Posts on reviews

When I skimmed the jacket flap of Tempo Change, by Barbara Hall (Delacorte, 2009), about the teen whose “father is an indie rock icon,” two thoughts occurred to me. The first was Beige, by Cecil Castelluci (Candlewick, 2007). The second was Born to Rock, by Gordon Korman (Hyperion, 2006). Fortunately, I read past the flap and was rewarded with a story all its own—and one that really spoke to me.

This is exactly the sort of novel you would expect from Hall, who created the Emmy-nominated series Joan of Arcadia, about a modern teen who starts receiving messages from God. The dialogue is smart and snappy. The protagonist of Tempo Change is, like Joan, a snarky teen who doesn’t quite meld with her peers. But the core similarity is the shared theme of spiritual exploration—executed without a hint of preaching.

Blanche Kelly is, as I mentioned, the daughter of an indie rock icon. Duncan Kelly, however, left years ago to rekindle his muse in the South Pacific. Blanche’s only contact with him is through email, though at school she faithfully follows his advice: “Don’t be a joiner.” She’s succeeded in staying at the fringes, preferring to observe than to participate. She loves music but is hesitant to pursue it; after all, art hasn’t exactly done wonders for her family.

Then Blanche’s mother brings home a new boyfriend: Ed, not a musician but (yawn) a guitar salesman. At the same time, Blanche finds a stellar singer and drummer among her school mates. While she’s not, like her coworker and maybe-possibly crush Jeff, about to call it “a sign,” it’s enough to make Blanche do a 180. If her new band, the Fringers, makes it all the way to the big Coachella music festival, surely it will be enough to roust Duncan Kelly from his Pacific hideaway at last!

Of course, getting to Coachella isn’t quite that easy. And once the Fringers—and, yes, Duncan Kelly—actually make it there, it doesn’t go anything like Blanche planned.

Hall’s characterization stands out. All characters—both teens and adults—are three-dimensional, none wholly good or bad. Blanche’s mother has struggled with depression, alcoholism, and finances, but she’s a loving, invested parent active in her recovery program. Duncan is by turns the kindly, helpful father and the selfish, obsessed artist. Blanche is realistically naïve and critical of her mother, unable to understand how she could prefer owning a women’s clothing shop “for women who [are] tired of wearing clothes” and dating Guitar Guy Ed to the presumably glamorous life of a rocker’s wife.

What I really love about Tempo Change, though, and what keeps it from being the formulaic pop-culture-centric story you might expect, is Blanche’s relentless (though sometimes reluctant) questioning of the fuzzier aspects of existence. How do we find our path in life? Where does artistic drive come from? Is there such a thing as divine intervention, or is life just a series of very human choices?

Hall provides no concrete answers but plenty of entry points for discussion. Joan’s mother surrenders the things she can’t control to a higher power in her twelve-step program. The Fringers’ singer sees an apparently divine vision while stranded in a snow storm. The prayers Blanche and her band mates idly tossed into the box at the New Age shop seem to be coming true. Even Blanche, ever a skeptic, makes a key decision based only on a dream.

Ultimately, this thoughtful novel of spiritual exploration has more in common with Kimberly Brubaker Bradley’s Leap of Faith (Dial 2007) or Pat Schmatz’s Circle the Truth (Carolrhoda 2007) than with the books conjured by the jacket flap. It will appeal to many readers of contemporary realistic fiction, especially those with a philosophical and/or artistic bent. Highly recommended for grades 6 and up.

I am, like most children’s librarians, a fiction reader for the most part. But I do have my little nonfiction niches. I gobble, for example, sensational stories of Mormon Fundamentalism and religious cults. I’ll read the occasional book about writing craft, prehistory, mysteries of history, and sociopolitical history. I enjoy memoirs of ordinary people coping with extraordinary circumstances. And above all, I love a good animal memoir.

To me, James Herriot is the king of animal memoir. I suppose you could argue that he’s really the king of country veterinarian memoir, since he’s writing as much about himself as he is the creatures he deals with in his practice. Regardless, he’s an incredible storyteller, full of humor and heart, and the characters—both animal and human—spring warm and solid from the page into the reader’s imagination. It’s no wonder his books—starting with All Creatures Great and Small (St. Martin’s, 1972)—remain popular. The picture book adaptations of his stories are also lovely (and nobody dies in them!).

Another animal memoir I love is Three Among the Wolves: A Couple and Their Dog Live a Year with Wolves in the Wild, by Helen Thayer (Sasquatch, 2004). The writing is plain, but the observations of wolf pack dynamics and interspecies dependence are absolutely fascinating. And I can’t shake my amazement that, in order to survive in the northern reaches of Canada, Thayer and her husband had to eat a pound of butter a day!

Enslaved by Ducks and Fowl Weather, by Bob Tarte (Algonquin, 2003 and 2007), are a hilarious pair of memoirs about the author’s experiences with an ever-growing menagerie of domestic fowl, rabbits, and other feathered and furry critters. Like Herriot’s books, Tarte’s are as much about himself and his family as about the creatures he clearly loves—in spite of his constant griping (Tarte’s obvious but forgivable shtick).

The previously mentioned books were all written for the adult market, but I think they would be enjoyable to many teen animal lovers.

Two years ago, one of my favorite nonfiction reads for elementary age children was The House of a Million Pets, by Ann Hodgman (Holt, 2007). Similarly to Tarte, Hodgman paints herself as a somewhat hapless pet owner who got in over her head. With the arrival of each new animal, wackiness ensues. The chapter about her dachshunds had me wheezing with laughter.

Believe it or not, this all leads up to say how much I enjoyed How to Scratch a Wombat: Where to Find It…What to Feed It…Why It Sleeps All Day, by Jackie French (Clarion, 2009). This book actually focuses more on the animal in question than on the writer observing it. In other words, there are enough facts here that a child could read it and actually write a decent report on wombats. Or that an adult could read it and impress all her friends. Hypothetically speaking.

But what makes this book an exceptional read for anyone who loves a good animal book is its humorous and personal nature. For example, when French writes about wombats’ burrowing techniques—and incredible persistence/stubbornness—she tells the story of Mothball, who would not be satisfied until she’d moved in under the author’s house. (Mothball was the primary inspiration for French’s and Bruce Whatley’s adorable picture book Diary of a Wombat, which, surprisingly, neatly encapsulates much of the contents of this volume!) French’s anecdotal style successfully informs even as it entertains.

Readers seeking photographs will want to seek additional sources. Bruce Whatley’s cuddly caricatures frolic (and sleep) throughout the narrative, though he does take a photorealistic approach when called for. Still, some photographs of real, live wombats would have made a nice addition to the book.

Over all, I found How to Scratch a Wombat a highly readable, entertaining, and informative little volume. Highly recommended for animal lovers from second grade on up.

Two Parties, One Tux, and a Very Short Film About The Grapes of Wrath, By Steven Goldman (Bloomsbury 2008)

Until now, the spring of his junior year, Mitchell has led an unassuming life. He’s quiet, a good student, and definitely not a girl magnet. But now life’s getting complicated. Mitchell turns in an irreverent Claymation film as his Grapes of Wrath project, parents complain, and his English teacher takes a sudden leave of absence—is Mitchell to blame? As prom approaches, the most popular girl in school starts pursuing Mitchell—is she for real? And Mitchell’s best friend, David, tells him he’s gay—what does that mean for their friendship?

While the Grapes of Wrath subplot is entertaining (anyone who’s ever faked their way through a school project will heartily identify) and the girlfriend storyline is quintessential coming-of-age stuff, the true story—the most interesting, genuine, and heart-felt part of the novel—lies in the suddenly uncertain friendship between Mitchell and David. After David comes out to him, Mitchell knows he’s still the same David, yet things feel different between them. They’re not “just friends,” but what’s the difference between being best friends and boyfriends?

I liked the way the novel addresses Mitchell’s questions about David and himself. Goldman maintains a very light touch and keeps the level of humor high. Mitchell doesn’t waste much time wondering if he’s gay himself, if being friends with David will make him gay, if he’ll be targeted by bullies for having a gay friend, or if being gay makes David a bad or sick person. Mitchell has plenty of questions (Is David sure he’s gay? Does he “like” anyone?), but behind all his questions is the urge to understand and accept his friend as he is.

In tone and matter-of-fact treatment of puberty issues, the book reminded me of Gordon Korman’s teen books (e.g., A Semester in the Life of a Garbage Bag) and early Jerry Spinelli (Space Station Seventh Grade). There’s a lot of toilet humor and discussion of masturbation and female anatomy. These things, plus some underage drinking and making out, firmly push Two Parties out of middle grade territory into YA, but in terms of its positive, humorous approach to gay teen issues, it’s reminiscent of David LaRochelle’s wonderful Absolutely, Positively Not. Recommended for grades 7 and up.

Back in September, Lee Wind posted a blurb for a new young adult book called Mousetraps (Carolrhoda, 2008), by Pat Schmatz. Intrigued, I added it to my to-read list. Fast-forward a month to the SCBWI Wisconsin conference. Who’s one of the very first people I meet? Pat Schmatz. Small world!

I bought Mousetraps, Pat signed it, I read it, I dug it. I asked Pat if she’d be interested in a blog interview (my first!), and here we are. But first, a little more about Mousetraps.

Maxie’s junior year of high school begins with a surprise: Rick is back. Rick, the boy she was best friends with, before he became a bully magnet. Rick, who moved away in seventh grade after he was brutally gay bashed.

Rick wants to rekindle his friendship with Maxie, but she’s not so sure. Rick’s as much of a target as ever. And there’s something different about him these days. There’s a look he gets in his eyes sometimes, cold and hard, that scares her.

Maxie is a sensitive, yet matter-of-fact, narrator who occasionally dips into the poetic but never dives into melodrama, even when things get dark—and they do get dark. She’s a cartoonist—way back when, Rick designed crazy, Rube Goldberg-esque mousetraps, and she drew them—and her lively drawings (penned in real life by Bill Hauser) are integrated perfectly with the text.

Mousetraps also touches on nontraditional families, interracial relationships, and a bit of romance. I especially appreciated that Rick experiences homophobic bullying irrespective of his sexual identity. He’s clear proof that homophobia hurts everyone, not just individuals who are GLBTQ.

The notoriously difficult-to-impress Kirkus Reviews says of Mousetraps, “Rick and Maxie’s thought-provoking story, juxtaposed against Hauser’s renderings of Maxie’s cartoons, is unexpectedly, richly dark, with no easy answers. Both chilling and sweet.”

Now, without further ado, here’s Pat!

LC: Coming dangerously close to the dreaded “where do you get your ideas” question, I was wondering if you could pinpoint the initial germ that evolved into Mousetraps.

PS: I kind of hate to admit it, but Mousetraps started in my mind the day of Columbine. I was home for lunch and Columbine was on the news, and even as I was watching the event transpire on TV, I had an impression of Rick. From that day on, I was completely obsessed with the topic and read everything I could get my hands on, and the whole time, I had Rick’s voice in my head.

LC: Rick could have been only a martyr or psychopath; instead, he’s a fully-realized, sympathetic character. What were the challenges in shaping him without veering into Jekyll/Hyde territory?

PS: First of all, thanks for saying that about Rick. I have huge affection for that character, and he’d hate to be seen as a martyr or a psychopath. When I read news stories about school shootings, I never see those kids as one-sided, no matter how the media portrays them. I suppose that’s because I’ve known enough people, personally, who have survived these kinds of challenges that I know they aren’t one-sided, or even two-sided, and the character of Rick is a conglomerate of several kids I have known well.

LC: Since 2000, we’ve seen a number of dark teen novels responding to the Jonesboro and Columbine school massacres of 1998 and 1999 (e.g., Todd Strasser’s Give a Boy a Gun, Walter Dean Myers’ Shooter, Nancy Garden’s End Game). Mousetraps, too, could have ended in tragedy. What made you steer toward a more hopeful conclusion?

PS: I wrote six sharply different conclusions to Mousetraps over the nine years I worked on it. One editor a few years ago rejected the book, but in her editorial letter she suggested yet another option for the ending, and I gave it a try. That took me in a totally different direction.

I still see all of the conclusions as continuing to be Real and True in some sort of parallel simultaneous universes. We have crossroads moments where we can step this way or that way, and like the mousetraps, whichever direction we choose sets off an entirely new chain of events. So experimenting with the different conclusions was like imagining…what if, in this moment, this character stepped this way instead of that way? Either choice is emotionally possible, and my job as the author is to be true to the chain of events that would follow.

Finally, the ending I chose—with a lot of help and guidance from my editor, Shannon Barefield—felt right. Also, it was the clearest choice for the story that I wanted to tell, which is Maxie’s story—although of course Rick has a huge part in it.

LC: How do you think homophobia and bullying in America's schools have changed since you were a teen, if at all?

PS: When I was a teen, this stuff wasn’t called “homophobic,” or even “bullying.” We all just knew that some kids were mean, and some kids got picked on. Now that we have words for it, and we use them, I’d like to think things are at least potentially different. Kids actually know to say things like, “the biggest homophobes are usually gay themselves,”—that was a comeback and a concept that didn’t exist when I was a teen. Also, people like Maxie’s uncles do exist, as out gay fully-functioning adults, and they not only can help kids maneuver their way through this stuff but are visible as role models. Bullying still happens, probably as bad as ever, but I do think the kids who are getting bullied have a better chance to get support and backing. Even if an individual kid isn’t getting adequate protection, s/he can find the concept of support on line, in books, and even on the news. That’s a big plus.

LC: Did you envision Mousetraps as an illustrated novel from the beginning?

PS: Not at first, but the better I got to know Maxie, the more I saw her drawings in my head. For a while I was hoping to have Mousetraps be a graphic novel but I didn’t have the skills to do the drawings myself. The design team at Lerner worked with me on the current form, sort of a hybrid.

LC: Please tell us about your path to publication and about your first two books, Circle the Truth (Carolrhoda, 2007) and Mrs. Estronsky and the UFO (Blue Works, 2001).

PS: Mrs. Estronsky is a middle-grade novel about a girl who sees a UFO with her piano teacher. I sent that one out, time after time, using Writer’s Market as a guide. Of course I was thrilled when Windstorm Creative picked it up for their youth division, Blue Works.

Meanwhile, I became involved in the Minneapolis writing community, which led me to Andrea Cascardi of Transatlantic Literary Agency. I sent her the manuscripts for both Mousetraps and Circle the Truth, a younger YA about a boy in a blended family who, as he questions truth and reality in his life and his home, finds that those lines keep shifting. Andrea agreed to represent me, gave me some terrific editorial advice on the manuscripts, and then started to send out the revised versions. Each manuscript went to a number of houses over a three-year period before Carolrhoda made an offer on Circle, and then contracted for Mousetraps as well.

LC: How did you stay positive through the long submission process?

PS: It wasn’t so much a matter of staying positive, as staying busy. I started Circle the Truth immediately after finishing the first draft of Mousetraps, so my focus was there. Also, I was getting enough positive feedback—nice rejection letters, a Minnesota State Arts Board Grant, and the huge boost of getting Andrea as my agent—to keep me rolling.

LC: You grew up in rural Wisconsin and live there today. In what ways does that setting and culture manifest in your books?

PS: Mrs. Estronsky and the UFO is completely grounded in rural Wisconsin. I wrote it when I was living in California and was incredibly homesick for the upper Midwest. As a child, I spent a lot of time alone outdoors and I still tend to see the world through that lens. Although the next two books both take place in urban settings, weather and season play a definite emotional role in each story. Also, all three books take place in the upper Midwest, which certainly has a particular cultural flavor.

LC: Can you expand on that, for readers who have never had the pleasure of living in the upper Midwest?

PS: I find the upper Midwest—both rural and urban—to have a particular kindness, something almost like innocence. That’s not quite the right word, but it’s a related concept…and so characters with a gentle sort of progressive political sensibility, like Maxie’s parents and the Unks, and Toby’s family in Circle the Truth, can be found everywhere. Also, the region tends to be very weather-focused, even in the cities, and many people are involved in outdoor sports like ice fishing or skiing. And of course, there is always the snow that must be moved one way or another, and people have different ideas about how that should be done. I don’t know if that particular discussion is peculiar to the upper Midwest, but it seems like snow blowers are more universal, for instance, on the east coast.

LC: Mousetraps and Circle the Truth have a very different feel. Maxie narrates Mousetraps in matter-of-fact first person, while Circle the Truth is told in a more lyrical third person voice. What do you find to be the challenges of writing in first versus third person? How do you decide which to use?

PS: I tried both books in both first and third person, and in each case tried to find the voice that best suited the story. I find first person much more difficult in general. Crazy-making, actually, because the narrator is so strictly limited in what s/he can perceive and how those perceptions can be expressed. But it does allow for a more natural voice, and I like that.

LC: Who are your favorite/most influential authors?

PS: S.E. Hinton’s The Outsiders is my most influential book, and my most loved. Other influential books include A Wrinkle in Time by L’Engle, Henry 3 by Krumgold, The Forgotten Door by Key, and To Kill a Mockingbird by Lee.

As a kid, I loved everything by Beverly Clearly, Laura Ingalls Wilder, Jim Kjelgaard, and Mark Twain. As an adult, my favorite authors include Markus Zusak, Anne Patchett, Stephen King, Kate DiCamillo, and E.L. Konigsburg.

LC: What can we hope to see from you next?

PS: I’ve been working for several years on a YA novel called Bluefish. I haven’t hit it quite right yet, but I think I’m getting there. I also have an as-yet untitled adult novel and a picture book in the works.

In this graphic novel by Hope Larson (Atheneum 2008), Abby—age 13 or so—is drawn to her late-arriving bunk mate, Shasta, who claims to have been struck by lightning. Problem is Shasta’s an all-around weirdo. She’s abrasive. She’s geeky. She has secrets. She’s scornful of Abby’s other more mainstream, boy-crazy friends. Sensitive Abby is torn between her old friends and her new geeky pals, made harder when Abby falls for Teal, a sweet, bespectacled Dungeon Master—and Shasta threatens to steal him away.

The art is gorgeous: bold, fluid lines, captivating, expressive characters. The story is realistic and compelling. I remember there was a flurry of favorable blog reviews for Larson’s Gray Horses two years ago, but the story left me nonplussed. Chiggers makes up it. There is some of Gray Horses’ whimsy in the mysterious sparks Shasta seems to attract, but the main focus is Abby’s struggle to navigate the treacherous waters of adolescent society and find happiness in herself. Recommended for middle school on up.

You can read a preview of Chiggers online at New York Magazine and an interview with Hope Larson at Comic Book Resources.

So, I lied. The weather was so beautiful this past weekend, I was able to spend another afternoon on the beach, reading and writing.

This time, my book was Up and Down the Scratchy Mountains, or, The Search for a Suitable Princess, by Laurel Snyder. In this semi-fantasy, a milkmaid named Lucy leaves her tiny kingdom of Thistle, hiking into the Scratchy Mountains in search of her absent mother, with only a cow for company. But her best friend Wynston, who's prince of Thistle and is not interested in meeting princesses to marry, isn't far behind. Separately and together, Lucy and Wynston have a number of adventures until everything, as they say, comes out in the wash.

The book is light-hearted, with a timeless feel. There's plenty of humor and tension, but even the darkest moments are not too dark for most young children. It's a story that would appeal to boys as well as girls. I'll be suggesting Up and Down the Scratchy Mountains to families who want a nighttime read-aloud for ages 6 to 10ish.

Catch fun interviews with Laurel Snyder at Big A little a and The Longstockings.

What I liked most about Up and Down the Scratchy Mountains, actually, was how much it reminded me of The Ordinary Princess, by M. M. Kaye. It was one of my favorite books when I was seven years old and, in fact, helped inspire me to be a writer (though I have never, as Kaye claims to have done, written a book in one sitting, alas). The Ordinary Princess is another light-hearted, timeless story, and it turns fairy tale tropes delightfully on their heads.

In general, I'm more of an anti-princess person. The Disney Princess marketing craze makes me barf in seven shades of pink. As a dad in the library commented to me, he doesn't mind his two-year-old daughter playing princess and requesting princess stories, it's the way princesses have become the face of consumerism.

Disney and traditional fairy tales aside, though, I think the most interesting princess stories are anti-princess stories—the stories where the princesses don't do what they're told and run off and get into lots of trouble. There are probably some good princess stories that deal with diplomacy and whatnot, but I—and probably most kids—would rather have magic and misbehavior.

Here are my favorite anti-princess princesses:

• Amy in The Ordinary Princess, by M. M. Kaye
  At Princess Amethyst's christening, an ornery fairy declares she will be ordinary. Amy grows up freckled, messy, and adventurous and, rather than pretend to be something she isn't for another stuffy prince, she runs away to begin a new life as kitchen help in the castle of a neighboring kingdom. Sweet, romantic, and gently humorous, this gem holds up read after read. Suggested for second grade and up.
• Eilonwy in the Prydain Chronicles, by Lloyd Alexander
  Eilonwy is a princess of the lost House of Llyr, and when we first meet her she's cooped up in the fortress of an evil enchantress. Feisty and bold, yet also sensitive and passionate, Eilonwy is never content to sit idly when there are quests to be gone on or battles to be fought. Like Princess Amy, she also moonlights as a scullery maid. Unlike Amy, she carries a huge sword, is a sorceress in training, and kicks serious a$$. Suggested for fourth grade and up.
• Aerin in The Hero and the Crown, by Robin McKinley
  Speaking of kicking a$$, how about the chip-on-her-shoulder princess who's sick of being the royal family's magical dud and decides to become a dragon-slayer? Aerin has got to be one of the most infuriatingly bullheaded characters in literature, to the point of doing a lot of really stupid, dangerous things—and you can't help but love her for it. I love this book more every time I read it. Suggested for seventh grade and up.
• Anidori in The Goose Girl, by Shannon Hale
  After her journey to marry the prince of a neighboring kingdom goes horribly awry, Ani's left with nothing—no possessions, no entourage, not even her name. Don't call her powerless, though. Playing the part of a lowly goose girl, Ani demonstrates true strength as she works to reveal the treachery wrought against both kingdoms. Goose Girl has several fun parallels to The Ordinary Princess, actually, but I don't want to spoil them. Suggested for sixth grade and up.

It occurred to me while writing this how many princess stories ultimately revolve around marriage. A princess doesn't want to marry so-and-so, so she runs away. Or a princess meets her true love, but he's not a prince... or maybe he's a prince in disguise? Etc. So very heteronormative, that royal obsession with heirs. Is there a YA princess book out there in which the princess falls for another princess? If not, it's dying to be written.

Who are your favorite storybook princesses?

My last beach read of the summer (not as long ago as it seems in this October drizzle) was Stranded in Harmony, by Barbara Shoup. I've had it since meeting Barbara at the first Kidlitosphere Conference, and the right time to read it finally came around.

Barbara (who also blogs) has been getting a fair amount of attention in the kidlitosphere lately. This year has seen the release of her YA novel Everything You Want (my thoughts here) and the reissue of her 1994 award-winner Wish You Were Here. It's much-deserved attention, I should say. Barbara writes interesting characters with authentic voices. She draws compelling stories out of everyday circumstances. Stranded in Harmony is no different.

High school senior Lucas has no reason to be unhappy. He's captain of the football team, has a family business to step into after college, and has a loving family, best friend, and girlfriend. Yet Lucas feels trapped in his small Indiana town. Is he being lulled into complacency? He idealizes and longs for the turmoil of the 1960s, when people stepped out of their comfort zones to stand up for their beliefs and fight for change.

When Allie Bowen—a woman who was herself a protester in the 1960s—moves to town, Lucas feels as if he's finally met a kindred spirit. A hero, even. But Allie's got some dark secrets to go with her glamorous past.

I found Lucas a highly sympathetic character. He might have come off as spoiled—lucky to have such middle class problems. But his problems are universal. Who hasn't, at times, wanted to branch off and reinvent themselves completely—yet been too comfortable with the status quo to do so? Who hasn't had moments when life ought to feel perfect—yet it doesn't? Like Emma, the lotto winner in Everything You Want, Lucas finds that having "everything" isn't always enough.

Stranded in Harmony also got me to watch Meatballs, Bill Murray's first feature film, for the first time. A really fun movie, especially if you went to summer camp as a kid.

Girl, Hero, by Carrie Jones (Flux, 2008)
When it comes to men, 14-year-old Liliana's surrounded by losers: her seemingly clueless biological father, her sister's abusive husband, an uncle who can't keep his hands to himself, and her mother's sleazy, live-in lover. With Liliana's beloved stepfather dead, the closest thing in her life to a hero is John Wayne. Liliana's seen his movies so many times that she's memorized every tough line he's got—but will it be enough to save herself and the people she loves?

While I enjoyed Jones' debut Tips on Having a Gay (Ex) Boyfriend, I felt Girl, Hero was stronger in every respect: characters, plotting, style. The prose is tight, the characters realistic and well-rounded, the situations painfully serious yet never devoid of hope. I loved Liliana, with her tough exterior, compassion for others, and refusal to dissolve in self-pity. The John Wayne motif unifies the story without becoming overbearing or distracting. Highly recommended for junior high on up.

Also (and more extensively) reviewed by Charlotte's Library.

A la Carte, by Tanita S. Davis (Knopf, 2008)
Lainey dreams of being a TV chef like her hero, (Saint) Julia Child. Unfortunately, while her cooking's great, the rest of her life is sort of the pits. Her on/off friend/crush Simeon is threatening to leave town and wants Laine to cover for him. Can Lainey help the boy she loves without losing her mother's trust and her self-respect?

It's a good story for (again) junior high and up, but any foodie will agree that the best part of A la Carte is the descriptions of Lainey's favorite recipes. Davis (whom Kidlitosphere readers know better as TadMack) writes mouth-watering play-by-plays as Laine finds comfort in creative cooking. As a bonus, each chapter break contains a recipe for one of Laine's easy vegetarian favorites.

I was having a gingerbread craving the other week, so of course I latched onto the recipe for Ma Dea's Gingerbread. Two thumbs up. I used the low-fat variation, the cayenne pepper substitution, sugar reduction, and crystallized ginger. No pan size was listed, so I used a 9x9", which worked nicely. The outcome was a rich, moist, red-brown cake, spicy and just the right level of sweetness. Yum! I'll have to try it again when I have fresh ginger.

Check out Jama Rattigan's interview with Tanita Davis!
Also (and more extensively) reviewed by Cheryl Rainfield.

What if you've met the guy of your dreams, but he died 50 years ago? The teen boy who narrates Vintage: A Ghost Story, by Steve Berman (Lethe, 2008), has recently moved into his aunt's New Jersey home, having been thrown out by his parents for being gay. Walking home along Route 47 one night, he encounters a handsome boy wearing a vintage 1950s letter jacket—a ghost of local fame. What's truly remarkable is the ghost notices him back—and follows him home! Our hero, painfully unused to romantic attention, is so flattered and infatuated he doesn't realize how much danger he's in...

When I started reading, I was worried this would be one of those ghost stories in which it takes the characters half the book to realize the ghost is a ghost (e.g., Deep and Dark and Dangerous, by Mary Downing Hahn). Not so here. The narrator's friend Trace recognizes the ghost's description at once, and the friends begin researching the ghost's history. Meanwhile, our hero becomes gradually aware that he's attracted the attention/affection of an actual flesh-and-blood boy, too. There are occasional horror-y bits, more creepy than gory, but the romantic and mysterious elements win the day. I also found the sensitive narrator likable and highly relatable in his fear that none of his peers could ever love him.

Warning for people who care to be warned, whether for themselves or "for the sake of the children": there's some sexual encounters and recreational drug use. Nothing a high schooler couldn't handle.

Any disappointment in Vintage can be attributed to its having been published by Lethe, a small house founded by the author. It's an enjoyable, well-told story that deserves wider distribution and readership. I could easily see it having come from a more established publisher, where it would have benefitted from stronger style editing and copy-editing, not to mention (and here the book snob in me comes out) a greater air of legitimacy. Actually, one more gripe: do you know how hard it is for me to write a book blurb when the main character has no name?

All in all, though, Vintage was a page-turner that left a smile on my face. And I won't get tired of seeing more good, teen books with "incidentally" gay protagonists any time soon.

ETA, 9/10/08:
As Steve Berman reminded me in the comments, Vintage was actually short-listed for the 2007 Andre Norton Award for Young Adult Science Fiction and Fantasy, presented by the Science Fiction & Fantasy Writers of America (which also presents the prestigious Nebula Awards). So, big congratulations to Steve Berman and Vintage for the honorable mention!

Unquestionably, the 2008 book I anticipated most was Flora's Dare: How a Girl of Spirit Gambles All to Expand her Vocabulary, Confront a Bouncing Boy Terror, and Try to Save Califa from a Shaky Doom (Despite Being Confined to Her Room), by Ysabeau S. Wilce (Harcourt, 2008). Or Flora's Dare, for short.

Its predecessor, Flora Segunda, was one of my favorite books of 2007. The twisting and turning plot, the unique yet distinctly American fantasy world, the original fantasy elements, the well-rounded characters, and dry humor made it a pleasure from beginning to end. Flora's Dare meets the high standard set by the first volume.

Three months after the events of Flora Segunda, the nation of Califa is facing great unrest, both political and in the form of earthquakes that threaten to destroy all. When Flora learns the earthquakes may be caused by the Loliga, a powerful elemental trapped in the form of a squid underneath the city, she knows she must seek the aid of Califa's most powerful adept, Lord Axacaya, though her parents insist he is not to be trusted. Meanwhile, Flora's perfect older sister has deserted the army and her best friend Udo has gone silly over a goth girl and the prospect of making his fortune bounty hunting. As always, Flora asks herself: what would her idol, the great magickal ranger Nini Mo, do?

In addition to the things I loved about Flora Segunda, these were some things that stuck out to me while reading Flora's Dare:

• Flora is no Mary Sue. When she tries a spell beyond her ability, she gets burned (sometimes literally). Things never go right the first time—or, often, the second or third time. It's sometimes frustrating to read, because you want to see Flora succeed. But it's great because at each failure, Flora tries again; like a good ranger, she never gives up.
• Wilce keeps the surprises coming, but each reveal gives you the sense of, "Ahhh! I see!" rather than "Where did that come from?"
• It's clear by the end that there's at least one more Flora book coming, but you don't feel that way while reading it. In other words, this is not a Book Two that feels like nothing more than a build-up to Book Three. (Meanwhile, I think readers could read Flora's Dare without having read Flora Segunda first, but so much world-building takes place in the first book, I don't think you'd want to.)
• There is what I believe to be a thinly veiled reference to This Is Spinal Tap on page 70.

Flora's Dare is darker than Flora Segunda. There's more violence and death, and there are some tense moments when sexual assault is threatened (but never carried out). Still, I don't think it's anything that anyone but gentle readers couldn't handle. I highly recommend it for readers interested in adventure and/or fantasy and/or just something a little different, junior high age through adult.

And now, of course, I can't wait for volume three.

(Don't miss this fun interview with Ysabeau Wilce, conducted by Little Willow last year!)