Book Review - Nowhere Girl, by A. J. Paquette

As I was walking through the exhibit floor at ALA Annual, I chanced to pick up an advance reader’s copy for a children’s book that had some very nice art on the cover, a definite rarity for ARCs. I browsed through the blurbs, and discovered that this particular children’s book is about a girl who grew up in a Thai women’s prison.

I dare you to say no to a children’s book set in a Thai women’s prison. If you say you aren’t interested in how that turns out, you’re a filthy liar.

Naturally, being a children’s book, this story isn’t as eyebrow-raising as one might fear/hope. It’s actually a sweet little parable, set against a very memorable backdrop. Luchi Ann was born behind the bars of the prison, tucked away in the Thai hinterlands and far removed from any semblance of civilization. It is the only home she has ever known, and has always brought here a naïve, sheltered form of comfort. After her mother unexpectedly dies, however, Luchi is propelled into the outside world, more lonely and vulnerable than she has ever been. With only the name and address of an American who might be her grandmother, Luchi must somehow find her way back to a home she’s never known. However, the secrets that sent her mother to prison in the first place may come back to claim her.

While the initial setup and opening chapters of this book are compelling, it doesn’t really have a solid finish. The story starts to come apart about halfway through, and ends with a climax and some drawing-room revelations that are somewhat absurd. The plot works, but the various resolutions to Luchi’s obstacles are too convenient, and overly saccharine. The unique premise and shallow execution make for a story that’s a little hard to take seriously, despite its earnestness. In fact, its earnestness occasionally gets in the way, too, with pages of overwrought internal dialogue and paragraphs of exposition that routinely go purple.

But of course, that’s coming from an adult reader. None of this should present a problem for the school-age readers for which the book is meant. Further, Paquette has a gift for setting; her depictions of Thailand are lyrical and vivid, and even the somewhat unbelievable section describing Luchi's boat trip had me interested enough to look up more information on freighter travel. The story itself has an interesting and likeable protagonist, a carefully constructed theme, and a taste of suspenseful danger without being too intense for the target age range.

Overall: a mediocre but solid book. I wasn’t very excited about it personally, but I wouldn’t hesitate to recommend this to a young reader who is looking for a travel story, drama, or a book about Asian cultures.

Verdict: 3 / 5

Book Review - The Future of Us, by Jay Asher and Carolyn Mackler

This kind of book is not my usual choice, but I had the good fortune to meet the authors and get an autographed advance reader’s copy. Turns out, this is right up my alley, and I just didn’t know it yet. While not particularly profound, it is a quick, smart, and satisfying read.

This book’s concept is largely unchanged from the random conversation between the authors that I’m sure it came from. It’s 1996, and Emma’s best friend Josh comes over with one of those America Online CD-ROMs we all once got in the mail and promptly put in the microwave for their pyrotechnic value. Or, you know, used them as coasters, or whatever the rest of you did with them. Anyway, as Emma prepares to venture into the Interwebs, she notices a blue-and-white login box. Thinking this part of AOL, she enters her password again, which leads her to some strange website called Facebook. Further exploration with Josh reveals what seem to be versions of themselves from fifteen years in the future, with everything one would expect from a Facebook page: photos, banal status updates and... naturally... relationship status. Suddenly endowed with the ability to know her future and take steps to change it, Emma begins fiddling with her own future based on the scraps of info she can pull from her future self’s Facebook wall. Josh, on the other hand, fears what such meddling could do to their lives, both in the future and in the here-and-now.

This book grabbed me for a very specific reason. I am 31 years old, and therefore was the exact same age as these characters at the exact time it takes place. It’s like a cultural love letter to my youth. Furthermore, I spent the nineties dealing with the unrequited love of a close friend or two (as I imagine many of you have, as well), so I found the dynamic between Emma and Josh painfully realistic. My personal biases aside, though, this is a pretty neat story. Time-travel stories are fraught with peril, in that they invite science nerds to point out everything logistically wrong with them, but this one is believable. It keeps the “how” vague, because honestly, “how” doesn’t matter. The characters matter, and this story stays focused on them, with split-perspective narration between Emma and Josh that works well and keeps the book moving. There is a strong theme of not being so caught up in tomorrow that you neglect today, but it’s a theme that is inherent and not delivered heavy-handedly. This is a book that’s easy to get caught up in; I devoured it relatively quickly.

The only problem I had with the book has to do with the same reason it resonated so easily with me. I’m not entirely sure what the audience is for this book. Because it’s marketed as YA, it has to do some heavy lifting in terms of setting. Today’s teens don’t remember the 90s, and so there are constant shoutouts to the fads and pop culture of the time. Some of this works (the music, in particular), but most of it feels awkward and gratuitous, and makes the time-travel aspect seem a little gimmicky. On the other hand, while The Future of Us is tailor-made for those of us who actually grew up in the 90s, it doesn’t quite go deep enough to tap into that thirty-something sensibility. There are a couple of great scenes in the book that show how mutable the future is, but instead of really throwing a curveball like it could have, the story ends on a tidy, sweet, and predictable note. Honestly, I think Asher and Mackler could have done a lot more with this story (with everything about it intact) if they had aimed it at adults instead of the YA market.

But for what it is, it’s fantastic. This is a quirky little romance that’s perfect for socially networked teens, and it’s a cultural paean to those of us who actually got those CD-ROMs in the mail, once upon a time.

Verdict: 4 / 5

Book Review - Glow, by Amy Kathleen Ryan

This is definitely a case of the right book hitting me at the right time. I’m currently neck-deep in an addiction to the video game Mass Effect 2, which has precipitated a definite sci-fi jag in my entertainment tastes. This rich little dollop of YA sci-fi, which I got to read as an advance reader's copy and will be published in September, is just what I was looking for. It had a couple of procedural issues, which kind of makes me want to knock a point off depending on my mood, but this is a great start to what promises to be a fun series.

The first volume of the Sky Chasers series introduces Kieran Alden and Waverly Marshall, a young couple aboard a huge starship called the Empyrean. The Empyrean and its sister ship, the New Horizon, left an ailing Earth over forty years ago, carrying the hope of creating a new world and saving the human species from extinction. Kieran, being the first baby born to the original Empyrean crew and an all-around golden boy, is first in line for the ship’s captaincy. Everyone expects that he and Waverly will get married, and she does love him, but she has her doubts about whether she really wants to marry him, or if she is merely succumbing under the moral imperative to procreate. Her realtively sedate troubles are violently interrupted by the appearance of the New Horizon, which is supposed to be years ahead of them. An unexpected turn of events separates Waverly and the other Empyrean girls from everyone they’ve ever known, where they must find a way to escape a desperate captivity that is insidiously disguised by good intentions and comforting lies. Meanwhile, Kieran finds his capacity for leadership truly tested, when Seth Ardvale, a rival for Waverly’s affections, decides that Kieran isn’t fit to lead. Facing an increasingly dangerous mutiny and with no adults available to step in and take charge, Kieran is forged into a leader that might save them all, or might take them further down the path to annihilation.

So, I need to address two things right away. First, more and more teen books have characters with names like Kieran, Waverly, Brayden, Madison, et cetera, and my irritation with this is proof that I’m officially getting old. Second, I really wish everybody would stop trying to market new books as “The Next” version of whatever recently made piles of money. Yes, this actually is a fantastic readalike for The Hunger Games, but it doesn’t change the fact that repeatedly bleating “OMG THE NEXT HUNGER GAMES” is marketing at its most crass, and it makes my eyes twitch.

Okay, with that out of the way: this is solid sci-fi, and a fantastic teen book. It definitely places more emphasis on action and character development than it does on space and starships, but it does what it does very well. Of particular note is the interesting way in which it handles religion. A few chapters in, I was ready to dismiss this one as another version of the same story I’ve read plenty of times: religion bad. Being no fan of religious fundamentalism myself, I’m pretty okay with that, but it’s a somewhat tired trope. But then Ryan pulled the rug out from under me: secularism bad, religion good? Wait, no, religion still bad, maybe? Turns out, religion and secularism in this book’s universe are as good or as bad as their adherents. Gee, what a concept. And this not only makes for intriguing character motivations, but deftly sets up the framework and dominant theme for the rest of the books in the series. This, more than anything else, has me excited about how the next books will turn out.

The only problem I had with this book is that it had a whole lot of story tell in a fairly short amount of time. Like I said above, Glow is action-packed, and things move along briskly and with satisfying tension. Trouble is, the story occurs over several months, and it’s somewhat disorienting trying to reconcile the dialed-up pace with the apparently missing chunks of story time. The problem is exacerbated by the split in the narrative; once Waverly and Kieran are separated, the book follows their individual stories in different chapters. Each story could conceivably have its own novel-length treatment, but they are combined into a slim multithreaded plot in which they chronologically overlap. The process leaves certain elements feeling unexplored, or even artificially rushed.

The book also ends with a massive cliffhanger, making no bones about being the first part of a series. However, the two story halves each get a respectable climax, and the cliffhanger comes at the end of some dramatic falling action, letting Glow stand alone quite well. I think there are a few too many things to pick at to call Glow a complete success, but I personally loved it. The story is exciting and satisfying, the setting is a fresh take on a familiar concept, and the utopian themes and realistic motivations are a breath of fresh air in an expanding field of teen sci-fi where the bad guys are bad because they’re just bad, man, and it’s up to the teenagers to make everything all right.

That, I think is my favorite thing about this book: it isn’t at all clear who “the good guys” are, or what the best course of action for the teen protagonists is.

Verdict: 5 / 5

Book Review - The Maltese Falcon, by Dashiell Hammett

I first read this book for a class in high school, and remember being completely enamored of it. Rereading after an intervening fifteen years of reading experience has given depth to that appreciation. Immediately after finishing, I left the book nonplussed and somewhat unimpressed. After thinking about the story for a day or two, though, I’m in love all over again.

The Maltese Falcon is an essential detective novel and, along with Raymond Chandler’s works, a hallowed progenitor of the hardboiled genre. For those that haven’t already seen Humphrey Bogart’s turn as Sam Spade, I don’t want to ruin any part of the tangled, complex mystery, because all of the fun in this story is in trying to make your way through its moving parts. Let’s just say it starts how you would expect: sullen, sarcastic private eye Sam Spade sits in his office, flirting with his secretary and shooting the breeze with his somewhat oafish partner, when the dame walked in. It started as a simple case, tailing a shady character in order to track down his beautiful client’s sister, but things get complicated quick, and people end up dead. Soon, a host of shady characters are calling on Spade, offering him vast sums of money in exchange for a mysterious black statue that one of them likely already has. Meanwhile, Spade’s acquaintances in law enforcement are increasingly suspecting him of foul play, and his client seems to shift her allegiances whenever the wind changes. Using only his wits and his cool, Spade has to get to the bottom of things without getting wrapped up in them himself... hopefully ending up with a pocket full of cash, to boot.

I finally realized why I had to think about this one for a bit before reaffirming that I love it: Hammett leaves a huge amount of subtext up to the reader to decode. The story is classic noir, and reads just like watching a noir film. In fact, there are no internal monologues, omniscient narrations, or transcriptions of character thoughts. Everything is in the dialogue, and it’s up to the reader to determine what the characters are thinking, which is easy sometimes, but intriguingly impossible much more often. And man, what dialogue it is. Hammett’s writing is whip-smart, and the snappy patter never lets up. Sam Spade, in particular, is a bottomless pit of cool. He’s got a line for everything and everyone, and he never sounds trite or overdone, despite being the literal template for every booze-soaked, cigarette-rolling, skirt-chasing private dick since. He is the best kind of detective to read: the guy that always gets his man, but is quick to acknowledge that he’s always out for number one and never quite clear on just how corrupt he may or may not be.

The other characters in the story are considerably more stereotypical; they fit their assigned roles and play their assigned parts. Again, though, the beauty of Hammett’s writing makes them stand out, in that nobody’s motivations are ever revealed, and the reader only gets a glimpse of what’s really going on. This carries through to the plot, in that while Spade eventually solves one mystery, there are plenty of questions that go unanswered. This isn’t a tidy drawing-room mystery. This is a crime story mixed with an intrigue tale, and it's delightfully messy.

The 1941 film is probably the version of this story that most are familiar with, and rightly so, considering that it’s one of the best films ever made. But Hammett’s original story is a must-read, especially if you like detective fiction or film noir but haven’t yet seen Bogie do Spade. There’s a certain kitsch factor at work, considering that the book will fulfill every last expectation you might have of a book about a hardboiled private eye and the femme fatale that showed up at his doorstep one evening. But having those expectations fulfilled is the best part about this classic.

Verdict: 5 / 5

Book Review - The Wise Man's Fear, by Patrick Rothfuss

I don’t understand how you do it, Patrick Rothfuss. I can’t stop reading your ridiculous fucking books.

The Kingkiller Chronicle books are getting a fair amount of buzz, and well they should. They are epic fantasy in the classic vein: young boy with roughshod background turns out to be The Hero, and goes on a Hero’s Journey in preparation for a much-foreshadowed confrontation with evil forces. It’s time-tested comfort food for fantasy readers. Moreover, Rothfuss is a fantastic author. As I mentioned in my review for The Name of the Wind, he can turn a phrase like few others can. He writes characters and scenes so well that I didn’t particularly care that Kvothe is an obnoxious, smug little Mary Sue with unearthly good luck, or that The Wise Man’s Fear doesn’t have any recognizable climactic action or, for that matter, any story structure at all. I was too busy turning pages to find out what happened next. Well, that’s not entirely true; I did care. A lot. But I was ravenously turning pages anyway. Seriously, I have no idea what to think about this one.

Again, this book doesn’t really have a cohesive story to summarize, being largely an extension of the first book: Kvothe the innkeeper sitting with the Chronicler and relating the continuing adventures of Young Kvothe. The best way to synopsize this book is to consider it a road novel. After a meandering introduction of Kvothe continuing to be the best at everything while at the University in Imre, his quest to find out more about the Chandrian and avenge his family’s murders leads him away from his new home and out across the known boundaries of the world. Now, in theory, this is the perfect next step for developing Kvothe’s character and moving the story along. It works in practice, for the most part. Most of Kvothe’s adventures are compelling, even if they usually result in him growing more as a legendary badass than as a fully developed character. But each fun, well-written part is balanced out by something completely ludicrous. I honestly felt disoriented after finishing this one, trying to decide if I loved it or loathed it. Spoilers ahoy, so skip to the end if you don't want to know some of the major plot points.

When Kvothe first leaves the University, he ends up in the court of a foreign ruler (known colloquially as the Maer), tasked with navigating the intrigues of the local nobility and getting into the Maer’s good graces. He does this by foiling a long-game assassination attempt due to his exceptional powers of observation, and by playing Cyrano de Bergerac to woo the ruler’s lady love for him, which is naturally a cakewalk due to him being the Best Musician Ever. This would all be just fine (especially considering the hints throughout the book concerning just who the Maer’s lover is), if one could forget for the barest moment that Kvothe is sixteen years old. One star.

Kvothe then ends up on an expedition in the wild as the leader of a mercenary band. Since, you know, if I were a powerful noble, I would definitely put a sixteen-year-old in charge of a mercenary band. This part, however, is the strongest section of the book. Kvothe’s struggle to maintain his position amidst battle-hardened sellswords is actually interesting and believable, and the conclusion of their mission (which is the closest thing to a climax that this book has, even though it’s a little past the halfway mark) is tense and has interesting implications for the larger story. Five stars!

Then, there’s Felurian. The Felurian part. I just... I don’t even... I mean...

Okay, the Felurian part. So, this is foreshadowed since the blurb on the first book: "I spent the night with Felurian and left with both my sanity and my life." Apparently, Felurian is a faerie spirit that is essentially an avatar of sexual desire. Capricious and seductive, she lures men into her domain for no reason other than her own desire and relatively innocent curiosity, but the awesome sexiness of her otherworldly sexitude is too much for a mortal man. Those who don’t suffer a massive coronary from the vigor of her faerie sex are left broken husks, spending the rest of their short lives pining for her after her curiosity and lust are sated. Kvothe, the sixteen-year-old virgin, stumbles into Felurian, and of course, she can't help but sex him up. But Kvothe the sixteen-year-old virgin has sexy sexitude powers of his own! He is so naturally gifted at the sexing that Felurian, the faerie spirit of lust, can’t get enough of his sexy sex. There’s still the problem of escaping her domain, but Kvothe manages that by once again being the Best Musician Ever. But Felurian decides that she won’t let her boy-pet back into the mortal world if he’s not the Best Sex Machine Ever, in addition to everything else, so she spends forty pages teaching him the secret faerie arts of sex wizardry. Seriously. Literally thousands of techniques are apparently imparted, with mysteriously sexy names like “Ivy Climbs the Love Tower” and “Rhino Fondles the Pomegranate,” or whatever. I mean... really? Zero stars, plus an additional penalty for squandering what could have been a fantastic goddamned story opportunity.

Here’s the thing: I could see how this would actually be a cool moment in the book. For all of Kvothe’s skill at everything he touches, Rothfuss has taken pains to depict him as woefully inept when it comes to romance. This could have been made a central point as to why his encounter with Felurian went as it did, especially considering that he manages, just for a brief moment, to master the art of Naming while in her domain. Something could have been made about the state of mind that sexual bliss encourages, especially to those that don’t already have preconceived notions about what it is, and this huge chunk of aimless titillation could have had a point. Instead, Kvothe lounges around naked and marvels at how he can’t remember how many times he’s grabbed Felurian’s breasts, or how much honeyed bread he’s eaten. Deep, man.

Anyway, that steaming ladleful of stupid is balanced out by one of the most intriguing scenes in either of the Kingkiller books: Kvothe’s encounter with a malicious faerie deity that calls into question everything he’s ever done from that point on, and implies that he may be doomed no matter what he does. My imagination is still reeling after reading it. After he escapes from Felurian, he ends up in the homeland of the stoic Adem mercenaries, and spends some time learning their ways. It’s a solid bit of world-building that honestly could have used its own novel-length exploration, but it really is a joy to read. Eight stars, and a demand for a side-project book about the Adem!

And then you once again remember that Kvothe is sixteen frigging years old, and accomplished more in a couple of months than any of the Adem did in years. That knowledge is stuck firm in your mind as you read about his encounter with a group of bandits that had kidnapped some farm girls and subjected them to days of rape and humiliation. By this point, it’s a forgone conclusion that Kvothe will save the day, but the revelation of him being the Best Consoler of Rape Victims Ever is just a bit too much to take. One of the girls had retreated inward after her brutal ordeal, and Kvothe manages to bring her around again just by being awesome. Okay, that’s easy enough to accept, I guess. But near the end of this vignette, the apex of this girl’s anger, shame, and helplessness is expressed thusly: “I hate men!” To which Kvothe deftly responds, “I’m a man too. We’re not all like that.” I’m not sure whether to be aghast at the author’s indelicate, crass handling of such a poignant and potentially provocative scenario, or appalled at how Kvothe is apparently still considered the most smooth-talking ladies' man ever to rescue a damsel after such a clumsy, boorish response. Either way, I have no earthly idea what this whole section is even doing in the book in the first place, as it doesn’t add a single bloody thing to the story. Negative fifty stars, and I want Patrick Rothfuss’s lunch money.

Sigh. I just don’t know. The thing is, there is justification for these problems right there in the text, because once again, Rothfuss is fundamentally a good writer. We have a classic case of an unreliable narrator, expounding on a theme of history and mythology being largely indistinguishable. We have a story framework that revolves around a broken, defeated man, who may have been marked for tragedy from the outset and who is obviously consumed by regret at the folly of his youthful arrogance, as the ritually repeated prologues and epilogues make clear (by the way, after the fourth time you read one of those florid passages, they start to become irritating). Both point to glimpses of a larger theme, and a purpose to everything that doesn’t currently make sense. Both also make me feel as if I’m being an apologist for a thousand pages of masturbatory author wish-fulfillment.

I can’t get around the fact that I really liked reading this book, and though I was frequently outraged, I was never bored. I would definitely recommend this to fantasy readers, and it decidedly belongs in the “must-read” pantheon for the genre. As for myself, though, I can’t decide between giving it a completely non-scientific five stars for being fun, smart, and readable despite its flaws, or an angry one star for the brazen, sustained assaults on my suspension of disbelief. You’re all duly warned, I guess, so I’ll split the difference with three stars.

This must be how Twilight fans with any remaining sense of shame feel.

Verdict: 3 / 5, I guess.

Graphic Novel Review - Astonishing X-Men Vol. 2: Dangerous, by Joss Whedon and John Cassaday

More hilarious snark! More fantastic artwork! The second volume of Whedon and Cassaday’s run on Astonishing X-Men is as good as the first in terms of story, characterization, and artwork, though it is perhaps not quite as accessible to new X-Men readers as the first volume. Thankfully, I’ve got enough background knowledge on the X-universe that it didn’t slow me down at all.

This volume breaks away from the story arc established in the first. Ord, the Breakworld, S.W.O.R.D., and the ominous prophecy of interdimensional warfare are all present, but referenced only briefly. Instead, this volume heads back to the mansion. With Colossus back from the dead and back on the team, the X-Men continue to try and find their place as protectors and heroes. However, an unexpected death caused by the events in the first volume force the team to circle the wagons, as an unknown force attacks their weakest point: the students at Xavier’s school. It is no coincidence that the assault takes place in the Danger Room, a holographic combat simulator in the heart of the mansion; as the X-Men learn more about the Danger Room’s true programming, the real target of the attack slowly becomes clear. Meanwhile, an old enemy bides their time in the background, and the motives of Emma Frost become murkier.

All of the best bits of the first volume are still in evidence here, but the new direction that this story arc takes can be a little jarring. Since I am reading this as a graphic novel, I am trying to approach reviewing it from a standalone perspective, and weigh its merits based on how it reads without an encyclopedic knowledge of X-Men lore (because, let’s face it, if you are already a fan of the title like I am, it’s all gravy). From that perspective, there are few oddities in this second arc. Much was made about Professor Xavier’s absence, and Scott Summers’ struggle under the burden of leadership without him. Okay, well, turns out he’s in Genosha (and let’s take a moment to say WOOOO BACK TO GENOSHA), and once everyone finds him, there doesn’t seem to be much of a revelatory moment.

“Oh, hey professor. Good to see you. We're not really curious at all about why you're her, so allow us to pour some of our angst on you.”

So, it wasn’t a big deal he was gone, after all? Nobody wonders what he was doing in Genosha, or why was he gone at all, exactly? What huh?

There are a few other things here that might confound newbie readers. I was excited to see some obvious references to the Shi’ar, but that’s some pretty inside stuff. Same with the big cliffhanger reveal at the end of the volume, though that will definitely become clearer in due time. And as cool as this story arc is, I’m not entirely sure how it connects to the first volume, other than the oblique references I mentioned before.

Thankfully, there’s enough surplus awesome in these pages to encourage forgiveness. An early cameo from another superhero team was a pleasant surprise. Beast and Shadowcat are more hardcore here than I’ve seen in a long while. The twist and cliffhanger at the end raises the bar for the larger story considerably, even if you don’t know who or what it refers to. And I once again have to hand it to Whedon’s writing: Logan’s three-word internal monologue in the introspective first chapter of the volume was hilariously perfect.

This is still a solid comic run, even if I didn’t quite geek out as much for this volume as I did for the first one. It’s a perfect introduction to the X-Men comics, and a smart and satisfying read for established fans. I almost feel ready to immerse myself in the more esoteric X-stuff again.

Verdict: 4 / 5

Book Review - Dark Parties, by Sara Grant

Dystopias are where it’s at in YA, these days. I personally think the upswing started well before Hunger Games, but that series definitely made it clear that the kids are into perfect societies that are built on the suffering of their people, especially the young and attractive ones. Being an avowed fan of the genre for many years myself (I still insist that Orwell, Bradbury, and Huxley are required reading for just about everybody), I find myself surprisingly wary of this trend. The more dystopia tales that crowd the shelves, the less power they have, especially when it comes to doing their job by pointing out the parallels to events in real life. Maybe that’s why I couldn’t quite summon the excitement that this book probably warrants; it’s a solid YA sci-fi drama, but it didn’t really offer me anything I hadn’t seen before, and didn’t seem all that subtle or clever compared to its forebearers.

The book’s protagonist, Neva, lives in a country simply called Homeland that exists under a giant electrified dome known as the Protectosphere, which isolates them from the supposed aftermath of a widespread cataclysm. Hers is a country of stagnation; everybody looks the same due to generations of inbreeding. Homeland’s goods and technologies are slowly decaying, and even their population is on the decline, with young adults being desperately urged to pair off and procreate. Most disturbing are the disappearances, with more and more people (including Neva’s grandmother) simply vanishing and everyone else acting as if they never existed at all. Neva and her friends chafe underneath the increasingly draconian government, fearing that there will be no future for them, and resolve to do... something. That part isn’t really that clear, to the characters or to the reader, but it definitely involves civil disobedience of some sort. Neva’s first stab at defiance brings the full attention of Homeland on her, and she risks the safety of both her well-connected family and her loyal friends as she attempts to discover what has become of the missing.

The thing is, all of the Neva’s mysteries are crystal clear to the reader, for the most part. Isolated society. Rebellious grandmother suddenly disappearing. Big Brother attempting to manufacture happiness and patriotism. It becomes clear pretty early on that the Homeland government is up to something, so most of the book has the reader waiting for Neva to discover and catch on to what’s happening. There are some grim, exciting twists on the way, most notably when Neva explores the Women’s Empowerment Center, but for the most part the reader knows what’s going on well before Neva does.

On the other hand, I found the interpersonal aspect of the novel to be surprisingly believable, considering the book’s audience. The book gets its title from a gathering in the first chapter: a makeout party in a dark room that Neva and her best friend Sanna use as a cover to incite their fledging revolt. Neva shares a sudden, passionate kiss in the dark with Sanna’s boyfriend, Braydon, who she never really liked or trusted before. After the dark party, though, she can’t stop thinking about him, to the point of risking both her friendship with Sanna and her success in foiling her pursuers and striking against the government. Some may find that romance shallow and carnal, and, well, that’s because it is. Sanna’s deteriorating relationship with a longtime boyfriend she no longer loves, and her sudden lust for a boy she doesn’t know but loves to kiss, sounds like an authentic teenage experience to me. Moreover, the consequences from those decisions ripple out to affect the plot in meaningful ways.

As for the rest, though... eh. Again, I couldn’t really get worked up about this one, for some reason. I think my problem is that, other than the relationship aspect, nothing really has any subtlety. Grant drops some anvil-sized hints about the nature of Homeland and the Protectosphere throughout the story, which takes the edge off of the suspense. And though there’s nothing wrong with using familiar dystopia themes and tropes, they are used rather clumsily here. For example, one of the overriding themes in Dark Parties is the physical similarity of Homeland's citizens, and how it is a small act of rebellion to use “identity marks” (temporary or permanent tattoos) to establish oneself as an individual. Neva, whose name means “snow” in Latin, has a tattoo on her hip of a snowflake. That’s because her beloved grandma named her, and always called her that, and gave her a snowflake pendant that she always wears. Which is why there’s a big neon snowflake on the cover, you see. So naturally, it’s a huge revelation when someone actually tells Neva near the end of the book that she is unique and special like a snowflake. OMG I SEE WHAT YOU DID THERE IT ALL MAKES SENSE NOW.

Which is not to say that this is a bad book. It’s actually a pretty decent book. The characters are good, the action is tightly plotted, and there’s a nice mix of sinister ennui and defiant hope sprinkled throughout. I think I’m just spoiled by my own expectations. This ends on a cliffhanger, so there’s obviously a sequel coming; I’m curious as to what happens next, but not really drawn in enough to be anxious about it. I’d label this a good primer for YA dystopias. There are better out there, but this is a good introduction to the genre, and worth reading for dedicated dystopia fans or for readers looking for a tale about emotion fighting against oppression.

Verdict: 2.5 / 5