance between each instance. Romance is nonexistent; however, an adult tries to take advantage of a younger "unfortunate". An old term for African Americans, which is now considered insulting, is used a couple of times. This is done not out of malice but as part of the setting, as it was considered a technical term during that era. While there is a spot of violence, most of the tension comes from tight spots these girls have to worm their way out of using their brains. Any slightly graphic content stems from an illness that is more than meets the eye, and is not actually gory.

     I would recommend this book to anyone interested in a work of YA historical fiction with a kick. Susan Moger's Of Better Blood turns the sins of the past into a very real tragedy, as experienced by Rowan Collier. Even with her crippled leg, Rowan's fight to help others sparks friendships and inspires a miniature war against people who'd hurt those in need. She's proof that the body does not define the person inside it. Though not without its flaws, the tale of Rowan and Dorchy is singularly unforgettable, and deserves a solid four stars.

Review of "The Rule of Claw"

“I don’t have to do what you say.”

     In John Brindley’s novel The Rule of Claw, the end of the world is little more than a distant memory. For years, Ash and her friends have lived in Admittance Strictly Prohibited, a small camp squashed between the ever-changing forest and the deep blue sea. There are no adults here, only the five Camp Commandments and a handful of teens. As long as the commandments are followed, they think, everything will be fine. When a boy named Derri braves the forest and comes back dead, Ash takes it as another sign that they should do as they’re told. But when monsters from the darkness snatch her from her hut, everything changes. The forest isn’t what the ASP dwellers thought it was—and if Ash doesn’t intervene, it will destroy her friends and family forever.

     Ash’s world is richly detailed, the kind of place that seems almost unbelievably real. From the lush, multicolored forest to the once-human Rodents and Raptors that call it home, everything beyond the ASP fence is entirely immersive without losing its sense of mystique. The camp itself is similarly clad in description, painting with deft strokes a complete location and flourishing culture. Most interesting is the language difference, as the human teens have extremely limited vocabularies, making for some amusing interactions when they at last meet people who know a broad range of words. And when the ferocious Raptors make an appearance, it’s her ability to read body language that will make or break her chances of survival.

     Brindley doesn’t stop there. Even the characters themselves are complex and dynamic, filled to the brim with conflicting needs and desires. Not everybody gets along, even among their own species. This builds a feud greater than any of its components, a struggle between man and nature as the ASP dwellers, Raptors, and Rodents fight for a place in their fragile new world. Though at times the pacing seems to slow, the reason for this always kicks the tension back into high gear when revealed. And just when it seems the story is about to end, some small factor will throw itself into the mix and create a delicious flurry of chaos, setting things in motion once again.

     Because they grew up without adults to expand their vocabularies, the ASP dwellers have a very small set of insults to hurl at each other. These are generally various forms of “idiot”, and are not crude. The only romance present consists of an admission of love between two of Ash’s friends, who are married. When one character becomes pregnant, the hows and whys are not expanded upon. Higher on the questionability list is the violence, made worrisome by the Raptors’ vicious, hawk-like attack methods. There’s a little bit of gore, though not an excessive amount. Anti-theism is not a huge theme until the end, when any notion of a higher power is portrayed as dangerously stupid.

     I would recommend this book to anyone looking for an exciting adventure through a version of the future that seems terrifyingly real. The world is lushly decorated, with thorough details scattered naturally around the action, while the conflicts themselves are thick with tension and emotion. Pacing is constantly in flux, keeping readers forever on edge. Aside from the splash of gore, the only true flag-raiser is dependent on the reader, as it heavily overplays the anti-theism card. Otherwise, the novel is exceptional. John Brindley’s The Rule of Claw is definitely worth reading, and deserves five stars.

Review of "Hotel Ruby"

“The Ruby will try to stop you.”

    Suzanne Young’s Hotel Ruby throws a family in the process of breaking into a world too good to be true. Audrey Casella’s life has been nothing but bad in the three months since her mom passed away. Her brother refuses to grieve, her dad is shutting everyone out, and she’s quickly falling out of love with her boyfriend of two years. When a party gone wrong lands Audrey and Daniel a summer visit to a grandmother they barely know, they are fully aware that coming home may not be an option. Then the trio find the Ruby, a glamorous hotel in the middle of the woods. Though they only intend to stay one night, it isn’t long before their improved family dynamics extend their vacation. But when the locals say the Ruby is haunted, they mean it—and the Casellas may not make it out alive.

     This work is unique in that it takes its time. The plotline unfolds naturally, from a tension-filled car ride to a black tie party only Audrey is not invited to and an impossibly charming boy offering to show her around. Although this often leads to long, slow stretches, a good deal of the time it keeps the pacing appropriately even. We get to explore the history of the hotel, learn about a mysterious boy who seems to live there, and take a good look at the true impact of Mrs. Casella’s passing. With each page of worldbuilding, the Hotel Ruby becomes that much more alive. And when it comes to ghost stories, that’s not always a reassuring thing to hear.

     The characters, too, are a diverse flock. Not a one is the same as another, and each is interesting in their own way. Audrey, being the protagonist, is curious and stubborn in her quest for answers. Her brother, Daniel, is strong yet heartbreakingly vulnerable. Their dad is a whirlwind of change, transforming from one man to the next over the course of a single novel. And then there is Ezra, Hotel Ruby’s handsome and apparently permanent resident. Not all of the characters change from beginning to end, but there is enough evolution to keep personalities from becoming unduly static. Even without drastic internal arcs, the figures populating this story are more than enough to draw readers in, regardless of the somewhat predictable twists and turns.

     Given the haunted locale, one might expect terrible monsters and ghouls to lurk around every corner of the Hotel Ruby. Though this isn’t exactly the case, there are still a couple of things to watch out for. Violence, for example, is fairly rare for the majority of this tale. Near the end, though, it makes a greater appearance, and a couple of the descriptions may be considered gruesome by some. Mr. Casella is constantly scolding his children for their use of profanity, which is usually pretty mild. The romance is practically insta-love, and turns passionate very quickly. Though it never progresses beyond kissing, this is not for lack of trying.

     I would recommend this book to anyone looking for a somewhat spooky haunting tale. Audrey and her family are great characters, their unexpected pit stop easy to believe. Although some of the plot twists are a tad transparent, there is still a great deal of mystique that makes Hotel Ruby worth exploring. Add in a splash of steamy romance, sibling drama, and an inaccessible black tie party, and you’ve got Suzanne Young’s Hotel Ruby. Readers are sure to enjoy this pseudo-ghost story of love, grief, and acceptance, easily worth four shining stars.