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.

Review of "First & Then"

“How's your new brother?"

     In Emma Mills’ First & Then, change is in the air. High school senior Devon Tennyson is perfectly content with her unextraordinary life. She has an amazing best friend/crush, parents who love her, and just enough friends to get by. Then comes Foster. Smart, dorky, and a freshman, Foster is only supposed to stay with the Tennysons until his mom recovers from her addiction. At least, that was the plan. Now he’s living in her house, going to her school, and generally embarrassing her. That is, until the day his stunning kick draws the eye of Ezra, the high school football star, who takes Foster under his wing. As Devon is drawn ever further into Foster’s world, she is forced to reconsider everything she thought she knew about her eccentric cousin, herself, and what she wants out of life. School may be coming to a close, but it’s not too late to make something of herself, if only she has the courage to try.

     There’s a quality to the writing that makes Devon’s narrative instantly compelling. From the first page, when we meet her school counselor and the impending college problem, Mills’ writing sweeps away everything except the words on the page. Devon is incredibly authentic without trying to seem witty or unrealistically sage, and this bleeds through into the narrative. Though she’s occasionally unreliable, this is played off well; the reader is unlikely to see through all of the red herrings and misleading conversations simply because both author and protagonist are wickedly smart. With minds like theirs weaving the web of the story, figuring things out before the characters do isn’t simply difficult. It’s nearly impossible—and satisfyingly so.

     When it comes to these characters, “dynamic” is the name of the game. From Devon and her friend group to the football team and class pretty girl, every last name that appears is backed by a complex personality with its own internal arc of change. Voices are distinct, actions influence each other, and everything and everyone plays its own critical role in the plot. They are a mixed bag of likeable and despicable, with a broad range in between, and it’s this diversity that makes the setting so believable.

     For a high school girl-meets-boy, the level of questionable content is relatively low—as is the cheese factor. The latter is mitigated primarily by Foster, whose sudden appearance in Devon’s only-child life provides plenty of drama on its own. It also helps that Devon takes a no-nonsense approach to romance, recognizing how unlikely it is that Cas likes her back and minimizing as much of her disappointment as possible. There is a little kissing and conversations about more between various characters. Foul language consists primarily of F-bombs, with a small splash vulgarity thrown into the mix here and there.

     I would recommend this book to anyone in their late tweens or older who is looking for a clever YA romance featuring an incredibly sharp protagonist with equally smart love interests. The love triangle is minor and the cast is strong, set against a plot that deeply examines every kind of love. Foster is a wonderful point of conflict and a person in his own right, as fleshed-out as any of the others on the page. Ezra has hidden depths, and Cas is exactly the kind of friend Devon needs. Together, these four create a tale of love, acceptance, and family that is sure to strike a chord in almost any reader. Emma Mills’ First & Then is a stunning debut worth five stars.

Review of "Adrift"

“None of us came back whole, and not all of us came back.”

     For the heroes of Paul Griffin’s YA novel Adrift, there is only so much that can be done against the power of the sea. When seventeen-year-old Matt Halloway and his best friend, John, travel to the tip of Long Island, the only adventure they’re looking for is a summer job and a pocket full of cash. They certainly aren’t looking for romance or adventure. Yet that is what they find when Matt, drawn to a pretty beachgoer, drags John to a party at a nearby mansion. And then, when the girl’s cousin disappears, to the beach. Into the water. Out to sea. Soon the boys are trapped in a tin vessel with three rich kids and a big problem: in their panicked search for the girl’s cousin, they lost sight of the shore. With no food or water and the clock ticking down on the cousin’s life, Matt and John must do everything in their power to bring everyone home—or die trying.

     At first, there seems to be little remarkable about the story of Matt Halloway. Sure, he’s got baggage. Watching someone die will do that to a kid. Aside from that, though, he’s just a boy with dreams of Ivy League graduation and a career somewhere nice and quiet, where the ghosts of his past won’t be able to follow. Then he meets Driana, a stunning girl with beaded dreadlocks and an incredible sense of faith in mankind’s capacity for good. When she invites Matt and John to a party, she has no intention of altering the course of their lives. That, perhaps, is what makes this tale so absorbing. No one except the reader knows about the boat, or the tragedies to come. There is no wise mentor guiding them along their path. There is only sun and sky and the knowledge that some of them might not make it out alive, and that makes anything possible.

     It’s a testament to Griffin’s writing skills that John is such an unlikeable hero. He’s strong, deadly smart, and keeps a cool head in a crisis, all of which should add up to a great leader. In reality, he’s a stone-faced captain with no tact whatsoever. Matt, knowing this, still gives him the reins of leadership. John is the captain; Matt is the medic. The fact that our protagonist is not in charge is astounding, and forces readers to consider the situation from an entirely new angle. And as pieces of their shared history begin to emerge from their hidey-holes, the boys will have to face their demons in order to stay sane. The thing is, neither their friendship nor Matt and Driana’s blossoming romance may be strong enough to withstand such a confrontation.

     For a story about survival, there is surprisingly little questionable content. Cursing is rare, if present at all, and inter-person violence is kept to a minimum. Threats are common, especially as the mental health of some of the characters declines, but far more disturbing is what happens after. It isn’t a spoiler to say that not everyone makes it out of this little escapade alive, and the things that happen to the bodies aren’t always pleasant, true to life though they might be. At one point, someone comes to a somewhat gory end, though we are spared most of the details. A traumatic event from the past is rehashed. The romance does not progress beyond kissing.

     I would recommend this book to teens looking for a straightforward survival tale with a very real sense of danger. Matt, John, and Dri are vastly different people with various levels of relatability and likableness, and their companions only throw more chaos into the mix. When five teens are stranded in a rickety boat with no rescue in sight, Paul Griffin asks: who will pull through? With everything on the line, there is no telling how far these kids will go to ensure their own survival. Chilling, compelling, and unpredictable, Adrift is a great addition to anyone’s To Read pile, deserving four stars.

Review of "Peter Pan"

"All children, except one, grow up."

     In the world of J. M. Barrie's Peter Pan, only one child will not grow up. Wendy Darling has known she would age since she was two, and it has never quite bothered her. She plays at House and Mother and takes great delight in caring for her younger brothers, John and Michael. Their favorite game, though, is to visit the Neverland, where a boy named Peter takes them on the grandest adventures. Mrs. Darling, of course, is suitably concerned, especially when this mythical boy begins tracking dirt and leaves into the nursery. When Peter returns to the Darling house for his missing shadow, he finds Wendy, a girl full of stories and a deep-seated longing to be his mother. Fascinated by her fairy tales, Peter Pan sweeps the Darling children away to Neverland, where they can have a marvelous time and never grow up. But Neverland is a strange place, and if the children aren't careful, they could forget the very thing they love the most: their family.

     There is something innately charming about the simplicity of Wendy's adventures in Neverland. Despite Peter Pan's natural hatred toward parents of any sort, he and his troop of lost boys quickly latch on to Wendy as their mother figure. In this role, it is her duty to cook, clean, mend clothes, and look after her "children"'s health. She takes great delight in this, but what will likely interest readers most is the hijinks of her charges. Led by Peter, the lost boys battle pirates, hunt great beasts, invent bizarre sports, and pick fights with the local Native American tribe. To prevent these from becoming monotonous, Peter always adds a twist, changing the rules mid-game or otherwise turning things on their heads. This makes for great fun for readers and characters alike, and is grounded in Wendy's practical job of playing caretaker to such rambunctious boys.

     So too is the narrator engaged. As he weaves his story, Barrie passes back and forth between one exploit and the next, keeping audiences on their toes and enjoying himself immensely. This shows in the playfulness of the prose, and the fantastical descriptions of the impossible island known as Neverland. From pet wolves to unfriendly mermaids and a jealous fairy, Neverland is dotted with an endless fountain of people, places, and things plucked straight from the minds of children. Barrie records these with admirable diligence, explaining along the way why things are done the way they are. Even this adds to the lighthearted mood of the overall piece, as the majority of such explanations are quite ridiculous.

     Of Peter himself, we learn quite a bit. He is young, always has been, and carries a sense of pride that is so over-the-top as to be almost endearing. If his friends did not love him, there would be no redeeming him; as it is, he is simply flighty and ever-changing, flitting from one fancy to the next as the mood strikes him. Though his companions change a bit over time, he does not, and since the others tend to follow his lead everyone is generally static. This is combated by the sheer number of daring escapades, the grandest ones revolving around Captain Jas. Hook, Peter's arch-enemy and a brilliant villain. Hook brings out the best and worst in everyone around him, and is the primary reason the climax is so absorbing.

     Since this is a children's story, the level questionable content is extraordinarily low. Tinker Bell, Peter's fairy, has taken to calling him a rude name in jest, which is the extent of the title's swearing. Due to the time period in which it was written and is set, the Native Americans are called by a different name, which is now considered offensive. This was not intended to be rude, as it is simply the terminology common to that era. Also affected by the time period is the everyday vocabulary. Readers, especially those outside of the UK, may have a spot of difficulty with some of the words; however, many editions include bracketed definitions and the rest is easily sorted out by context. There is no romance, though Wendy and Tinker Bell are hinted to share a crush on one of the boys. Violence is simultaneously graphic and clean, free of gore yet described so as to inspire excitement in young audiences.

     I would recommend this book to anyone looking for a thrilling adventure about a boy who refuses to grow up. Wendy is a wonderful protagonist who provides the perfect lens through which to view the tale, and Peter does a marvelous job captaining the lost boys' various escapades. Their feats of derring-do are expertly crafted to catch the eye of grown-ups and children alike. With subtle foreshadowing and a strong narrative voice, J. M. Barrie created a charming novel that will leave an impression on whoever reads it. Thus, Peter Pan deserves five stars.

Review of "The Drowning Girl: A Memoir"

"I don't thing ghost stories should be written in solitude."

     For the protagonist of Caitlín R. Kiernan's The Drowning Girl: A Memoir, nothing, even memory, can be trusted. India Morgan Phelps, known to her friends as "Imp", is the daughter of a woman who took her own life, and the granddaughter of a lady who did the same. Each suffered from the Phelps Family Curse, a hereditary strain of craziness Imp's psychiatrist has labeled paranoid schizophrenia. Whether or not this diagnosis is accurate, Imp prefers the word "crazy" for its straightforward, easy-to-understand nature. What isn't easy to understand is Eva Canning, a woman who appeared on the side of the road in either July or November, she isn't sure which. There are two versions of Eva in her memory, and by setting each to paper Imp hopes to sort out which one is real. But with a disease like hers, even hindsight is unreliable--and the slightest trigger can bring everything to an unsavory end.

     The premise The Drowning Girl is built upon is intriguing: one woman, two versions of the story, and a narrator who may have made everything up. Indeed, there are times when it's uncertain whether anyone in Imp's life is real, let alone Eva Canning. Yet as Imp struggles more and more with her "ghost story", the novelty quickly begins to wear off, replaced with worry and confusion. Kiernan's impressive ability to capture the mind of a madwoman makes a great deal of the prose unintelligible, the rest highly suspect.

     However, there are upsides to this. Because of her condition, Imp notices things most people don't--the never-ending nature of stories, for instance, and the difference between truth and facts. On the other hand, this kind of double-talk makes for a very laid-back writing style that wanders between scenes, memories, and digressions. Tense shifts from past to present and back again, and Imp occasionally refers to herself in the third person. While this is interesting enough, after a while it can become rather frustrating. Still, it makes her voice more authentic and captures perfectly the inner workings of Imp's mind.

     The biggest pitfall, though, and the most saddening, is the romance. From Imp's recent breakup stems most of the novel's conflict, as Eva Canning appears at least partly responsible. It's okay that the how and why of this situation are not expounded on for a time, as that is the way storytelling works. However, none of the relationships in Imp's life are extraordinarily believable. There is no emotional buildup, no flirtation or first kiss. One minute they are acquaintances, the next they are dating. As a result, no amount of otherwise realistic interactions can bring a sense of romance to these relationships, let alone love. And considering Imp claims to be in love, that is quite sad.

     There's a lot to watch out for in this piece. Cursing is common and sometimes vulgar; physical interactions between couples is described faithfully, leaving little, if anything, to the imagination. Interested readers should note that Imp is lesbian, her girlfriend transgender. There is a bit of a love triangle, in its own way, which heavily impacts the plot. Violence is rare, but the inspiration for most of the short stories, sculptures, and paintings that show up in Imp's life is generally a tad graphic. Imp's mother was a former Catholic, so there are a couple of blasphemous comparisons tucked between the pages. All in all, this is most certainly not a book for children or--I would add--even teens.

     I would recommend this book to adults interested in a fictional memoir told by a woman whose world is constantly on the verge of collapsing. India Morgan Phelps is a round, complex character with a life of her own, yet the story she tells is so impacted by her schizophrenia that very little makes sense. This messes with plot, pacing, and emotional appeal, lessening the impact of otherwise interesting twists and turns. On the other hand, Caitlín R. Kiernan did such a great job capturing Imp's distinctive personality and frame of mind that the madness feels authentic. The Drowning Girl: A Memoir may have its troubles, but the powerful presence of its protagonist cannot be denied. That's what redeems it, in the end, as much as this novel can be said to have been redeemed. It deserves two stars.