A truly beautiful book

Beautifully written, urgent in style, important in message.

Those words come to mind about White Rose by Kip Wilson. I urge people to buy this book if you can or order it from your local library. This historical fiction written in verse is among the first books published by the new Versify imprint of Houghton Mifflin Harcourt, led by Newbery Medalist Kwame Alexander.

White Rose was the name of a small group of German university students who attempted to wake up the populace to what Hitler was doing. They printed pamphlets and wrote street messages, urging people to resist the Nazi regime.

In the end, they were caught and did not make the impact they had hoped when they put their lives on the line. But their story stands today as an important lesson in recognizing and speaking out early against fascism.

Sophie Scholl, her brother Hans, and their friends have not been forgotten in history.

One of the things I like about the way Kip Wilson writes Sophie's story is she makes it clear that it took time for Sophie and Hans to stand up. At first, they joined the Hitler youth groups, which were framed more like scout troops, enjoying the camp atmosphere but not the propaganda. Their father was briefly imprisoned for being outspoken in opposition to Hitler, as was Hans later.

They were uncomfortable when they saw Jewish friends being harassed ("as if Jews aren't people like us at all"), but it took them time to put their necks on the chopping block (quite literally) and form the White Rose. Sophie's boyfriend Fritz was even a German soldier.

Here is one of the verses, stunning in its impact:

 Fritz tells me
 officers' mail
 isn't
 censored,

that I should
feel free
to say
what I like,

which is good
because I have
plenty
to say.

Blood Water Paint

I knew nothing of Artemisia Gentileschi before I read Blood Water Paint by Joy McCullough. I loved this beautiful, harrowing novel told in a combination of verse and prose.

This story based on a real life is more relevant than ever despite Artemisia living from 1593 to 1653. She struggled for recognition for her work and dignity in her life even though her father took credit for her paintings and her tutor raped her. Artemisia took her accusation to court and suffered terrible consequences.

And yet this is a story of perseverance and a belief in truth. Artemisia is bolstered by the stories her mother had told of the Biblical women Susanna and Judith. The stories were far different than the ones told by men about those women, and they instilled strength in Artemisia for all she would do.

This is a story of perspective both in painting and in life.

I highly recommend this extraordinary book.

When you retreat

A few weeks ago I attended a retreat that met all my expectations--the Weekend on the Water  held by the SCBWI-WWA at the incredible IslandWood on Bainbridge Island.

One thing I really appreciated about this retreat was that organizers made the extra effort to reach out to participants, coming up to talk or sit at their table, rather than keeping to themselves. I know it made me feel welcome and comfortable. I imagine the dozens of people in attendance felt the same.

Weekend on the Water originally was held at a different place along Puget Sound.

IslandWood, which was developed to teach environmental awareness and sustainability, is deep in lovely forest, but there is water: The Pond.

A docent led those of us who were interested on a walk that included these marvels:

Tree House #1 is built so the central tree can move within a ring, swaying without disturbing the structure.
and
Tree House #2 where you can write in the woods or study the forest canopy

Suspension Bridge

 

 

Bird blind located at a bog, which is about 10,000 years old. A bog is an enclosed basin, whereas a marsh has water running through it. Since a bog is acidic it keeps trees stunted within the basin while they grow to full size along the perimeter.

Communal room in a sleeping lodge

Did I mention the FOOD? Some of the best I've eaten anywhere and I forgot to photograph its beautiful bounty until the last meal. So here is a salad in all its freshness.

The meals are served family style, and the staff goes above and beyond to be sure everyone has what they need.

Of course, this was a writing/illustrating retreat so there was solid programming that focused on ways to feed creativity by finding an art/life balance.

Kirby Larsen (Newbery Honor Book HATTIE BIG SKY) talked about how to slow down and sit with a problem awhile when frustration sets in. She suggested a drift journal to jot down seemingly unrelated stories to see where they may go.

Joni Sensel, who writes YA and middle grade fantasies, discussed the idea of liminal space and creativity. I loved the exercise of placing your character on a threshold/a doorway and see what happens. The unknown can be transformation, growth, or something monstrous. Whatever direction it takes it represents change.

One roundtable discussion yielded these ideas I find fascinating: Do some art for each chapter to get a refreshed view. Think of three disasters that could happen and a solution.

There was so much more, including inspiring talks from Candlewick illustrator Jennifer K. Mann and author Beth Bacon. If you can find such a retreat, go if you can, recharge your batteries and your heart.

WHAT GOES UP

I met Wen Baragrey online about ten years ago, sharing writing and dreams and life struggles. What has always stood out for me is her wonderful sense of humor, love of family, and talent for storytelling. Her debut novel, WHAT GOES UP, incorporates all that.

Robyn Tinkerbell Goodfellow has a number of difficulties in her young life, starting with her name and her mother’s vocation of hosting fairy parties in their home.

But Robyn’s biggest concern at the moment is a space satellite is falling to earth. Her house has always been a magnet for falling objects like kites, balls, trees, and even a skydiver. She’s sure the satellite will be drawn to them and she will never meet her mysterious father.

The story is filled with marvelous characters and has an ending that brought tears to my eyes.

Published by Random House Children’s Books it is available now. I highly recommend it as a holiday gift for middle grade readers in your life (and even for yourself).

THUG gets all the stars

The first thing that hit me when I started reading The Hate U Give by Angie Thomas was voice. This book has VOICE, and that is difficult for a lot of writers to achieve.

The second thing that I don’t think anyone can miss unless his or her head is deep in the sand (or elsewhere) is how relevant this story is. I can imagine that some readers will take issue with some of Starr’s choices while others will be cheering her on and shouting, “About time!”

No matter what color your skin or where you stand on politics there is one fact about this story that cannot be denied: It is honest. This is the reality for many people living in America.

Briefly, in case you don’t know, the book begins with a bang when Starr is in a car with a childhood friend who is shot right in front of her by a cop, not because the boy has a gun or is otherwise threatening, but because he turns to ask Starr if she is okay. Starr’s journey through trauma and scary decisions about testifying propel the story on.

The question, as always, is what can we do about racism and inequality? The answer is we must all be like Starr and learn to speak out if society is to ever change. Here is something to cheer about: The Hate U Give has been on the NYT best seller list for something like 24 weeks already and is being made into a movie.

 Angie Thomas deserves the accolades she is receiving and all the stars.

Orphan Island is a place between here and there

Orphan Island by Laurel Snyder hooked and reeled me in. This middle-grade novel is lyrical, haunting, and unflinchingly honest as it navigates the waters between childhood and puberty.

A mysterious island, which is somewhere between here and there, is home to nine very self-sufficient children who live with no adults and an odd assortment of handed-down rules. These kids have distinct personalities and sometimes grate on one another, but they listen and learn, understanding that their survival depends on working together.

Once a year, a self-propelled, little green boat arrives with a new young one and takes away the oldest. The new child, barely out of babyhood, is soon schooled in how to collect eggs, gut a fish, find fruit, and even read.

Among the mysteries of the island is how and why they have a collection of tattered children’s books, which give them a window about life beyond their island. None of them remembers the time before and has no idea where the oldest one is taken when he or she must leave.

 The protagonist Jinny is torn apart when her best friend, Deen, is taken by the boat, and she is shaken to know she is now the oldest, the one who will go next. Jinny clings to memories of Deen, to their quiet moments and adventures. She has always loved him and this island with its fantastical sunrises and winds that catch a jumping child and set them down again. She doesn’t want to leave the joy and security of her childhood for the unknown.

What she does about it turns the safe and providing island inside out. In the process, Jinny’s eyes are opened to truths about herself.

This book is wondrous and profound. I recommend for all ages.

Here’s a snippet from the moment after Jinny tries to stop Deen from getting in the boat, after he tells her he’s ready to go, wants to find out what’s out there:

As he sped off, Deen turned to look back at her over his shoulder. He called out something. But what? Jinny could see his mouth open and close. He threw a hand sharply into the air, but whatever he said was lost in the spray and mist as they swallowed him.
 Jinny watched the boat disappear. Until all she could see was water and distance. It happened so fast. She found herself standing, reaching out both arms, in the direction the boat had gone. Both hands with outstretched fingers, grasping. As if there was something in the air she might be able to clutch.

Creation myths and story love

It’s been some time since I fell as deeply into a story as I did with N.K. Jemisin’s The Hundred Thousand Kingdoms. Strangely, I say that even though I started reading it on vacation and had to put it aside for a couple of weeks after I got home. But when I picked it up again I fell right back in. That’s how much I retained my love of the characters and storyline.

This adult fantasy is a fresh take on creation myths and gods. I adore the volatile Nahadoth the Nightlord, and the child-like Sieh the Trickster. The “I” telling the tale is Yeine, a girl who at first seems to be a pawn in a deadly struggle but she turns out to be key to something entirely new. And she is badass through and through.

The story opens when Yeine is commanded to come to the city of Sky where her maternal grandfather, who is uncrowned king of the world, names her one of his heirs, much to her shock and the fury of others. She learns quickly that only one of his three heirs will succeed him, but she doesn’t find out what that entails for quite some time.

She is only half-blood of the powerful Arameri people. They are tall and pale. She is short and dark. The Arameri consider her people in Darr to be barbarians and treat her with disdain.

 The truth is Arameri are the most ruthless of all the lands. They are worshippers of the Bright Itempas, the god who created the world with the now-enslaved Nahadoth and now-dead Enefa.

We learn slowly with Yeine as she navigates Sky what the true histories of these gods and mortals are, their secrets and lies, their betrayals and bonds, their despair and hope, their rage and love.

This is the first book (and it was a debut!) in a trilogy. I definitely want to read the rest.

Here, have a few excerpts for voice and style.

 *

There were three gods once.

Only three, I mean. Now there are dozens, perhaps hundreds. They breed like rabbits. But once there were only three, most powerful and glorious of all: the god of day, the god of night, and the goddess of twilight and dawn. Or light and darkness and the shades between. Or order, chaos, and balance. None of that is important because one of them died, the other might as well have, and the last is the only one who matters anymore. 

*

"I cannot hope that your mother taught you duty," Dekarta said to me over this man's back. "She abandoned hers to dally with her sweet-tongued savage. I allowed this--an indulgence I have often regretted. So I will assuage that regret by bringing you back into the fold, Granddaughter. Whether you live or die is irrelevant. You are Arameri, and like all of us, you will serve."

*

Trickster, trickster, stole the sun for a prank. And apparently because it was pretty. The Three had borne many children before their falling-out. Sieh was immeasurably old, another of the Arameri's deadly weapons, and yet I could not bring myself to dash the shy hope I saw in his eyes.

*

It would do no good to run. So I said, "Good evening, Lord Nahadoth." I was proud that my voice did not quaver.

He inclined his head to me, then just stood there smoldering and looking ominous at the foot of my bed. Realizing that a god's sense of time was probably very different from a mortal's, I prompted, "To what do I owe the honor of this visit?"

YA for our times

In a time when being an immigrant is politically charged and when some people want to retreat behind walls of fear and hate, I read two excellent YA books that I highly recommend for people who prefer to explore and be open to other cultures. These aren’t happily-ever-after stories. They are bittersweet and do not flinch from spotlighting what makes any of us mistrust the “other”.

 In THE SUN IS ALSO A STAR, Nicola Yoon (National Book Award finalist) writes the love story of two really smart teenagers who, in the space of a day, discover deep truths about themselves, their families and culture, and the world they exist in.

Natasha is a girl who has faith in numbers, science and facts, probably solidified in reaction to her father. His dream of becoming a famed actor has left her family in poverty. But worse, his DUI leads to the discovery they are illegal immigrants from Jamaica who must leave the US immediately.

Daniel, a poet, is Korean American. His immigrant parents demand the best grades and professions from their sons. He is supposed to be interviewed for Yale when a series of events lead him to Natasha. For him, it’s some kind of sign or destiny.

She has no time for that, but something keeps drawing them closer together. Sure, there’s physical attraction but their budding love has more to do what they discover in the heart and soul of the other. They both know there will be no welcome for them as a couple in their families or communities, even if Natasha somehow finds a way to stop the deportation.

I listened to The Sun is Also a Star on audiobook, so I don’t have a way to quote lines, but I’ve listened to it twice now. That’s how much I love it.

WRITTEN IN THE STARS by Aisha Saeed had me turning pages at all hours as I became more and more terrified for the protagonist, Naila, a Pakistani American.

Even though she is raised in the US and has excelled in school, her parents keep the old ways, strict and unbending. Not only is she not allowed to date, they will choose her husband. But, as things go in both stories and in real life, Naila bends the rules and sets in motion an alarming series of events.

We’ve read news stories about forced marriages and honor killings, but what the author has done is take the reader into the life of a girl suddenly confronted with those horrors, a girl who had no idea this could happen to her.

At the same time, the story finds moments of hope and love.

The copy I purchased has a discussion guide at the end. This makes it an excellent choice for schools and book clubs.

 Of interest, too, is the distinction between forced marriage and arranged marriage. The author states she is happy in her arranged marriage. As well as being an author, she is a lawyer and founding member of the nonprofit We Need Diverse Books.

Echoes of past and present in stunning audiobook

I have never heard a more beautiful audiobook than the Newbery Honor novel ECHO by Pam Muñoz Ryan, author of some 40 books including award-winning Esperanza Rising and The Dreamer.

The story, or actually several entwined stories, is haunting and important to the times we live in as it deals with the fallout of bigotry, injustice, and hatred. The book begins with a fairy tale that introduces a magical harmonica whose destiny is to save someone’s life.

 Over time, the harmonica passes into the hands of Friedrich, a boy in Nazi Germany who yearns to be a composer but is bullied because of a birthmark on his face. The mouth harp gives him solace as his family is torn apart and he is threatened with being put in an asylum.

 The harmonica finds its way from Friedrich to Mike, an orphan living in an institution in eastern U.S. with his younger brother. The instrument brings him comfort and hope that he might save them from an even worse fate.

 Finally, another musical prodigy, Ivy, the daughter of itinerant farmworkers in California, is given the same harmonica. Ivy faces discrimination at school and sees it at the vandalized farm her father is trying to maintain for a Japanese-American family sent to an internment camp. Despite all this, Ivy finds a sense of pride and purpose in her growing musical skill.

 The audiobook brought me to tears more than once as it infuses the children’s heartrending stories with glorious music performed on cello, piano, and, yes, harmonica.

 Music on the recorded version is by Corky Siegel, a blues harmonica and piano player who composes for symphonies and chamber orchestras.

 ECHO is so good I want to read the print version to savor the words on the page, but I also want to listen to the audio again for the sheer delight of Brahms, Bach, Beethoven, Rodgers and Hammerstein, and more. I got the audiobook from the library, but this is one I’d love to own.

Small masterpieces: The stories of Kij Johnson

At the Mouth of the River of Bees is an astounding collection of stories. I rarely read short stories, preferring novels, and although I have loved some shorts, I have never read an entire collection that took my legs from under me like this did. Kij Johnson is without doubt a master of this form.

 Even more surprising is how different all the stories are and how each has a resonance felt after the last sentence. She never loses the thread of what the story is truly about. The emotional payoff of The Man Who Bridged the Mist is a thing of beauty. 26 Monkeys is clever, yes, but not a gimmick--it is deeply satisfying. The stories are so powerful I remember each one just looking at the titles.

Warning: one story, Spar, is definitely way too much for children or prudish adults, but if you are neither of those it is a brave piece of writing, going beyond inhibition into pure being/surviving.

Johnson puts her characters in strange, alien, off-kilter places but never loses the core of what it means to be human, to navigate the waters of life.

Disclaimer: I recently took a Clarion workshop with Kij Johnson, which was a day well spent. I had already read most of these stories and formed an opinion of her powerful skill. Meeting her did not change this review, it just made me admire her more. And, for the record, she brought up 26 Monkeys, saying she wrote it disjointed like grief is, a string of momentary details adding up to something bigger.

A writing snippet from Monkeys: No one seems to know how the monkeys vanish or where they go. Sometimes they return holding foreign coins or durian fruit, or wearing pointed Moroccan slippers. Every so often one returns pregnant or leading an unfamiliar monkey by the hand. The number of monkeys is not constant.

From Wolf Trapping: It was after midnight and nearly pitch dark. There was a full moon somewhere overhead, but heavy clouds concealed most of the sky. The wind was stronger, pushing loose snow along the ground in needling waves. There would be no way to follow her tonight. She would have to find her own way home.


For my writing friends here are a few nuggets Kij offered in that workshop:

Her goals--To change how people see something. Make it immersive enough they are carrying it with them, so they lose track of time and reality and the story comes out into the real world with them.

How weird can something be and still be accessible?

Understanding the mechanics of real life fiction is essential to understanding speculative fiction.

In an estranged, alienated experience, we are playing with the fact the readers know what we are writing is not true. We should start out slow, gathering information. She gave an example of Hunger Games--"We don’t start with Panem, we start with being hungry."

She noted that mainstream fiction also gets the need for setting. The first thing the reader is going, 'oh my god where am I and what do I need to do?'

And that needs hyper-precise focus--for instance, the character isn't seeing the whole spaceship but this moment, this room.

She discussed novum--the new thing that changes things. And that isn't one thing that's different but lots of things. "You have to bring something else, something they haven't seen before or a deeper place they haven't been before."

Collaboration super power

Scott Westerfeld, Margo Lanagan, and Deborah Biancotti spoke at my local indie bookstore, Third Place Books, last night, and, well, it left me panting to go to a pub with a couple of writer friends and brainstorm. That’s how their collaborative YA book, ZEROES, was born.

“We met at a pub every week for about four hours,” Westerfeld said. “We drank beer and talked about super powers. As you do.”

Okay, I’m all smiles by now.

I’ve long been a fan of Westerfeld’s imaginative storytelling. When I was first learning how to write a novel (as opposed to nonfiction, which had been my career), I studied his three-part organization of UGLIES, a book I adored for its biting view of societal constructs on physical beauty.

And Lanagan’s lush descriptions and haunting tale swept me away in BRIDES OF ROLLROCK ISLAND. I can still feel that place somewhere deep in my bones.

I’m not familiar with Biancotti’s work, because she’s published mainly in Australia. All three writers are winners of prestigious awards and come from Sydney.

 Biancotti had worked on a television show and fell in love with the writing room model, where writers bounce ideas off each other. “It was so much fun, so much more energizing and invigorating,” she said. “The ideas got crazier and weirder and more awesome.”

 Lanagan, who’s a literary writer of spec fiction and winner of four World Fantasy Awards and two Printz Honor books, said she spends most of her time writing alone, sometimes coming to the end of a draft to find it’s flat. But with this collaboration she said, “You have this sort of instant testing lab. You watch ideas disintegrate…or float rather beautifully.”

 Westerfeld calls collaboration a super power of the human species, and said when the three of them worked together it was like a hive mind. And that resembled somewhat how the characters in the story they were creating worked.

 In ZEROES, six teens have powers that set them apart, and they need each other to survive.

Each of the three authors wrote two of the characters, and they are proud that readers who know their styles couldn’t figure out who wrote what. “We did kind of breakdown each other’s styles,” Lanagan said. “We referred to it as the fourth voice,” Biancotti added.

One of the characters, Anon, is particularly interesting, because no one, not even the other Zeroes, can remember him. Westerfeld described him as the character from the film Momento turned inside out so that instead of the character having short-term memory loss it happens to the people around him.

All the characters were born in 2000, hence being zeroes, and they’re “internetty,” according to Westerfeld.

Will the three authors return to writing alone after they finish the Zeroes trilogy? Well, they all have projects of their own but plan to use skills they’ve learned working together. Biancotti said she’s a lot braver now. “I’m playing dare with myself.”

Laini Taylor's epic storytelling and glorious writing

At 613 pages Dreams of Gods & Monsters could easily have been divided into two books, but I’m not complaining because this final book in Laini Taylor’s trilogy is epic and touched me deeply.

Epic as in heroic, majestic, and legendary—masterful world-building and character arcs. And on top of that it retains the joy, whimsy, and gorgeous lyricism of so much of Laini’s writing, including the playfulness of the relationship between teen friends Karou and Zuzana that began the trilogy.

 The moments when characters say or think funny asides breaks the darkness and feels authentic despite the otherworldliness of portals in the sky, warring angels, and killed chimaera brought back to life with stolen teeth and bone and the personal pain of the resurrectionist, who is Karou. In another life, she had saved the angel Akiva on a battlefield and fell in love with the enemy, starting a shift in the world.

The story tackles the impossibly huge concepts of good and evil, of bigotry and learned hatreds, of the steely strength of love (of all kinds) in the face of pain and horror. We’re talking torture, rape, genocide.

 And all the while, despite treachery, betrayal, and gut-wrenching loss, the characters dig inside themselves and keep moving forward, sometimes utterly alone and sometimes with the help of others.

A great way to get the scope of this journey is from the simple (and simply devastating) lines that open each book in the trilogy:
 Book 1: Daughter of Smoke & Bone: “Once upon a time, an angel and a devil fell in love. It did not end well.”
 Book 2: Days of Blood & Starlight: “Once upon a time, an angel and a devil held a wishbone between them. And its snap split the world in two.”
 Book 3: Dreams of Gods & Monsters: “Once upon a time, an angel and a devil pressed their hands to their hearts and started the apocalypse.”

Upon the structure of those lines are built intricate societies and worlds beyond imagining (well, not beyond Laini’s imagining). And love that is truly epic.

I don’t want to give away the story, but I recommend the series to any reader who loves fantasy with deep layers and gorgeous writing.

 (My Goodreads timeline says I started this book a year ago, and although I bought the glorious hardback then I didn’t read it until now. Life was beyond busy, and I didn’t want to start such a long book until I had time to read it through. I’m glad I waited because I was able to lose myself in it.)

 Here’s a sample of Laini’s lyrical and unsettling writing: ‘In the Far Isles it was night, and the new bruise that blossomed in the sky would not be visible until dawn. It wasn’t like the others. Indeed it soon engulfed the others—all of them lost in its dark sprawl. From horizon to horizon it spread, deeper than indigo, nearly as black as the night sky itself. It was more than color, this bruise. It was warp, it was suction. It was concavity and distortion. Eidolon of the dancing eyes had said the sky was tired, and ached. She had downplayed the matter.’

Secrets of Selkie Bay, middle grade built of love

I wish I could be about 10-years-old again so I could discover Secrets of Selkie Bay as a kid, curled up with the book, lost in the magic on the pages. I did that anyway even though I’m long past childhood (on the outside only). This latest middle-grade novel by Shelley Moore Thomas stole my heart.

On the first page Cordie Sullivan’s hollow pain is clear as she says her mother is gone and her father can’t or won’t say where she is because “there just aren’t that many words left anymore.”

Cordie, 11, is left to watch over her two younger sisters, one still a baby, while her father tries to find enough work to keep food on the table. She takes on responsibility beyond her years: “Someone had to pick up, since Da left his things everywhere—socks that were on the floor and never found the hamper, and waterfalls of blankets that trailed down the side of his unmade bed.”

After a couple of months, Cordie finds a letter addressed to her from her mother tucked in an old copy of A Child’s Book of Selkies, a collection of folklore about seals that sometimes become human. The letter says Mum doesn’t want to go but must. And here the magic weaves into the story. Are selkies real? Is their mother a selkie gone home to the sea? Is that why she had to leave?

The fishing village where the Sullivans live cashes in on selkie lore during tourist season, but Cordie is skeptical. Her sister Ione believes fervently that their mother has gone to the secret island she once tried to show them. Aside from the mystery, the story delivers realistic sibling relationships, parents with flaws but lots of love, and a nudge toward respecting nature.

 I love so much of the writing—crisp, moving: “Facing west toward the waves, we stood and did the only thing we could think to do . . . Just us, the three Sullivan girls, crying our seven silver tears into the sea and letting them float atop the foam, hoping they would bring our mum back to us.”

 There is a surprise at the end. I could easily have read more, but I’m pleased that the magical elements remain elusive, leaving the reader to wonder and question. There is no question at all about the power of love, which is the heart of the story and shines on long after the final page is read.

Highly recommend for middle-grade readers. Disclosure: Shelley is a friend I met through blogging, Twitter, and face to face at SCBWI.

Crooked River, great title, satisfying read

Crooked River is such a great, evocative title for the debut YA novel by Valerie Geary. The setting of this story is a strong character in its own right taking the reader to a secluded meadow along a river in Oregon where two suddenly motherless girls live with their eccentric father in a teepee.

 The story is deep and crooked and wild like the river, opening with the girls finding a dead woman floating near the “best swimming hole this side of anywhere.”

Beautifully written, it’s told in alternating chapters from 15-year-old Sam’s perspective and 10-year-old Ollie’s. The girls have been traumatized by their mother’s recent death and seem detached at first. Sam finally decides they should do something about the woman. Ollie says nothing at all.

When Sam tries to pull the woman from the water she loses her grip and the body is sucked away. “I splashed in after her but stopped when the water reached my knees. Heavy spring rains and melting snowpack had turned Crooked River into a thundering flood. Boulders protected our swimming hole from the violent current, but past that, where I stood now, the river gathered itself up again...”

 After the woman disappears, Sam thinks maybe she hadn’t been real. “But my heart was thumping so fast it hurt and the hair on my arms stood on end, and I could still feel her cold flesh under my fingers, still see her face, her hollow eyes staring up at me. She was as real as real gets, and we had lost her.”

 Loss is a recurring theme in the story. The girls’ father disappeared from their lives for years without explanation. Their mother died without warning. They are confronted with violent death, as well as a real threat of losing their father again as a murder investigation focuses on him. Sam is torn between her love for him and a distrust born of past experience. Ollie is battered by something no one else knows is happening—she sees the ghosts of the dead, following, clinging, whispering.

 I was captivated by this atmospheric story start to finish. There are moral dilemmas, secrets, lies, heartbreak, and trauma. Sam trying to protect her father by withholding evidence makes the case against him stronger. The girls sometimes are crazy reckless trying to prove their father’s innocence, but I understand the desperation and that kids learn as they go, making costly mistakes, as we all have done.

The ending doesn’t tell the reader what happens to all the players, but it doesn’t need to. What it does is deeply satisfying, bringing us back to family, love, and a special place where nature continues its cycle of renewal, as do the humans who dwell there.

 I can’t complete this little review without mentioning the bees. Sam helps her father care for his beloved hives and sell the golden honey, which sent me to my honey jar with a spoon more than once. (The Secret Life of Bees had the same effect on me.) All that talk of honey. “…warm and fresh from the hive when it tasted like all the best parts of summer melting sweet on your tongue.”

This story is going to stick with me. I highly recommend Crooked River for teens and adults. (Disclosure: I’ve never met Valerie in person, but I know her through blogging and Twitter)

We Were Liars is so true it hurts

I read We Were Liars two times, start to finish, within days. It's that good, that fascinating, that compelling.

I had read e. lockhart's The Disreputable History of Frankie Landau-Banks (a Printz Award Honor Book and finalist for the National Book Award) and fallen in love with her brilliant storytelling, so when the buzz started for We Were Liars I was excited. No disappointment here. This is another brilliant book--one that left me thinking about the multiple ways people can love and hurt each other, the deceit of behaving as expected, the emptiness of privilege, the danger of moral superiority.

This is one of those special books that is both entertaining and thought-provoking.

 We Were Liars takes place mostly on a private island owned by a super-wealthy, manipulative patriarch who summers there with his grasping daughters and fed-up grandchildren. What ought to be idyllic instead seethes with jealousy and desperation, leading to unbearable tragedy. But no more can be said about the plot, because it would be criminal to give away anything that will spoil it for the next reader. This story is a mystery, intricately crafted. In my second reading, I saw clues that could be taken in more than one way. The effect was I didn't see what was coming but accepted its authenticity when all was revealed. And it was so real it hurt to the marrow.

We Were Liars isn't a long book, nor is it heavy with description, but the description it delivers is crisp, fresh, and vivid.

 So here are some examples to show lockhart's style, which is simply stunning:

 (A beautifully-written, gripping couple of lines about abandonment and loss) The bright red shame of being unloved soaked the grass in front of our house, the bricks of the path, the steps to the porch. My heart spasmed among the peonies like a trout. 

(A snippet from the POV character, Cady, about herself) I own a well-used library card and not much else, though it is true I live in a grand house full of expensive, useless objects. 

 (Cady about her migraines following an accident she can't remember) Welcome to my skull. A truck is rolling over the bones of my neck and head. The vertebrae break, the brains pop and ooze. A thousand flashlights shine in my eyes. The world tilts. I throw up. I black out. This happens all the time. It's nothing but an ordinary day. 

(Cady's description of the first time she met Gat) His nose was dramatic, his mouth sweet. Skin deep brown, hair black and waving. Body wired with energy. Gat seemed spring-loaded. Like he was searching for something. He was contemplation and enthusiasm. Ambition and strong coffee. I could have looked at him forever.

 

Expanding horizons in reading

If you've been on Twitter, Tumblr, or other media in the last few days you've probably noticed #WeNeedDiverseBooks and #DiversifyYourShelves, a grassroots movement to increase diversity in books for children and teens.

I decided to go to an independent bookstore and ask a bookseller for suggestions to expand my (already crammed, I might add) shelves. She was great, taking time to not only point out books but talk about each one.

I bought some titles by authors I didn't know and added some by authors I did.

Among my new books is Matt de la Pena's The Living, a disaster-at-sea story with a protagonist from Otay Mesa near the border between Mexico and California. Shy is a towel boy, a water boy, on a cruise ship. His economic background is a world apart from the passengers, but he figures by summer's end he'll make enough to help out his mother, score some gear, and take a girl out.

I love his voice as he considers the last thing: He'd get a reservation at a nice spot, too. Cloth napkins. Some fine girl sitting across from him in the classy-ass booth. Maybe Jessica from the volleyball squad. Or Maria from down the street. All eyelashy smiles as whatever girl glances at him over her menu. "Get whatever you want," he'd tell her. "You ever had surf 'n' turf? For real, I got you." Yeah, he'd play it smooth like that.

Matt de la Pena is a fantastic speaker--funny, heart-breaking, and inspiring. I heard him at the SCBWI LA conference last summer. Using himself as a case study about finding your voice as a writer, he said he was told in second grade he couldn't advance because he couldn't read. He formed an opinion of himself as a bad student, but in high school he began writing poems because he liked the rhythm of language. Eventually, he got into a writing program. He said he decided not to worry about where he fit in but to just work his ass off.

His other books include Ball Don't Lie, Mexican WhiteBoy, We Were Here and I Will Save You.

In my pile o' new books is Bird in a Box by Andrea Davis Pinkney, who also spoke at SCBWI. Set in the 1930's, this novel features three kids looking for hope and finding it in a young Joe Louis, who had a chance to become the next heavyweight champion.

The rest of my new purchases: Crow by Barbara Wright, Fire in the Streets by Kekla Magoon, Saint Louis Armstrong Beach by Brenda Woods, Every Day by David Levithan. I also bought Shades of Earth by Beth Revis, the third book in a futuristic space trilogy, in which humans and society have become homogenized, an interesting concept.

Oh! and for my Kindle, I purchased Best Ramadan Ever by Medeia Sharif.

It will be impossible to remember all the diverse MG/YA books I've ever read but to mention a few I enjoyed: Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe by Benjamin Alire Saenz; Marie Lu's Legend series; Ash by Malinda Lo; Will Grayson, Will Grayson by John Green and David Levithan. Also I'm a big fan of Paolo Bacigalupi's teen and adult books. And Sherman Alexie!

In the slightly more adult category any book by Susan Straight is a cultural treasure.

Bringing back stories: Marilyn Cram Donahue

Marilyn Cram Donahue grew up in a family that cherished its history and storytelling. At gatherings she’d soak up tales of bear fights and Indian encounters, of flooding rivers and parched land, of deadly fevers and homemade remedies, of love found and loved ones lost, of painted ladies and gunslingers, of fields of wildflowers and snakes in the grass.

From this childhood Marilyn discovered that real history isn’t dates and facts. It’s people and how they face life and each other, and that’s how she writes historical fiction by creating characters real as a neighbor.

 Many of her family’s stories would later inspire her novels, including Straight Along a Crooked Road and The Valley In Between that have been out of print for years and have just been released as e-books (on sale as I post!).  These are what I might call quiet novels in today’s market of action-action-action, but these are characters to care about. I actually woke up dreaming about one of them and the predicament she was in.

 I’m going to mini-review them here, so I will also give a disclaimer. Marilyn is a friend. I was in her critique group for several years in California before I moved to Seattle. I miss her warm heart, sharp wit, and each new and wonderful story she imagines.

In the 1850s Marilyn’s ancestors made the arduous trip by wagon across the sprawling lands of North America to be among early settlers of farm country in Southern California. Her family planted the first orange groves in Highland nestled in the foothills of the San Bernardino Mountains. Marilyn stayed close to those roots, graduating from Pomona College and becoming a teacher and writer who has published more than thirty books and taught more than four hundred workshops and seminars.

Straight Along a Crooked Road, which was originally published in 1985 and is now released as an e-book, is the tale of a family leaving their Vermont home and driving a covered wagon past the Great Lakes, across the plains and its restless tribes, and over a scorching trail south through the Mojave Desert.

 While there have been many westward-ho stories what makes Marilyn’s special is her ability to bring characters alive, to show their faults and strengths, their pettiness and their nobility. It’s told through the perspective of fourteen-year-old Luanna Hamilton who loves Vermont so much she swears to never leave. Her father has other ideas, which not only tear her away from her best friend but from her dream of continuing her education.

 When a wagon train of people leave their homes for the unknown, there’s going to be friction. People argue. They make bad decisions. Some people aren’t just irritating they’re dangerous. One in particular makes Luanna’s skin crawl. Mine, too.

Since Marilyn aims for a middle-grade to young-adult audience, the scenes, even of death, are not graphic. Some readers may want things a little grittier, but these stories shouldn’t be too disturbing for even the youngest and most sensitive readers. They are certainly a great tool for teaching elementary and middle-grade students about migration, history, and changing societal customs and beliefs.  Discussion should be held on the place of women in this society and on attitudes about Indians and people of differing religious belief.

A good story needs humor, and this delivers, particularly through interaction between a lively bunch of characters.

The Valley In Between is a sequel to Straight Along a Crooked Road. Marilyn has used the tales handed down by her great-grandparents, as well as her own love of the land, to infuse the story of Emmie Hamilton, a headstrong thirteen-year-old and Luanna’s younger sister, discovering life in California where law and order is pretty much up for grabs.

 I hadn’t realized how far West the Civil War reached until Marilyn’s words brought home the chasm that developed between these pioneers, who had worked shoulder-to-shoulder to get their wagons and families to the golden land of California. But as the election arrived that would make Abraham Lincoln the country’s President, the division caused some secessionists to steal horses from neighbors so they could ride to Texas and join the Confederacy while other settlers requested Union soldiers for protection.

Marilyn deftly gives Emmie two beaus, one from the South and one from the North.

To give you a sense of how Marilyn masterfully weaves character and plot development with a sense of place, here is a snippet from an always outspoken great-aunt commenting on the unexpected arrival of a young man kicked off the wagon train for stealing: “It does seem fitting,” Aunt Clara muttered, after Belvidry had gone home, “that Tawny is blowing in on a Santa Ana. I never did see anything like a north wind for picking up trash and dumping it on the valley.”

Funny and painful, WINGER is a winner

I had to go for a long walk after I finished WINGER by Andrew Smith. I can’t say I was sucker-punched by the ending because I’d guessed what was coming. I was still gutted and distraught, because the characters are so real I felt like something terrible just happened to a friend.

And somewhere on our planet that terrible thing (I won’t give away the spoiler) has happened to someone’s friend, their loved one, and it will never be okay and we must never forget. I believe that books like WINGER matter. They can open eyes and hearts.

  But, that said, there’s a ton of witty, laugh-out-loud humor, love and hope in this story of a brilliant fourteen-year-old boy who is the youngest junior at a private boarding school for kids of very rich, too-busy parents. He’s been moved to the dorm for troublemakers, full of boys much bigger than he is. Some of them are dangerous, and some of them are his rugby teammates, who are tough, courageous and tight-knit.

The protagonist Ryan Dean is smart and cocky—this gets him into and out of trouble again and again. I loved him except when I sometimes wanted to yell at him, like his friend Joey does, to get his shit together.

His relationship with his best friend Annie is a perfectly penned story of young love—rocky, uncertain and pure despite Ryan Dean’s missteps. In one scene, he draws a Venn diagram (the book is sprinkled with his often hilarious drawings) to show Annie that he wishes people wouldn't always focus on what's outside the overlapping circles, which in his case is his age.

If you don’t like cussing or being in a teen boy’s head when his hormones are raging, this may not be the book for you. But I recommend it to anyone who likes storytelling that shakes up the world, that makes you both feel and think. The emotions and the consequences in this are very raw and very real. I have a feeling I won’t forget these characters for a long, long time. If ever.

Here are some writing samples. The first one is a tiny prologue. I’m not always a fan of prologues but I really like the set-up of this one:

Joey told me nothing ever goes back exactly the way it was, that things expand and contract—like breathing, but you could never fill your lungs up with the same air twice. He said some of the smartest things I ever heard, and he’s the only one of my friends who really tried to keep me on track too.

And I’ll be honest. I know exactly how hard that was.

*

It took about five minutes for me to unpack. That’s all. I didn’t have anything. Of course Chas wasn’t there. He’d be out goofing around with his friends, or sneaking off somewhere with Megan Renshaw, who I also thought was unendurably sexy, but not in a mature, Annie kind of way; it was more like an intimidating and scary female-cop-that-arrested-me-in-Boston way. But she was still hot. And, yes, I did get arrested in Boston when I was twelve. It’s what inspired my parents to enroll me in Pine Mountain Academy in the first place.

I know you’re going to ask, so I might as well tell you: It was for breaking into and trying to drive a T train.
*

In which I gush book love

SERAPHINA, you stole my heart (and a few hours of sleep).

Dragons to die for. Yes, this book has some of the most intriguing dragons ever written. But there is so much more. Rachel Hartman has written a smart, breathtaking, funny, poignant and fresh story with a heroine so full of heart she shines like a candle in the dark. And the love interest? His heart is just as huge.

 I read a lot of YA and some MG. Much of it is really good, but SERAPHINA is fabulous--a page-turner that has both substance and style. I hadn't been in a hurry to read this debut, expecting it to be a fun, lightweight fantasy that had something to do with dragons that I'd enjoy but not a story that would carry me off into an intriguingly developed and complex society.

What makes it so wonderful is the deeply-layered world building that includes cultural ramifications, such as religious beliefs and bigotries that feed into the political and personal landscapes. The main character, Seraphina, has something terrible and illegal to hide, but her astounding musical talent puts her in the spotlight and leads her into fascinating and dangerous territory.

Her father warns her to not draw attention to herself, never to play music in public, but when the flute soloist can't play at a state funeral, she has to. Here's her perspective as she sees the grieving royal family:

They needed Heaven's peace. I knew little of Saints, but I knew about sorrow and about music as sorrow's surest balm. That was comfort I could give. I raised the flute to my lips and my eyes toward the vaulted ceiling, and began to play.
I began too quietly, unsure of the melody, but the notes seemed to find me and my confidence grew. The music flew from me like a dove released into the vastness of the nave; the cathedral itself lent it new richness and gave something back, as if this glorious edifice, too, were my instrument.
There are melodies that speak as eloquently as words, that flow logically and inevitably from a single, pure emotion. The Invocation is of this kind, as if its composer had sought to distill the purest essence of mourning, to say, Here is what it is to lose someone.

In Seraphina's world there exists an unlikely truce between dragons and humans, but there are those on both sides who plot against it. Fear, distrust, resentment, hatred ripple through the population. Dragon-fighting knights of old have gone into exile, not willing to forget the wars they'd fought. Dragons, who can take human shape, walk among humans but they never are quite human enough, and are not trusted.

Along with the gripping tale, Hartman's writing soars and sings. Here's another sample of her style near the beginning of this 451-page novel:

He declined to tell me goodbye, as was his usual custom; he turned without a word and took off toward the cathedral. Its facade blazed red with the setting sun; Orma's retreating figure made a dark hatch mark against it. I watched until he disappeared around the end of the north transept, and then I watched the space where he had vanished.
I barely noticed loneliness anymore; it was my normal condition, by necessity if not by nature. After today's stresses, though, it weighed on me more than usual. Orma knew everything about me, but he was a dragon. On a good day, he was friend enough. On a bad day, running into his inadequacy was like tripping up the stairs. It hurt, but it felt like my own fault.
Still, he was all I had.

The sky is everywhere, oh yes

I wouldn't cope well with the crap we all step in from time to time if it weren't for this world giving me stunners like this:

When nature is glorious my spirit soars. I put my feet in the sea, reach for the sky and drag in the air. Have you ever gone flying in your dreams? It feels so right. Like we somehow in daily life forget how natural it is to let go and just be.

And, yes, I titled this post using a phrase that popped in my head but is also the title of a brilliant novel by Jandy Nelson. I'd reviewed it some time ago but never forgot the story of a girl upended by grief at the sudden death of her sister. Here's the unforgettable last line of the first chapter: It's as if someone vacuumed up the horizon while we were looking the other way. I know that empty, lost feeling too well. I think I need to read the book again, to remember how this story, which is also funny and passionate, never forgets the grief but discovers purpose--a place to flourish in this world.

We've all been buried by grief. We've all cowered from our demons or learned to stand up to them. We've all been betrayed by someone we trusted. We've all lost confidence at one time or another. Or, at least, I believe these things are universal.

But there is healing. There is beauty. There is hope.

The sky is everywhere.