Teen Booklist: They Love Me, They Love Me Not

Being a teen librarian, I try to keep an interesting display up in my teen area all the time, and refresh it on a regular basis. The themes of those displays are often tied to whatever holiday or special event is going on that month, but often times I just decide to feature a specific genre, format, or type of book. Though I read a lot, I feel like I’ve never read enough for putting these thematic displays up, and often scour places like YALSA-BK and librarian blogs for booklist and display ideas. Because I’ve found them so helpful, I figure I’d share my own booklists, in case someone else stumbles upon them and finds them helpful, as well. It’s important to note, though, that my booklists are not meant to be definitive; they are composed of whatever books I had on my shelf at the time the display was running. Thus, they often omit the popular books that are always checked out, but might include more obscure stuff that someone might not initially think of.

They Love Me…
For February, I ran a two shelf display on love and romance. The first shelf was a list of romance as we traditionally think of it, geared towards teen readers: tumultuous tales of passion, meet-cutes, getting the girl, and other stories that end with some kind of warm fuzzy, tingly thrill, or maybe even some cathartic weepiness.

• Flavor of the Week, by Tucker Shaw
• Scarlett Fever, by Maureen Johnson
• Amy & Roger’s Epic Detour, by Morgan Matson
• Something Like Fate, by Susane Colasanti
• A Love Story Starring My Dead Best Friend, by Emily Horner
• The Princess and the Snowbird, by Mette Ivie Harrison
• Accidental Love, by Gary Soto
• My Most Excellent Year, by Steve Kluger
• Evermore, by Alyson Noël
• Saving Juliet, by Suzanne Selfors
• The Sky is Everywhere, by Jandy Nelson
• Vibes, by Amy Kathleen Ryan
• Flipped, by Wendelin Van Draanen
• Dizzy in Your Eyes: Poems About Love, by Pat Mora
• Kissing the Bee, by Kathe Koja
• View from the Top, by Hillary Frank
• Jane Eyre: The Graphic Novel, by Charlotte Brontë, adapted by Amy Corzine
• Pride and Prejudice, by Jane Austen
• Something, Maybe, by Elizabeth Scott

…They Love Me Not
The second shelf was the Anti-Valentine shelf, which is quickly becoming a tradition, it seems. These books are about relationships gone wrong, from light-hearted mix-ups and sober parables about growing up and finding oneself to sad tales of self-destruction and fearful, sinister examinations of where bad love can lead. Unsurprisingly, these books moved as quickly as the happy endings did. This is a list to pay attention to, though, because hyping them as "love gone wrong" books can be kind of spoiler-y for some of them, depending on how sensitive you want to be to that sort of thing.

• Girls for Breakfast, by David Yoo
• No More Us for You, by David Hernandez
• Blue Plate Special, by Michelle D. Kwasney
• Playing with Matches, by Brian Katcher
• The Breakup Bible, by Melissa Kantor
• Heart’s Delight, by Per Nilsson
• Someday This Pain Will Be Useful to You, by Peter Cameron
• Keep Sweet, by Michele Dominguez Greene
• Leaving Paradise, by Simone Elkeles
• The Disreputable History of Frankie Landau-Banks, by E. Lockhart
• Addicted to Her, by Janet Nichols Lynch
• I Know It's Over, by C.K. Kelly Martin  
• Anatomy of a Boyfriend, by Daria Snadowsky
• I Now Pronounce You Someone Else, by Erin McCahan
• Exposed, by Susan Vaught
• Boy Minus Girl, by Richard Uhlig
• Tips on Having a Gay (ex) Boyfriend, by Carrie Jones
• Hard Love, by Ellen Wittlinger
• Twisted, by Laurie Halse Anderson
• Breaking Up is Hard to Do, by Niki Burnham, Lynda Sandoval, and Terri Clark
• Dark Secrets, by Anne E. Schraff
• He's Just Not That Into You, by Greg Behrendt and Liz Tuccillo
• Story of a Girl, by Sara Zarr
• How It's Done, by Christine Kole MacLean

Graphic Novel Review - Serenity: The Shepherd's Tale, by Joss and Zack Whedon

I've been jonesing to rewatch my Firefly box set, and I decided to whet my appetite by buying and reading this graphic novel, a long-awaited backstory for the mysterious Shepherd Book. I was so excited that I even let it mellow on my shelf for a while, building a nice head of anticipation. I think that might have been a mistake, because I finished this ultra-short story with a distinct sense of feeling underwhelmed.

The approach is actually quite interesting. The story begins with Book's final moments as we remember them: going down fighting on the planet Haven. After an introductory internal monologue, the tale uses key phrases to jump back in time, visiting crucial moments in Book's life that explain who he is, where he came from, and how he came to be the man he is.

And there's the rub; we learn just about everything there is to know about him. Alliance connection? Check. Decidedly un-Christian fighting skill? Check. We even get a few tantalizing glimpses at deeper mysteries we didn't know about, only to have them summarily explained, as well. This seems to be an odd thing to complain about, but at under 60 pages, Shepherd's Tale is a lightning quick read. To have that much about Firefly's most enigmatic character explained so rapidly... well, the whole thing feels a bit hurried and impersonal. Like, hey, remember all those questions we had about Book? Here are the answers. The end!

There's still a lot to like about it, especially for Firefly fans. I get the feeling that this graphic novel is much too perfunctory for the non-Browncoat crowd, though. There's a lot of meat, but it's definitely information overload if you aren't already familiar with the Firefly setting, and the gist of the story is fairly standard: redemption of a man circling the drain. I liked this book, but I think it's more of a supplementary volume than an actual standalone story.

Verdict: 3 / 5

Book Review: Magyk (Septimus Heap #1), by Angie Sage

I see the Septimus Heap books often mentioned in lists of must-read YA series, and considering what a hit the Harry Potter series was with me, I figured I couldn’t go wrong with another boy wizard. Magyk is strong in some respects, and fails in others; most notably, it doesn’t really have the kind of crossover appeal that adult readers are coming to expect from books that are ostensibly for “young adults.” However, that’s not at all a bad thing, and not even that surprising, considering that the book is definitely aimed at children rather than at teens. Magyk’s lighthearted charm makes it a fun read, and a perfect book for young readers.

Magyk is the first book in the Septimus Heap series, but Septimus himself doesn’t really play much of a role. Well, he does, but the reader doesn’t find out how until the last few pages. Instead, the book focuses on the travails of the Heap family, a large and somewhat goofy clan of wizards that live in the cozy warrens of a sprawling castle complex. A violent upheaval in the ExtraOrdinary Wizard’s tower reveals the true heritage of the Heaps’ adopted daughter, Jenna, and they are forced to flee to the nearby marshes, pursued by the necromancer DomDaniel. Accompanied by the usurped ExtraOrdinary Wizard Marcia Overstrand, along with a hapless hostage from DomDaniel’s Young Army, the Heaps hide out on a pastoral marsh island while considering their next move. But as Marcia fights to return to the tower, Jenna and the boy from the Young Army discover the beginnings of their own destinies hidden beneath the marsh.

The story is straightforward and unpretentious. This is an irreverent adventure tale that revels in its own sense of humor, and while it builds a framework for the future books’ larger mythology, it doesn’t have much in the way of grand story arcs or tangled plot threads. Magyk is more about humor and wonder than anything else, and in this respect, it succeeds wonderfully.

However, this is unmistakably a children’s book. The twists and reveals are not difficult to puzzle out, and the moments of conflict (internal and external) are rudimentary and predictable. Oddly enough, this stands in stark contrast to a number of moments in the book that are genuinely grim and intense. The jarring shifts in tone struck me as odd, but would definitely make for a scary read for children, and maybe even younger teens. My biggest complaint is with the characters; none of them are particularly true to themselves. Magyk has a lot of characters to deal with, including a host of talking animals and magical objects, and we don’t get to spend a lot of time learning about and sympathizing with any of them. Thus, most of them are relegated to their appointed stereotypes, where they pause from the role much too often for the occasional cheap laugh. There is a lot of slapstick in this book, even from the important and powerful characters, and most of it occurs for no good reason. Again, it was irritating to me, but probably would be delightful to most young readers. Jenna and Boy 412 are exceptions, but even they don’t seem quite fleshed out enough.

Oh, yes, and the random capitalization and creative spelling of every other word. That got annoying very quickly. Yes, they’re doing magic. I mean, uh, Magyk. With their Wandes or their Poshyns or whatever. We understand, Angie. Thanks.

With all of that being said, there really are flashes of brilliance in Magyk. The whimsical surface of the story Sage builds sits atop a very interesting mythology that begs to be explored further. The plot, while simplistic, is tightly written and paced beautifully. The occasional moments of tension and actual violence imply that the dog-slobber jokes could unexpectedly go away and that shit could get real at any moment, which was actually somewhat refreshing. And even the characters, who I didn’t care all that much for, occasionally transcend their shallow presentation and show the promise of interesting development as the books go on.

All of my annoyances with the book have everything to do with my unrealistic expectations. This is clearly a book meant particularly for young readers, and in that respect, it’s a fantastic book. I liked this one enough to check out the next few, in any event. So, even though I found Magyk uneven from a technical standpoint, I’d definitely recommend it to those looking for a good adventure story for children, or just for a quaint, funny fantasy read.

Verdict: 3 / 5

Book Review: The Dark Elf Trilogy, by R. A. Salvatore

This is another volume that I’ve owned for more than a decade, but never cracked open until now. I bought it back when I was hip-deep in the fantasy genre, after hearing more than once that Drizzt Do’Urden is super badass sweet and I needed to read about him right away. I probably would have been a convert if I read it back then, too, and joined the swollen ranks of greasy teenagers who played EverQuest with dual-wielding dark elves that were, like, really tormented, but still totally radical. Reading this collection as a slightly more cynical adult left an impression that wasn’t quite as glowing. However, the combination of stock fantasy melodrama, powerful world-building, and that comforting musty smell of an aging book created a pleasantly nostalgic and fun read all the same.

This book actually encompasses a trilogy of novels, which tell the origin story of the drow ranger Drizzt Do’Urden. The first book, Homeland, chronicles Drizzt’s birth and upbringing in the chaotic drow city Menzoberranzan, a citadel of intrigue and violence within the vast caverns of the Underdark. Born a noble of a drow house that is quickly rising in power and influence, Drizzt is groomed for a life as a proper drow warrior, with hatred and base cunning being drilled into him at every opportunity. However, Drizzt’s odd lavender eyes (don't ask why- they're just purple. Roll with it.) betray the fact that he was born different than most drow; Drizzt is compassionate and just, and cannot reconcile his internal principles with the evil ways of his people. He has only the shared philosophies of his tutor, famed swordmaster Zaknafein Do’Urden, to help him navigate the twisted wishes of his family and the sinister demands of his society.

The second book, Exile, follows Drizzt as he leaves Menzoberranzan, hunted by his kin and desperate to find a purpose beyond the manipulative and violent wishes of the spider goddess Lolth. His principles have led him away from the drow city, but the savage wilderness of the Underdark threatens to do what Menzoberranzan could not: obliterate any semblance of compassion within Drizzt. Fighting for survival and dogged by a horrific servant of his deranged mother, Drizzt must seek the mercy of those his people have wronged in order to escape the vast Underdark.

The trilogy is capped off by Sojourn, which sees Drizzt taking his first hesitant steps as a resident of the surface world. Underneath the open sky, he faces an entirely different danger: the fearsome reputation that the drow carry among the other races of the Forgotten Realms. Despite his shy demeanor and noble intentions, a series of unfortunate coincidences and violent misunderstandings ensures he is just as reviled and hunted above the ground as he was below. Despairing of ever finding a place to rest and call home, Drizzt suddenly finds kindred spirits in the most unlikely of places.

The Dark Elf trilogy is billed as an origin story, and that’s exactly what it is: lore for a popular character. The story is rich and interesting, but not particular deep, and not connected across the three books by any significant plot arc other than Drizzt’s ongoing quest for inner peace and acceptance. Accordingly, the trilogy reads less like a trilogy, and more like an extended series of encounters. Kind of like an extended D&D campaign, fittingly enough. In fact, I’d go as far as to say that the books actually read like someone’s writeup of a tabletop campaign. This shows itself in a number of ways. The frequent mention of characters' innate racial (and, yes, class) powers add little to the narrative, but offer a way for all of those imaginative magical attacks that a player would use in a game to be mentioned. Each book is marked by at least two major battles, each of which has all the hallmarks of turn-based strategy. With the clanking of this familiar machinery in the background, some of the narrative follows a well-trodden and somewhat tired course. For instance, the first book is rife with the trope of people monologuing to empty rooms. Zaknafein in particular is bad about this; at one point, he delivers an entire philosophical soliloquy in an empty garden, and then I think he goes home and continues his musings to his bedroom chair. That business flies all right when I'm reading Shakespeare, but come on. Even elves don't talk that way, I'm sure. The latter two books are a little better about this, but there is plenty of ham-handed exposition delivery there, too. Between that and the occasional poor handling of shifts between different characters' viewpoints, the writing can seem a little inept from time to time.

In short, the books have everything you’d expect from a pulp fantasy with a cool-guy elf protagonist. If I were to read these books separately, I might have been irked by this, but reading them all as a unified story helped a lot. In particular, it showcased Salvatore’s biggest strength: world-building. The Forgotten Realms is a rich enough mine for setting lore, but Salvatore really goes the extra mile; the familiar-yet-alien Menzoberranzan itself is by far the best part of the first book, and everywhere Drizzt wanders afterward is seething with detail and sensory input. I think this is what saves the trilogy, for me, because I can forgive fantasy stereotypes if I can still get lost in the world they inhabit.

If taken strictly as a lore piece, the Dark Elf Trilogy delivers nicely. I suppose I’d be more excited about all this had I read the Icewind Dale trilogy, but I like Drizzt a lot even with a cold introduction. Some discerning readers might not care for the cheetos-and-soda D&D feel that the whole endeavor leaves you with, but the Dark Elf Trilogy is a decent character study if you can forgive the melodrama of it all, and a superb example of an epic, fleshed-out fantasy world. I wasn't completely blown away, but I liked it enough that I think I'll be seeking out other Drizzt books.

Verdict: 3 / 5

Graphic Novel Review - The Walking Dead Vol. 4: The Heart's Desire, by Robert Kirkman, Charlie Adlard, and Cliff Rathburn

So, I took a short break from this series, after finishing the third volume. I was finding that I was unconsciously comparing the graphic novels to the AMC series, and whether that's a fair comparison or not, I was a little surprised to find out that the graphic novels were suffering a little by comparison. Coming back to it fresh helped me to get away from that and focus on the characters and story more. That being said, I'm not really sure how I feel about this one.

The survivors are facing an ultimatum to leave the prison, but the showdown is cut short by a sudden emergence of the prison's earlier (and considerably more flesh-hungry) denizens. In the melee that ensues, Rick decides to take some executive action, and our heroes scrounge up some more borrowed time in their new, locked-down safe haven. The seams are going ragged, though; the constant pressure of leadership is starting to wear Rick down, especially when yet another character we know and love has an unexpected run-in with zombie teeth. A mysterious new arrival pushes some tensions past their breaking point, and the survivors are forced to reassess the society they are trying to build in the wake of the zombie apocalypse.

In other words, lots of human-on-human action. This one is all about the characters, and their attempt to formulate their next steps, now that they have had a little time to hunker down in one place. In theory, this volume should have been great. In practice, it was... shall we say, uneven.

Rick is getting a lot more realistic and interesting, so that’s a plus. All of his bluster and bravado led him down the route I was hoping Kirkman would go: he’s starting to lose it, and maybe had lost it from the beginning, which is why he needed to play cowboy in the first place. Since Rick is the closest we have to a main character, this is doubly interesting, and seems to be on its way to fulfilling the promise of creating a strong dramatic epic that happens to have zombies in it.

As for the rest, though, I’m starting to get a little bothered by the thematic misogyny. Yeah, I know, that seems rather ridiculous coming from a young man who is actively reading horror comic books, but I’m serious. Lori’s "I’M A HORMONAL SHREW BECAUSE I’M ON THE NEST!!11!" routine is thankfully dialed back this time around, but consider the following:

Andrea, a certified badass with proven shooting skills and now a wicked scar from her brush with a serial killer, is undeniably the strongest female character in the series up to this point. So, naturally, she has decided to become the group seamstress.

Okay, there’s nothing wrong with that, I guess. Maybe she likes to sew.

Another, even stronger female character shows up. She's omninously quiet, skilled in combat, enough of a hardcase to be dragging the zombified forms of the people she loved in chains, and obviously more than a little crazy. And the first things she does when she is integrated into the group? Make some catty comments about a few of the other women, and give a surprise blowjob to one the men that seems like a group leader.

Uh... hmm.

This development throws Carol into a tailspin. This woman, who has survived more than most and has been a calm and steady guardian of her only daughter, promptly turns into a teenager. After a mostly fake suicide attempt, she suddenly and inexplicably begins throwing herself at Rick, for no reason other than that he "stood up for her."

Okay.

This all culminates in a decision by the group to create a leadership committee, and Rick immediately comments on how it’s made up of solely men. Apparently, the women wanted it that way, because even Lori and Andrea specifically told everyone that they just want to be "protected."

You see where I am going with this.

Granted, I’m mostly convinced that Kirkman is purposefully making patriarchy a theme in this story, considering the earlier references to it, and the continuing character arc of Rick (specifically, him trying to decide whether “justice for all” or “might makes right” is the right course of action for keeping them all alive). Also, it's not like any of these developments are unrealistic or hard to believe; in fact, they are very believable. Likely, even. These ideas are actually given more examination than they usually get in similar works. Still, it’s all just bad enough for me to feel uncomfortable being an apologist for it. The misogyny is definitely, unmistakably there. I guess it’s up to the reader to decide whether Kirkman is making it a deliberate part of the story or not, and whether that is palatable or not.

Other than that continuing issue, this series is still a good read, as far as I'm concerned. The narrative twist at the end of this volume was handled rather nicely, too. I’m still not blown away yet, though... I like the story and characters enough to keep reading, but I’m not an unabashed convert yet, I don’t think. I like it, but I still have my reservations.

Verdict: 3 / 5

Book Review: The Matchmaker of Kenmare, by Frank Delaney

This book took me by surprise, in a number of ways. I hadn’t known about its impending publication, mostly because I still had Venetia Kelly's Traveling Show on my to-read list. When I was fortunate enough to get my hands on an advance reader’s copy, I figured it would be another languid, bucolic yarn in the tradition of Delaney’s other books. Which it sort of was, in that it has the same undeniable Irish storyteller feel to it. However, Delaney has outdone himself this time, as I finally enjoyed the myth of the characters as much as the myth of the setting this time around.

This book is, more or less, a direct sequel to Venetia Kelly’s Traveling Show. It picks up with Ben MacCarthy traveling Ireland, gathering stories for the Folklore Commission and dodging painful memories of his missing wife. As part of his travels, he visits Kate Begley, the titular matchmaker, thinking only to collect some observations on rural matchmaking traditions. He discovers Kate to be a force of nature, and is immediately drawn into a close friendship with her. Their odd platonic companionship becomes even more tightly wound as Kate suddenly meets the great love of her life, American soldier Charles Miller. Kate finagles a way to catch him that drags Ben off into the WWII battlefields of France, where their only protection is the professed wartime neutrality of Ireland. When Miller inexplicably disappears, Kate’s determination to find him has far-reaching consequences, not the least of which is the effect on Ben. Trapped by grief for his wife and unsure of his feelings for Kate, he nonetheless continues to escort Kate on her foolhardy quest, and has ample opportunity to reflect on what "neutrality" really means, both physically and emotionally.

So, in the beginning, I felt like I should have read Venetia Kelly’s Traveling Show first. Ben serves as the story’s narrator, and thus his backstory from the previous book is referred to rather than explained, creating a few moments of disorientation in the beginning. However, once I became familiar with Ben, I appreciated the symmetry that came with him being as mysterious to me as Kate- especially later in the book, when their analogous searches for the possibly-dead become entwined. Despite my initial wariness, I found this novel to work quite well as a standalone.

And what a standalone it is. Delaney, always a favorite author of mine, finally got it completely right this time around. This book has all of the strengths of his signature style. The settings are rich and easily visualized. The characters fit into archetypes that are very familiar to those who have read Delaney before, but are still delightfully quirky and real. I also found myself enjoying the bits of absurdity that should, by all rights, be bugging the hell out of me. Kate Begley is an infuriating character most of the time, but a blend of the odd (homilies at inappropriate times) and the profound (unshakeable conviction masking insecurity and naiveté) in her characterization make it impossible not to be invested in her. The same can be said for the story in general. For example, the book begins with a factoid about giraffes, which proves important later, when Ben and Kate end up meeting one. Seriously. Most readers would wonder how something like that could possibly work in a story that is already a mishmash of meet-cute, family memoir, and war story, but somehow, it does work. These bizarre asides just enriched the tale for me; they imparted a sense of the epic, like the unlikely details slipped into a genuine folk tale. Considering the author’s usual pattern, and the distinctly Irish bittersweetness of the book's ending, I’m sure this was Delaney’s intent.

Notably, none of the mild annoyances I found in Delaney’s other books are present this time around. I don’t know if this is the case with the previous book, but The Matchmaker of Kenmare definitely has the tightest storytelling of Delaney’s books that I’ve read, and I’ve uniformly loved his other books. Nowhere in sight is the odd, padded pace of Ireland, the awkward and stilted romance of Tipperary, or the unnecessary characters of Shannon. The pace is perfect here, with none of the jarring I’d expect as the story moved from picturesque Ireland to the war-torn Ardennes. Delaney’s tendency towards odd tangents dovetails perfectly (and is even explicitly explained, at one point) by Ben MacCarthy’s narration, as the character’s affinity for tangents is his indirect way of dealing with painful memories. The romantic elements were genuinely affecting and passionate, and were often heartbreaking in their tragic realism.

If I have any gripe with the book, oddly enough, it’s with the cover. As I noted above, I was offered and greedily consumed a prepub galley, so I had only the text and Delaney’s reputation to guide me. When I saw the actual cover, it reminded me a lot of the other Delaney covers: a charming, idyllic, homespun image of a beautiful, dreamlike Ireland, whereupon distracted characters pace the countryside and ruminate on the country’s rich, mythic history. There’s a little of that in the Matchmaker of Kenmare, but to me, the story jumps out of that particular box. There’s something here for all readers, including romance, folklore, war, adventure, and humor. However, the lion’s share of the story is fairly intense, gritty, and emotionally charged. Speaking as a librarian, I honestly think the cover could turn away some readers who would otherwise very much enjoy the book, and likewise dupe other readers who aren’t prepared for Ben and Kate’s march through perdition.

Cover-judging aside, though, this is a truly a phenomenal book. It’s definitely my favorite of Delaney’s, and one of the better fiction books I’ve read in the past few years. The characters will stay with me for some time, I think.

Verdict: 5 / 5

Book Review: The Sounds of Star Wars, by Jonathan Rinzler

This book is awesome. The "kiddy" press-and-play interface and sheer bulkiness might turn some readers off, but don't let the buttons fool you; this is a serious book, and it's fascinating.

The Sounds of Star Wars chronicles the work of sound designer Ben Burtt, along with other talented and hardworking people, on the Star Wars films (including the prequels, and the animated Clone Wars series). Each movie gets is own introduction, which gives a basic timetable for how the sound was produced, the circumstances surrounding each film, and how everything came together in the final product. Then, a rich representation of sound effects is presented in an order that roughly corresponds to the timeline of the movie. Each sound is marked with a number, which allows the reader to track down and play a sample of the sound through the book's audio interface (which includes a headphone jack... nicely done, Rinzler). Most of the numbers also mark passages of text that range in size from blurbs to multiple pages, explaining how the sound was conceived, recorded, and mixed.

It's a simple book, and it occasionally veers into the overly technical. But honestly, how much fun is this? Did you know that the Rancor's roar came in part from a dachshund? Or that the Ewok language is a variant of indigenous Mongolian? Even if you aren't impressed by party trivia like that, the simple ability to press a button and have a Jawa scream "Utinni!" at your wife at unexpected moments is worth the price, alone.

Seriously, this is a must-own for Star Wars fans or people interested in the art of sound effects, and definitely worth a look for anyone who has the sound of a lightsaber igniting and swinging etched into their cultural memory.

Verdict: 5 / 5