Three Knocks on the Wall-- Evelyn Sibley Lampman

Three Knocks on a Wall is among the few, the proud, the rereads featured on The No Twilight Zone.

When I went looking for this book last year, I was shocked to see that not only was the book out of print, but it didn't appear to have been widely distributed in the first place. Growing up, her books seemed to be everywhere. Of course, by "everywhere" I mean "at my school and in the town library," and it's not shocking that these places would be stocked with books by an Oregon author about the state's history.

I loved, and still love, her books. Historical fiction was my favorite genre as a kid, and it was incredibly satisfying to read about the history of the place I lived. I read pretty indiscriminately back then, so I couldn't have told you what I thought of the narration or characters except that they were "good." But I am not the only one who thought Evelyn Sibley Lampman was special. There is an award named after her. Her grandparents were pioneers who traveled the Oregon Trail to settle in the state-- that alone blows my mind.

I can't say for certain that her books are still in school libraries. I can say that when I rediscovered her writing a year ago, I was struck by how contemporary it feels. Three Knocks on a Wall deals with adultery and absent fathers. It was written in 1982, so it's not ahead of its time, but is probably more progressive than 90% of books available to me at that time. The writing is textbook: solid, establishing characters and setting right away, paced and flowing. In fact, the old-school feel of the book is more on account of its adherence to the writing "rules" than anything else, but that's part of what makes the book so comforting.

Marty, the twelve year-old narrator of Three Knocks on a Wall, is great. She is matter-of-fact, unsqueamish, and something of an old soul. She is great with animals, aloof with other girls, and doesn't know how to react to boys. She has a logical mind, and so when she hears knocks coming from behind the 10-foot high fence that surrounds the neighbor's house, she assumes it must be old Mrs. Hutchins or her daughter Miss Rebecca. But it's not Mrs. Hutchins. And pretty soon, she finds out it's not Miss Rebecca, either. Marty promises to keep her new friend's identity a secret, but regularly brings her news of the world outside: school and social events, WWI, small town dynamics, a world war, and finally a flu epidemic that brings them face-to-face.

Marty's parents stood out to me on this last read; they are older, a bit unconventional in their child rearing, and (perhaps on account of the former) gossip-averse. They speak to Marty like an adult, which explains her undramatic narrative tone and the fact that she is more comfortable around adults than people her age. I liked that her parents were portrayed with some nuance.

I was also pleased to find that I liked Marty's character as much as I did the first time I read Three Knocks on a Wall, though it seems plucky heroines are a dime a dozen these days.

Bat 6-- Virginia Euwer Wolff

This great little book was the young adult selection for a reading campaign to celebrate Oregon's 150th anniversary of statehood. Wolff is a celebrated Oregon author, and I actually liked her book much more than the culturally stereotyping adult selection.

The story is told from the perspectives of 21 different girls who make up the rival softball teams of two little towns in Oregon. It's 1949. The adults are still talking about the hardships of war. One of the players, Aki, has just returned with her family from an internment camp. Another player, Shazam, is also recovering from postwar trauma, but it takes the whole course of the book to unravel that. When the game ends in tragedy, everyone wonders why, or what they could have done to stop it.

The girls' distinct narrative voices and the piecemeal storytelling make for good reading. I loved the dynamics between them-- their polite disbelief in encounters with Shazam, their regard for one another, their shock and tendency to blame themselves for what transpires. I also appreciated that the book didn't offer any easy answers, and that the community at large also had to acknowledge their role in what happened.

First Crossing: Stories About Teen Immigrants

First Crossing: Stories About Teen Immigrants is a collection of short stories that purports to illuminate the experiences of young first-generation immigrants.

That's my summary.

Remember what I said in my last post about how perceptible an author's connection to her characters can be? First Crossing illustrates this point nicely-- that is to say (for the most part) horribly. In the endnotes, one author admits he was trying to settle on his character's country of origin, and settled on one after he saw a book on the library shelf. Some characters speak in broken English, even in their own narrative voice, others never progress beyond the stereotypical "what is this America?"

Where the authors manifest a stronger grasp of their characters' situations, these stories seem to be formulaic and diluted. I got the sense they were throwaway first drafts in the development of a novel.

I was sorely, SORELY disappointed by this collection. There is a huge need for these kinds of books for young adults. Sadly, I think this book is cashing in based on that need, without really delivering a product that does the concept justice. I hope we see more, and better, anthologies on this subject.

Keeping Corner-- Kashmira Sheth

When I read Keeping Corner, a few things clicked in my head.

At this point, I have passed the halfway mark with my reading goal for the year. I have a long way to go, but I have still read some excellent books, some bad ones, and many in the middle.

Here are some of my realizations, mid-journey:

1. Character development is hard. Now that I am trying to do it in my own writing, I am constantly reminded of this. Sadly, I have also found well-developed characters rare in young adult novels. Some books skip over this completely, assuming a generic chatty "young person" tone for the narrative; others dig deeper, but only manage to successfully develop the main character.

If you are writing about a person very different from you-- which most authors are-- poor character development is even more troubling. Which brings me to the next point...

2. The author's level of connection to the character is obvious. Some writers incorporate aspects of themselves, or autobiographical experiences, in their characters. However, some authors can tell an amazing story when the connection is personal but removed, like Adam Bagdasarian in Forgotten Fire, or Padma Venkatraman in Climbing the Stairs. You can sense the kindred connection, even when authors are writing about an experience not their own.

Such is the case with Keeping Corner.

The heroine of Kashmira Sheth's novel is inspired by the author's great-aunt Maniben, a child widow who fought to continue her education. Sheth explained that the novel took her much longer to write than her other young adult novels, but the work gave her incredible satisfaction. The result is a remarkable little book with a family of sympathetic characters, subtly interwoven with details on culture, tradition, and history.

The heroine of Keeping Corner is Leela, who was engaged at two years old, married at nine, and widowed at twelve-- before she went to her husband's home, or ever really knew him. Indulged and pampered throughout her childhood, Leela is unprepared for the life of suffering she must now endure. Leela was never interested in school, but when Saviben offers to teach her, Leela discovers a love for knowledge, a gift for words, and an understanding of the political events that are changing the future of her country.

Well-done, all around.

Dark Dude-- Oscar Hijuelos

Rico is a "dark dude" growing up in Harlem; ironically, it's because he is a fair-haired and freckled cubano. Tired of the constant hassling on the streets, the violence in his school, and his best friend Jimmy's drug problem, Rico persuades Jimmy to hitchhike out to Wisconsin. Life on a farm has its benefits, but Rico misses the Latino community and, most of all, his family.

Rico's narrative voice is well-developed and the story's pacing is quick despite the fact that time passes slowly on the farm. I would consider the book solid, rather than extraordinary, but there is some sentimental raising of identity and family issues that will appeal to some young readers.

Leaving Yesler-- Peter Bacho

This book was a gift from my friends D &P. Thanks, guys. For everything.

Bobby is unmoored and drifting. His protective older brother, Paulie, was killed in Vietnam. His mother died a few years before. His father is losing his grip after head trauma in the Korean War and too many bouts in the boxing ring, and has made it clear that he is dying too. Without an example to follow, Bobby decides he wants out of his neighborhood and housing project for good. Assistance come in the forms of boxing lessons from his father, life coaching from Paulie's ghost, and a vision of the future in the form of lovely Deena.

Bacho does a number of things very well here. His vibrant descriptions of Seattle neighborhoods in the 1960s make for amazing reading, as does his nuanced exploration of Filipino and masculine identities. What trips up the narrative are the developments that, like a fast right hook, we don't see coming: Bobby sees dead people? Deena is in love with him? There is some weirdness surrounding his early education in Catholic school? While these threads may have added richness to the narrative, they are abruptly introduced and woefully underdeveloped.

Deena's character, as a whole, is a disappointment... doesn't every well-developed male character deserve an equally three-dimensional female counterpart? That said, this book is remarkable in its portrayal of emotional relationships between men; the tenderness between Bobby and his father and tough-guy brother are touching, if seemingly uncomplicated.

New Goals

Thank you, precious handful of readers and followers! Your suggestions, comments, and support for this pet project have been wonderfully encouraging and made this blog even more fun for me.

It's now almost the end of October, and some of you have asked about my reading goals. I'm sure you've noticed that I'm posting a lot less. Some time in the spring, I started reading more like a high schooler than a middle schooler (that is to say, mostly adult books). It's mostly me posting these days, and I'm not ready to give up my other reading, so I've adjusted my reading goal to 100.

Still attainable? Not sure, but the weather is taking a turn and I have some more free time on my hands. There are still quite a few titles I want to tackle, and I don't anticipate abandoning this goal in 2011.

Thanks for reading this and, most especially, recommending those books you loved as kids... and as adults!

-S

The Friends-- Rosa Guy

Phyllisia Cathy moves from the West Indies to East Harlem in the early 60's. At first glance, her family appears to be doing well-- her father has a restaurant, they have an apartment full of nice things. Phyllisia is equipped to do well in school, but is not prepared for a place where students are mocked by their teacher and left to brutalize each other. Phyllisia doesn't think she can survive another day when she is befriended by scruffy and ever-truant classmate Edith. Even after Edith saves Phyllisia's life, Phyllisia is ashamed to be seen with her. Combined with messed-up homelife (Phyllisia's terminally ill mother and violent father; Edith's long-dead mom and deadbeat dad), you've got altogether Too Much Sadness.

I am all for books that are realistic in their portrayal of friendship in all its fickle immaturity, but this book is pretty heavy-handed. In scene after scene, Phyllisia is horrible and Edith forgives her--extreme even for an age where kids spiteful like that. Phyllisia also has a series of unbelievable confrontations with her father, especially at the end.

Overall, the book struck me as a rough first cut of a narrative and themes that have been handled much artfully as they have gone mainstream in later works of young adult literature. The Friends is admirable for the boundaries it crossed for young readers, but may be more at home in a literary survey class than a middle-school one.

Londonstani-- Guatam Malkani

I don't know about this one.

The first third of the book was almost unreadable. (And not because it's written in British-desi slang, innit.) After pages of pointless violence and generally intense negativity, the book starts to get clever. Then it gets too clever for its own good. By the last third, every chapter ends with a "gotcha"-- the last of these moments is so smug that I would have stopped reading, except it was the last line of the book.

Londonstani got fabulous press for being "multicultural" and "comic," but the ironic use of stereotype quickly becomes tedious. You can only follow around a bunch of desi rudeboy haterz for so long. By the end, the grating misogyny becomes almost unbearable.

If you decide to brave this one, the glossary in the back will give you a patronizing breakdown of the lingo, including "dis" (this), "dat" (that), and "dem" (they). Thanks for that, bruv.

Jacob Have I Loved-- Katherine Paterson

I didn't read this book in fourth grade. I think just about everyone else did.

I clearly wasn't listening to my classmates' book reports, because I thought it was about something else. It was only recently that I discovered this widely-read novel is about a place I have come to love: the Chesapeake Bay. More specifically, about what the waterman community was like there 50 years ago.

Sara Louise Bradshaw lives on Rass Island, descended from generations of Bradshaws who have been watermen there for the last 200 years. It's a small community, perhaps too small for how Sara Louise wants to live her life-- doing a man's work on a boat, harvesting crabs and oysters. Instead, her identity is reduced to being the twin of the lovely Caroline, whose singing voice is the pride of their small community. When Caroline begins to monopolize Sara Louise's friendships as well as the their parents' affection, Sara Louise resigns herself to incidental status rather than succumb to guilt over hating her own sister. Years go by before Sara Louise finally realizes that if she wants something of her own, she has to make it herself.

This book could easily be written for adults. Though the plot and characters are streamlined, there are many parts of this that will resonate with older readers-- changing relationships within families and with God, and the transition from childhood aspirations to grown-up ones. The most interesting family dynamics portrayed here are not necessarily the obvious ones; we see the grandmother slowly losing her grip in old age, the twins' mother explaining her life's choices to Sara Louise, and Sara Louise herself finally understanding her parents. I was intrigued by Patterson's choice to follow Sara Louise into adulthood, a place where young adult novels seldom go.

Warriors Don't Cry-- Melba Pattillo Beals

Better late than never! This is a nonfiction classic that I wish had been required reading for me in school.

Certainly, in any sort of study the civil rights movement or 1950s history, you've seen the famous pictures of the Little Rock Nine: standing in front of the doors in Central High School, one student clasps his or her books, smiling nervously, surrounded by federal troops. The image is familiar, but doesn't tell the whole story.

Melba Pattillo Beals' account about her year at Central High School is remarkable. I did not realize, for example, that the nine students were actually unable to enter the building for the first several weeks of school. Upon finally being admitted, they were hardly able to finish out the school day due to armed mobs invading the schoolyard or roaming the halls of the building. When federal troops were eventually stationed at Central High, students were actually transported from the premises via helicopter. The pictures I had seen were not from the first day of school, nor did they reflect the daily struggles of the students.

I deeply appreciated the tone of Beals' narrative-- I have never read anything about this historical period written with such love. She writes affectionately of the other eight students and of the support from her family, and compassionately about the friends from her old school and the neighbors who distanced themselves from her. I was also struck by the forgiveness she shows to herself at that young age-- forgiveness for her moments of weakness, of resignation, and of misjudgment.

Highly recommended. This is our history.

Long Season of Rain-- Helen Kim

The Long Season of Rain starts out rather in a rather unassuming fashion. A young boy is orphaned when a mudslide buries his home and family. Junehee's grandmother brings him to their house until they can find a home for him. The family's dynamics unfold for the reader with a powerful subtlety until it's clear that this book is not about the orphan at all.

Based on the reviews, it seems that younger readers responded very well to the depiction of life in Korea in the 1960s. There is certainly a richness of detail that, in fact, dominates the early narrative. But as an adult, this book struck me as an incredible testimony to the struggles women and female children face in their own homes. The mother is depicted indirectly through her daughter's observations, and yet she becomes the book's most compelling figure.

Though the narrator, Junehee, is 11 years old, I would recommend this book in a heartbeat to older readers.

Tales from Outer Suburbia-- Shaun Tan

Tales from Outer Suburbia is for a younger audience than the other books I have reviewed here, but I think this is a book older kids and adults can appreciate. These ultra-short, illustrated stories are all surreal, spanning from fantastical to eerie. One critic compared it to Chris Van Allburg's The Mysteries of Harris Burdick (my 5th grade obsession!), and I would have to agree-- while these stories are complete, they produce the same weird, unsettled feeling.

Most enjoyable: Eric. The final picture won my heart.

Creepiest: Stick Figures. Chilling!

Most thought-provoking: The Nameless Holiday.

To explain this further would be a great disservice to all.

Enjoy.

Marcelo in the Real World-- Francisco X. Stork

What happened, amiright?

I admit that I have sadly neglected this blog (and my reading habits) for several weeks now. I would blame work or the weather, but it seems that I have also been in a bit of a reading rut. I discovered my local library does not have most of the older books some of you have recommended to me (which is really not shocking, as our library is only two small rooms). In addition, I have encountered a sad spot of reading burnout--there are so many gems out there, but the market is also flooded with things I have no interest in reading.

I needed something solid to get me back in the reading habit. The library, in spite of its small size, delivered with this-- Marcelo in the Real World. I found this book compelling and interesting, despite the use of some familiar story elements.

Marcelo is a 17 year old with a form of autism that resembles Asperger's Syndrome. He has been in a special school since he was young, and is happy to be in a safe environment. Marcelo's father, however, wants him to attend public school for his senior year. They make a deal: Marcelo can choose for himself, so long as he works in his father's law firm mailroom for the summer.

In a matter of weeks, Marcelo's black-and-white, objective world becomes more nuanced and difficult to understand in a matter of weeks. Central to this plotline are his mysterious supervisor, the arrogant son of his father's law partner, and a picture of a young girl with half her face missing.

The story, through the narrator, touches on religion and spirituality, adult relationships, difficult decisions, and choosing a life path.

I cannot speak to Marcelo's narrative tone and whether it accurately depicts AS. I did appreciate, however, the careful breaking down of life situations for someone who is a moral absolutist. I don't know how this would have resonated with me as a kid, but as an adult I thought it was interesting. I can certainly speak to the depiction of corporate law firm culture-- yes, folks, it can be this bad.

Though it's easy to see where this book was headed, I appreciate it for its broaching of difficult subjects, compelling readability, and exploration of what exactly it means to live in the "real world." Recommended for older readers (high school) on account of some adult themes.

Shine, Coconut Moon-- Neesha Meminger

This is one of those books I wanted to like, probably had too high of expectations for, and was subsequently disappointed by.

After 9/11, Samar's uncle Sandeep shows up on her doorstep with a desire to reconnect. Samar was raised by her mother, who has not spoken to her family for years. What follows is an identity-fest: Samar wants to know her family, her Sikh roots, and who her friends really are. It's also got all the post-9/11 themes: hate crimes and discrimination, special registration and other policies, and acting as an ambassador for your religion/ nationality/ ethnicity. At the same time, we have token treatment of how parents raise their kids differently, teen dating violence, and personal identity.

In subject matter, I think it takes on a lot of weighty themes but can't quite carry them all. That said, the book takes an approach on a few things that I really respect: discussing proximity to hate crime, linking the targeting of Sikhs and Muslims, and exploring latent racism.

I wouldn't describe the book as "literary." It's a quick, chatty read with little distinction in its narration, dialogue, or characters. It strikes me as easily dated, as it mentionins specific websites, songs, and movies-- readers who may have appreciated those references are perhaps a little old now to be reading this book. I'm still looking for the perfect post-9/11 book, but perhaps this will do it for some young readers.

A Banquet for Hungry Ghosts-- Ying Chang Compestine

I succumbed to A Banquet for Hungry Ghosts for its unique exploration of historical and contemporary China and eerie supernatural theme. It seems sort of wrongly creepy to also have recipes in the book, but at the same time a fitting tribute to the traditional Chinese means of feeding of those who return from the afterlife.

From Compestine's interview in the San Francisco Gate:

"When I was growing up during the Cultural Revolution, I would fantasize that ghosts would eat up all the kids who picked on me at school and the people who put my father in jail," she recalls. "I wished a ghost would take revenge on them, that there was this invisible power that could come and help me. Then one night last year, I read a story about mistreated mental patients in China, and I thought, who would help them? Then I thought: the ghosts, naturally."

The stories are brief with unexpected developments (and this coming from someone who was OBSESSED with traditional ghost stories as a kid), touching on everything from the building of the Great Wall and the politics of powerful families, to organ donation and corruption in monasteries.

The endnotes at the end of each story give a nice context, adding a bit of substance to what is otherwise just ghosty fun. I won't lie, the recipes make for a weird fusion (e.g. one of the tofu recipes comes a story about a lobotomizing surgeon eating live monkey brains), but it's a great way to present these themes to reluctant readers in small, ahem... bites.

(Also, the pictures are very scary!)

Voices-- Ursula K. Le Guin

People, this blog project is so cool in that it's inspired so many conversations with friends (old and new), and resulted in so many interesting recommendations. About 20 minutes after meeting K, who does a stint at this neat place, we had an animated conversation about young adult novels and she sent me home with some books and a list. K, you are awesome!

Voices represents my first project foray into fantasy. I have never been much of a fantasy reader, but Le Guin is much-heralded in the literary field and in my homeland (the beautiful Pacific Northwest), so it was a fitting choice. The work is interwoven with the politics of oppression, the preservation of culture, and the power of storytelling-- all very compelling.

The second book in the Annals of the Western Shore series is narrated by Memer, a "siege brat" and orphan who grows up in the care and tutelage of the Waylord. Under Ald occupation, a monotheistic religion is imposed in the city of Ansul and all written literature ordered destroyed, but the Waylord's house has tended alters and a secret library where people have brought their books for safekeeping. Memer struggles with her rage against the occupiers and her destiny as a reader; things come to a head with the arrival of storyteller Orrec and the rebirth of a collective consciousness among the people of Ansul.

I tend to struggle with fantasy, mixing up the fictional names of people and places, and missing important details in magical concepts. Before I realized it, I was in the thick of the plot in Voices-- not fully understanding it, but fully wrapped up in the action. Reviews indicate that it is not necessary to read Gifts (the first book in the series) to appreciate Voices, but perhaps I will in order to deepen my appreciation for the universe Le Guin has created.

Wintergirls-- Laurie Halse Anderson

I was introduced to Laurie Halse Anderson's writing when I read her incredible novel Speak in a college young adult literature class. I recently found Wintergirls at the library, read the back, and lowered the bar because the plot description sounded so overdramatic... but man. Anderson's prose takes no prisoners, and this book does not disappoint.

Lia is a high school senior. She has divorced and distant parents, an eating disorder, and now a dead best friend. She and Cassie knew each other since they were little, and supported each other in everything, including the race to the bottom. Lia and Cassie hadn't spoken to each other in weeks when Lia got a late-night phone call. She turned off her phone, and in the morning she sees that Cassie called her 33 times. By that time, Lia has already learned that Cassie is dead.

Although we can assume why Cassie died, following Lia's thought process is the true horror. Even when she can be honest about the role she played in Cassie's life (revealing of relationships between teenage girls, sorry to say), even when she has moments of clarity about the destructiveness of her anorexia, she cannot normalize her relationship with food or her weight. Anderson offers her reader incredible insight, but this book is not for the faint of heart.

Name Me Nobody-- Lois-Ann Yamanaka

Friend P suggested I read something by Lois-Ann Yamanaka. Thank for leading me to this great book!

I immediately love Emi-Lou. Outcast, overweight, and abandoned by her mother, she has three bright spots in her life, her grandmother and her best friend Yvonne being the two obvious ones. But Emi-Lou is also her own bright spot; over the course of the book, we see her become more compassionate, a better friend, and able to stand up for herself and others.

Emi-Lou and Yvonne are soul sisters-- "wherever Yvonne go, Emi-Lou go too." Together, they join the local softball team; Emi-Lou pushes Yvonne to be the best player she can, and Yvonne pushes Emi-Lou to lose weight. But when Yvonne gets romantically involved with her teammate Babes, Emi-Lou feels her world falling apart-- she wants her best friend to be "normal."

Watching this all play out is so painful. Emi-Lou just doesn't know how to handle Yvonne's relationship with Babes. She gets crap from her aunt Vicky and her classmates about being Yvonne's spurned "femme," accused of being jealous. Meanwhile, Emi-Lou isn't used to her newly-thin body and how people treat her; she continues to "feel fat" and struggle with emotional eating. She has an on-and-off relationship with a guy who cares more about his image than about her, and crushes on a popular jock who tries to use her in every way. It's like a high school horror show. I wanted to scream watching all these bad things happen, the very worst of which is seeing Emi-Lou drive a wedge into her relationship with her best friend.

In the end, the best part for me was the story's three heroines-- tough and forgiving Yvonne, solid-loving Grandma, and an Emi-Lou who emerges from codependency and inadequacy and self-doubt. It's worth all the hurt.

(And, seriously, I cannot overstate the awesomeness of Grandma.)

Bog Child-- Siobhan Dowd

I was eager to read another of Siobhan Dowd's books, as I loved the last one so much. Now I am wishing I hadn't picked this one. This slim book took me forever because I had difficulty coming back to it. I only kept going because there are two interesting things at work here: the book is set in Ireland during the Troubles, and the story attempts to bridge two worlds across a time gap.

Fergus and his uncle Tally are cutting peat when Fergus discovers a body-- apparently that of of a child-- buried in the bog. Fergus has a lot on his mind; his brother is on hunger strike in prison, Mam and Da fight about the strike and about politics. Fergus is trying to pass his A-levels so he can escape Ireland and live his life in peace, but his brother's friend is trying to enlist him to run things past checkpoints. On top of all of that, Fergus now wants to know who the bog child is and how she died, and finds himself falling for one of the young excavators working on the site.

Bog Child was published after Dowd's untimely death in 2007. In stark contrast to London Eye, I found this book rough and disjointed. The most compelling storylines are political-- the hunger strike and Fergus' casual friendship with a Welsh soldier stationed at the border-- but the inherent drama is not handled well, and the other storylines drop off abruptly. I think the flashbacks were the least effective of all. Given how much I liked London Eye, though, I think I might have to read one more of her books this year... stay tuned.

Walk Two Moons-- Sharon Creech

This another book from superstar friend E! E has so many great books, and is a great writer too! You can visit her here.

Walk Two Moons is fascinating in its attempt to articulate the inexplicable decisions of grown-ups. Why would your mother pick up and leave you if she loves you? Why do some parents leave and others come back? How do we recover from loss?

Sal is driving to Lewiston, Idaho with her grandparents. She wants to get there before her mother's birthday, believing that she might be able to bring her mother home. While tracing her mother's path across the country and trying to put herself in her mother's place, Sal tells Gram and Gramps the story of her friend Phoebe. (Phoebe's story is like Sal's, with the exception of a few critical details.) This is a story about learning to see through the hurt and the annoyance to really understand someone else's pain or fear-- profound stuff for a little book.

Walk Two Moons strikes me as very honest. Here, as in life, there are all kinds of love and all kinds of relationships, not all of them easy to navigate or explain. It may have been over my head as a kid, but there are readers who will welcome this book based on personal experience.

The book has plenty of mysterious elements, but they are not bound together; tangents of plot spring all over the place, in unexpected directions. It's not clear what's material to the plot; things just happen right and left. The word choice and narration are colorful and fun; you don't have a sense of where it's headed, but it's fun to be along for the ride.

Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian-- Sherman Alexie

I have yet to encounter a novel with a teenage male protagonist that brimmed with affection like this book. Arnold Spirit ("Junior") is adamant in his love for his flawed but adoring parents, revered grandmother, tough sister, and always-angry best friend Rowdy. Later, Junior proclaims love for his classmates-turned-friends, his teammates and his coach. Junior's outlet is cartooning, but his tender pencil sketches reflect caring observation.

Junior is suspended after his first day at Wellpinit High School, when he throws a 30 year-old textbook at his math teacher. Recognizing Junior's rage, his teacher tells him to leave the reservation. Junior, a freakish and picked-on kid, does the unthinkable in enrolling at Reardon High School-- 22 miles away, off the rez. Junior suffers ridicule from community members and classmates alike, but eventually discover supporters and a sense of self-worth.

The illustrations-- sketches and cartoons-- are sometimes sweet, sometimes caricatures, and sometimes dark. The writing is accessible and the themes are plain: rez life is rough, family and friends are important, determination is key. Alexie also does some editorializing about reservations and alcoholism. Things become sad to the point of absurdity-- it feels wrong to say that, but I don't know how one could portray a sequence of senseless deaths more artfully. That said, the more dramatic moments tend to fall flat; I think the best material is in Junior's relationships with his father and Rowdy.

In reviews, teachers fretted about how to use this book in the classroom with the stereotypes of drunk Indians and frank sex talk, but censoring Alexie would be pointless. If anything, I felt that this semi-autobiographical work lacked the poignancy of his more autobiographical work for adults. Diary is good for late reluctant readers, but I would recommend Alexie's truly incredible The Lone Ranger and Tonto Fistfight in Heaven as a better alternative for high schoolers.

Detour: The Danger of a Single Story

Take a break from reading to listen to the amazing Ms. Adichie...

Chimamanda Adichie: The Danger of a Single Story

Born Confused-- Tanuja Desai Hidier

Born Confused is the open-hearted book about South Asian identity that I have been looking for. The book problematizes issues of first and second generation identity beyond the tidy "self-acceptance = yay" that I have now (sadly) come to expect from many of these books.

Dimple Lala is in the summer before her senior year. She lives in the shadow of her beautiful, blonde, spotlight-loving best friend Gwyn, and behind the lens of her beloved camera. These days, Gwyn is busy with her boyfriend, leaving Dimple in her darkroom with all the images of life once-removed. Things start to change when Dimple reconnects with her cousin Kavita and meets suitable-boy Karsh, who introduce her to the young desi scene in New York. Dimple slowly discovers a sense of connection-- to her parents, whose history she is uncovers; to Kavita, who keeps a secret; to her roots and innermost self. But when Gwyn falls for Karsh, Dimple feels herself losing both of them.

As conventional as some of the plot points are, I insist they are handled more beautifully here than in any comparable book. The NYU connection allows Hidier to introduce Dimple to things outside her suburban world-- academic discourse, reconciliation of cultural and personal identity, and more than token treatment of LGBT desis. I love how it's embracing but critical at the same time, proffering a lot of questions and no easy answers. It also seems very fair and right to treat Gwyn's identity struggle on par with Dimple's-- there is more to "finding yourself" than just the color of your skin. The book also breaks the mold in not resolving all identity issues then and there; really, how many young people completely find themselves in the course of a single (albeit formative) summer?

The writing is fabulous and, at times, very funny (the scene were Dimple comes home stoned is hilarious). The book is full of moments that I love-- Dimple's shots of the crowd at an underground/ bhangra dance party, the notes her dad sent her as a kid, the photographic correspondence she had with her departed grandfather, pictures of the beautiful Zara putting on her makeup. The prose is lush and energetic, and Dimple is a 100% genuine article.

Personal note: Dimple's revelations are an echo of my seismic internal shift after learning about this amazing organization and attending their South Asian summit. They do so much for all us ADs (B and C optional).

Notes for a War Story-- Gipi

It's a struggle describing the essence of a graphic novel in words, particularly one as abstract as Gipi's Notes for a War Story. It's a book about war, but not in the way you would expect-- only the occasional discussion of militias and bombings. Rather, this book's backdrop is protracted violence and civil unrest, with a focus on characters who profit from them.

The power of Notes for a War Story comes not from its protagonists (a group of archetypal outsiders who are supposed to be friends but show no signs of bonds between them) or its unique perspective ("war is ugly"), but from its haunting images. Rendered in monochromatic oils with a few penned-in details, there are ruined hotels with glassless windows, expanses of wasteland where villages used to be, and alley nightclubs with only a handful of patrons, all reminiscent of post-apocalyptic futurescapes. The headless figures that haunt the main character's dreams are equally chilling. The war itself is abstract-- a civil conflict in an unnamed European country, though the images and the artist's close proximity to the conflict in the former Yugoslavia suggest something more specific.

Fans of graphic novels might consider this for its visual merits, but the plot points are too diluted to stand on their own.

The Skin I'm In-- Sharon G. Flake

Friends, it has been so great to get your recommendations! I have a whole new stack of books from the library and I am very excited to dig in. The wonderful L passed on this recommendation to me from some kids she works with (thanks L... and kids!).

There are certain books that every teen seems to have read, like the Twilight and Hunger Games series. After I read a book, I look it up on online to add the cover design to the blog and check out reader ratings. I am ashamed to say I had never heard of Sharon Flake, but there was unequivocal praise for The Skin I'm In, and almost all of it from young readers themselves. Why is there not a reading campaign for this book?!

The Skin I'm In speaks deeply to those adolescent fears of standing out, not being accepted. Maleeka, the protagonist, is so easy to identify with. I am sad to say that I think this book hasn't gone mainstream on account of race issues-- Maleeka is harassed by her classmates on account of the deep blackness of her skin, a point of self-consciousness that might not resonate with some readers. The book's themes, however, are universal. Maleeka sees herself as ugly, ill-dressed in her homemade clothes, pushed around by her "friends" and put down by her classmates. In Maleeka's journey towards self-acceptance, the book shines a light on what teasing is really about: envy and control. Meanwhile, Maleeka grows to recognize her own potential, stand up for herself, and see who her true friends are.

The themes in this book were so powerful, it only occurred to be later that this would be great for reluctant readers. A strong recommendation for all the middle-reading girls in your life-- at that age, everyone can use a little push.

Thousand Pieces of Gold-- Ruthanne Lum McCunn

Thousand Pieces of Gold, as its title might suggest, was a treasure trove for me: Pacific Northwest history, Asian American history, and women's history all wrapped up in a compelling young adult novel.

Thousand Pieces of Gold is based on the life of Lalu Nathoy (later known as Polly Bemis), who was born in a village in Northern China in 1853 and died in Grangeville, Idaho in 1933. Author Ruthanne Lum McCunn intended to write a nonfictional account of Lalu's life, but realized there were too many gaps and contradictions in the available historical accounts, and turned to fiction. In this story, Lalu unbinds her feet at age 13 to join her father in plowing the fields-- in doing so, she gives up hope of marriage. She is later stolen by bandits, sold to a brothel, transferred to the custody of a slave merchant, smuggled into San Francisco's Chinatown, auctioned to a saloon keeper, and won in a poker game.

Warrens, Idaho must have been a fascinating place in its gold-mining heyday-- a rare community where whites and Chinese lived together, although the town was segregated. In spite of tensions, McCunn's interviewees all spoke warmly of their friend Polly-- her grit and cleverness as well as her kindness and sense of humor. What an extraordinary person she must have been. I think it must have been amazing to have known her, and after reading this book, I feel like I have come very close.

In the notes at the end of the book, McCunn discusses theories about Lalu's origins that came up in the translation process. McCunn now believes that Lalu may have been Daur Mongolian, and possibly Muslim (one of the meanings of "Lalu" is "Islam"). What struck me about these discoveries, as well as the wide translation and publication of this book, is that Thousand Pieces of Gold is just as much about Chinese history as it is about American history. A great book for discussion groups and young history buffs.

Watership Down-- Richard Adams

My worlds collided last week in a great little discussion group on housing rights. We watched a snip from the inspiring documentary "A Village Called Versailles" and read about preserving Asian enclaves and immigrant neighborhoods in the face of gentrification and anti-immigrant ordinances. We talked about opportunities for people to band together to fight developers and local government... but the whole time I was thinking about rabbits. Why? Because at the time I was halfway through Watership Down.

This is more a testament to the depth of the latter than my superficial appreciation for the former (at least I hope so). I just hope no one was turned off this book after seeing the scary cartoon.

For those who have not had the pure joy of reading it, Watership Down is the story of a group of rabbits who flee a warren destroyed by developers. They pass through some strange places, encountering other lapine communities with radically different social structures, making for some clever allegory.

Above all, however, Watership is a classic adventure story, with elements reminiscent of folk mythology and Homer's epics: heroism, prophecy, fraternity, and the journey home. It was only after this discussion group that I began to appreciate a third dimension of the story-- how to unite a community, who decides and speaks for a group, and sustaining a social organization are classic themes in community organizing also explored in the book.

In short, it's worth discovering, rereading, and passing on.

In the Name of God-- Paula Jolin

What may have been controversial is spelled-out and palatable in this book about a young woman's faith and her bend towards fundamentalism. At 17, Nadia is religious and a good student, not certain what her future holds. When the police arrest her beloved cousin, Nadia can no longer bear the injustice she sees around her-- Iraqi homes bombed, Palestinians killed, and poverty and cronyism in her home country of Syria. Her family doesn't know what to do about Nadia's growing detachment; Nadia doesn't know what to do with her anger. When she is enlisted in a bomb plot, Nadia discovers a sense of purpose and comes to a decision: she wants to be the detonator.

There are some things this book does very well. The setting-- time, place, political climate, public sentiment-- were familiar to me; it felt very right. I got the sense that Jolin was very careful in how she portrayed the characters, too, fleshing them out and showing their imperfect relationships with religion and with each other. This book seems very conscious of its role in introducing young readers to the Middle East, Islam, and fundamentalism without muddling the three.

While the book is ambitious in many regards, I found the plot slow. I didn't have any attachment to Nadia and her family, which didn't help; while they had some dimension as characters, they lacked emotional qualities. You can't really blame Nadia for her feelings, but it's hard to get attached to her. You also never really feel love for anyone else in her life; maybe it's because Nadia is always angry and never really shows attachment to anyone, but even her relationship with Fowzi seemed lackluster. Speaking those emotions would have only helped me better understand Nadia's choices, which don't hold up as well as they should.

I would be very interested to hear what young readers think of this book-- it has the potential to be challenging in all the right ways, if it's compelling enough to bring people on board.

I Am the Messenger-- Markus Zusak

Zusak got a lot of press for The Book Thief, which I may or may not get around to this year. But I Am the Messenger is a mystery, and I've already told you how I feel about those.

(This makes me wonder-- why don't I tend to read mystery/ suspense novels for adults? My first thought is to say there are major differences between these and their young adult counterparts, but I have to give that some thought.)

I Am the Messenger is suspenseful, sweet, funny, and heartbreaking all at once. Ed Kennedy is 19, living in a shack in the same town where he grew up, but distant his family. He doesn't think much of himself; he feels stuck in his cab-driving job, and stuck in his hopeless love for his best friend Audrey, and sees his three friends as rather stuck too. One day, Ed unwittingly stops a bank robbery, and then receives a playing card in the mail with three addresses written on it. He can't run from these responsibilities and he can't doubt himself-- he is the messenger.

The story takes a series of emotional turns, connecting Ed to many people who were strangers-- even the people he knows well. Zusak does suspense really well; I had to finish this book the same day I started. It's not as subtle as When You Reach Me and the ending is not as clever, but it's incredibly enjoyable, and perhaps more relatable for older and/ or male readers.

Recommended for high school readers on account of some sexual content, some of it troubling, but nothing graphic.

When the Emperor Was Divine-- Julie Otsuka

As I read this, a thought occurred to me: why didn't we read a single book about Japanese internment when I was in school? Up until high school, history classes alternated between state history and U.S. history; internment could have been taught in either context, but it wasn't. I mentioned in a previous review that I had two Holocaust literature units in high school, but nowhere did we discuss the atrocities that transpired only miles from our own homes.

The brief and poetic When the Emperor Was Divine would have been the perfect book for my middle school or freshman year classes. The first page, in and of itself, is exquisite. I got a chill envisioning this nameless woman walking down University Avenue, seeing an evacuation notice in the window, and going home to pack her things without knowing where exactly she was going.

The story follows the unnamed characters many places-- to the backyard of their Berkeley bungalow, a train headed east, an internment camp in the Utah desert, and memories of the past-- but only with occasional glimpses into their innermost feelings. Most of what we know of the characters is divined from their actions: the practical mother does her best to keep her conduct from betraying emotion, the young boy's thought processes are full of unspoken fear, and the girl simply runs away from the reader. We observe the most intimate, telling things about these characters, but they don't even have names. In some ways, we don't know them at all.

I did not expect the book to follow the family back home. For all I knew about internment, I had never imagined what that return must have felt like. The violated house and the coldness of the neighborhood are one thing, but the family that returns to the house is also very different from the one that left.

The Perfect Man-- Naeem Murr

The cruelty in the first chapter of A Perfect Man took my breath away. We see Rajiv as a five year-old boy, dropped into the hands of his aunt and uncle in London. His father, who purchased Rajiv's mother for 20 GBP during his wartime exploits in India, abandons him en route to another entrepreneurial opportunity in South Africa. Eventually, Raj is left in the care of an aging romance writer in Pisgah, Missouri. It seems that everyone is the sum of their weaknesses in this small town; it's classic gothic, Faulknerian awfulness.

Raj and his friends are an interesting mix-- their characters alternately inspire disgust, heartbreak, pity, and affection. The prose is complex and the characters impeccably developed, drawing contrast between adults and children, men and women, inclusion and isolation, guilt and innocence, love and (I have to say it again; there is no better word) cruelty.

The first half of the book is flawless. I actually wrote part of this review in the early stages, saying this was likely my best book of the year. Unfortunately, something goes awry towards the end... the plot becomes diffused and erratic, and the tragic developments are not framed well. This tempers the melodrama and left me with an unsettled feeling, but it didn't do much for the story.

The characters are wonderful (and terrible), but at the very end I felt that Murr failed the character of Raj. Over the course of the book, we everyone's head except but Raj's, leaving the character impenetrable even though we see him from all angles and his actions speak volumes. When we finally hear from him in the last chapter only for the purpose of tying up lose ends, it's anticlimactic and depressing.

The other odd thing about the last chapter is that it reduced the rest of the book-- which is about many things-- to be mostly about one thing, even though that thing is not what stands out most to me. I thought the title of the book didn't seem to fit until that last chapter, but at that point it cheapened what at first felt like a book about the universe. But maybe I missed the point. (Throughout the book, I kept wondering if I missed the point.)

This book is incredibly dark, and it left me with a lead weight in my stomach I am still trying to shake. Recommended for mature readers (late high school, at the youngest).

Sold-- Patricia McCormick

I am of two minds about this book.

This is one of those stories that is everywhere, but worth a close look. Lakshmi and her mother live in a Bangladeshi village, in one of the few mud huts with traditional thatched roofs. The neighbors have tin roofs over their heads, but then again, the men in those families don't drink and gamble away their money like Lakshmi's stepfather does. Her family's situation becomes more and more desperate until Lakshmi's stepfather sells her to do work in the city. Lakshmi is told she will work as a maid, but everyone else knows she is brothel-bound.

The prose is self is good-- evocative free verse, exploring village life in Bangladesh and, later, brothel life in India. The images and feelings ring true.

The glaring deficiency in Sold is the lack of character development. At age 12, Lakshmi worships her mother and vaguely dislikes her stepfather. Her feelings really don't develop much by the time that she's 14 except it's clear that doesn't like being a prostitute. From her actions, we can imply that Lakshmi is clever, loves learning, and has a determined streak, but there is nothing personal or distinguishing about her voice.

This deficiency matters here, because it makes the difference between a book about a "real" person and a book about an issue. This, unfortunately, is the latter. I felt that Lakshmi was a convenient vehicle for this story; the narrative objectified her even as it heavy-handedly asserted the fact of her humanity. It surprises me that authors get away with this as often as they do, frankly.

The ending was particularly sloppy and the last part rendered the character of Lakshmi completely hollow for me. Disappointing.

The London Eye Mystery-- Siobhan Dowd

As a kid, I loved mystery novels. Whenever our librarian highlighted a title with "mystery" in the title or "mysterious" in the plot description, I swear I trampled the other kids to get it to the checkout desk first.

(Ok, maybe I wasn't that aggro. But my enthusiasm for the genre is not to be under-emphasized.)

The London Eye Mystery totally had me squirming in my seat with suspense, much like the last mystery I read and loved. In much the same way, this one also has a lot of other great stuff going on in addition to the compelling plot.

Ted and Kat take their cousin Salim to ride the London Eye, and just can't refuse the free ticket offered to him by a stranger. They track his pod all the way around; when it comes back down again, everyone gets off-- but not Salim. The grown-ups commandeer the investigation into Salim's disappearance; although Ted has some "interesting theories," no one will listen to him except Kat. They decide to conduct an investigation of their own.

Ted-- with his formal dress, BBC accent, and obsession with meteorology-- is an excellent character and a great young detective. He takes everything literally (a manifestation of his Asperger syndrome), which makes for some very funny moments. His system for recognizing other's emotions, and his tics indicating his own feelings, add unexpected dimensions to his narration. He is used to being written off by people and doesn't have many friends; young readers need not have autism to identify with his outsider status. In an addition, there is some very astute observation of family dynamics and racist bullying that gives the story serious substance.

I thought I had the plot all figured out in the first two chapters, but then I realized there was a whole other side to the mystery I hadn't considered. The last bit of unraveling was unexpected; it seems unlikely that the kids would piece it together, but there's no underestimating Ted.

The Not-So-Star-Spangled Life of Sunita Sen-- Mitali Perkins

I have been trying to slog through this book since the end of February, which is really saying something because it's only a little over 150 pages.

Sunita Sen is enjoying her little 7th grade life until her grandparents come for a visit from India. Her mother takes time off teaching to stay at home and play housewife to keep her parents happy, and she tells Sunita she can't invite boys over to the house. Apparently, this is the equivalent of torture and Sunita blames her grandparents for ruining her life. She keeps thinking the object of her affection, Michael, is so all-American that he would be weirded out by her family.

Here is a short list of my issues with this book:

1) Even though Sunita claims to be confused about her heritage, she doesn't seem have any connection to it. This is despite the fact that her parents are recent immigrants. I find this disconnect improbable, especially since it is not explored or otherwise explained.

2) When Sunita finally spills the beans about what's going on at home, Michael says that Sunita being "different" makes her "all the more fascinating" to him. Ugh. Orientalism for middle schoolers.

3) The writing is lackluster, the dialogue not believable, the characters completely flat. The author does a lot of telling instead of showing (including telling us that Sunita used to have a really happy personality, even though we never see her as anything other than an insufferable brat). Sunita always anticipates her grandparents acting entirely out of character, which is irritating, and her grandmother's attempts to "speak American" are just insulting.

I thought this book might resonate a little bit with me, but it only left me appalled. This book only got press marching under the banner of multiculturalism; good for the book, but not so good for everyone else.

Kampung Boy/ Town Boy-- Lat

It seemed a little soon to spring into my next graphic novel, but I couldn't resist the playful illustrations on the cover of Lat's books.

Kampung Boy is set in a Malaysian village in the 1950s, where the author was born and spent his early childhood.

The illustrations of little Mat are so cute I couldn't help but grin. One of my favorite pictures of him playing hide-and-seek with his father; Mat is hidden under the edge of the rug with the perfect little-kid expression of "I'm-so-clever-he'll-never-find-me-here"-- you can practically hear the little giggle that will give his hiding spot away. I also like the picture of Mat rocking his baby sister to sleep.

The book gradually incorporates more serious themes. Mat realizes that his father has high expectations of him, and he starts to apply himself in school. Village life and the local rubber industry are displaced by the activities of a large tin company, which eventually buys the rubber plantation Mat was supposed to inherit. When Mat earns a place in the nearby town's boarding school, he says goodbye to the kampung and hopes that he will be able to return. Sadly, we already have the sense that there will be nothing to come back to.

I devoured Kampung Boy in short order and moved on directly to the sequel, Town Boy. While the second book lacks the coherent story of the first, the illustrations of town life are even more arresting. Town Boy is equally steeped in nostalgia, as Ipoh of the 1960s is as lost as the kampung of the 1950s.

I am categorizing these books as graphic novels due to the heavy use of illustration, but they are not told in comic form (that is, not in a picture sequence). This is more of a sophisticated picture book, where the drawings do most of the talking. It seems to me that these books don't fall within a certain age group-- the vocabulary is simple but loaded with cultural concepts that might be challenging for younger readers. At the same time, I think that the illustrations and themes in the books have mass appeal.

While Lat's work is extremely popular in Southeast Asia, these books are the first to be published in the United States. Given the excellent reception, I hope these books continue to gain an international following.

A Step From Heaven- An Na

When I went hunting for contemporary young adult novels about immigrants' experiences, An Na's name came up everywhere. A Step From Heaven is her first book. I thought I'd start there.

Young Ju is only four when her family leaves her beloved grandmother, their comfortable home, and Young Ju's best friend behind to move to the United States. Young Ju believes the US is heaven, where she will be reunited with her deceased grandfather and there will be no more arguments, but her family's life as immigrants is full of new challenges. Young Ju works hard in school and at home to make her parents proud, but nothing can change her father's stingy praise or violent temper.

This slim novel is incredibly powerful, told by the protagonist in a series of vignettes spanning Young Ju's childhood in Korea to her senior year of high school in the United States. The protagonist's younger years are full of particularly delightful sensory imagery. I was struck by the way in which each scene captured so much in terms of the family dynamic and Young Ju's innermost feelings in just a handful of words.

Kira-Kira-- Cynthia Kadohata

"She was going to be the best in the world and live at the top of everything, and she was going to bring her family with her. This is one of the themes of my sister's life."

Lynn, through the eyes of her younger sister Katie, is perfect. Lynn teaches Katie that life is beautiful ("kira-kira" means "glittering"-- it's Katie's first word, which Lynn taught her after many nights of looking up at the stars). Their parents also leave it to Lynn to break difficult news to Katie (and before her first day of school, Lynn tells Katie that she may be called names and treated as different). Katie doesn't want to do anything without Lynn, but when her sister is struck with mysterious illness, Katie has no choice.

The focus of Kira-Kira is the bittersweet sibling relationship, but the book is extraordinary in its exploration of growing up nikkei in the Jim Crow south. In a world divided along the lines of black and white, Katie doesn't know how she fits in. Katie's parents, like the other members of the small Japanese community, work in the chicken hatcheries in town. The hours are long and hard, without even breaks to use the bathroom, and the wealthy owner of the enterprise tries to crush the workers’ attempts to unionize.

I wish these compelling features of the book had more been the focus, but the family issues make this an accessible read.

I Rode a Horse of Milk White Jade-- Diane Lee Wilson

I never would have picked up this book if I had known it was a horse story. I am not a horse girl. I don't understand horse girls (no offense, horse-loving friends; you just keep doing your thing). So why someone would enlist in Kublai Khan's army on account of a horse blows my mind. (My dear brother, a bottomless pit of miscellaneous knowledge, lectured me on the incredible importance of horses in Mongolian culture. Thanks, A, for that. Even so, this seems a little extreme.) Also, why does homegirl bring a kitten with her? I'm just sayin'.

Anyway, as Super Grover would say, on to our story...

Our heroine, Oyuna, is all bad luck. When she was two, she was injured by a horse and has been crippled ever since. Her mother later dies in a tragic accident. No one wants to marry her. She gets to choose a horse of her own, and even she doesn't fully understand why she chooses an old, injured mare. Shaman grandma comes to visit and Oyuna admits that she hears the horse talking to her. Grandma tells Oyuna to prepare for a journey, and then disappears. When the Khan's army comes for the family's horses, Oyuna decides to go with them. Quest ensues. Oyuna makes chit-chat with the Khan (which just seems weird to me) and ultimately gets the swift horses of her dreams. Maybe, thinks Oyuna, it's possible to make your own luck. (In this book, that last point is about as subtle as a whack with a baseball bat.)

This book is all plot. The characters are flattish, and the cultural context seems contrived. That said, it's very fast-paced and readable for age 10-12.

Kiffe-Kiffe Tomorrow-- Faïza Guène

I had high hopes for this book. I am seriously obsessed with the dysfunctional construct that is French multiculturalism. I read a lot of Franco-Maghrebi literature in college. I am deeply interested in the narratives of immigrant youth. On all fronts, I should have loved Kiffe Kiffe Tomorrow.

False logic. I was disappointed because Kiffe Kiffe Tomorrow is really just another story about life in the projects. I use the word "story" very loosely here because nothing happens over the course of the book. Doria lives in the suburbs of Paris with her mother. Her alcoholic father returned to Morocco to marry someone else in hopes of having a son. Doria fails out of school, her mother is underemployed, the neighbors have it rough, cousin goes to prison, the social workers just don't understand, etc. Mom learns to read, Doria goes to hairdressing school and gets over her crush on the drug-addict neighbor, optimism replaces some of her cynicism. Fin.

Guène, raised in the projects she writes about, was only 19 when she wrote Kiffe Kiffe Tomorrow. Girl keeps it real, which I admire. The narrative voice is sarcastic and has a young feel to it-- I'll bet it's delightful to read in French. That said, I found the story itself uninspiring and uninspired. I can't say how many books there are like this in France, but I can see why it got a lot of attention if there is nothing richer to compare it to.

Swimming in the Monsoon Sea-- Shyam Selvadurai

Swimming in the Monsoon Sea is billed as an LGBTQ book for young adults, but I think it's got something much more universal at its heart. This is very much a book about that dark, irrational place where we live at some point in our young lives. This particular book is about being 14, being alone, being a young man, having stuff in your life that needs figuring out, and not being totally in control of how you think and feel.

Amrith is adopted at the age of 6 by his mother's best friend when both his parents die in a freak accident. He loves his Aunty Bundle, Uncle Lucky, and adopted sisters, and it's clear that they love him too. But Amrith does not have anyone of his own-- no friends, no flesh-and-blood relations. He is estranged from his parents' families until his cousin Niresh shows up for a visit. Amrith's affection for Niresh is even stronger than he anticipates, and Amrith soon discovers depths of himself he didn't know existed--love, but also jealousy. (In an effective albeit not-so-subtle allusion, Amrith's drama society is performing a scene from Othello.) By the end of the book, Amrith has started to reconcile some of his complicated feelings about his past, his family, and his identity.

The metaphor of the monsoon sea is perfect for adolescence-- after a monsoon, the ocean becomes muddy and turbulent, with strong currents that can pull you under. Amrith is a good kid, but at times he is possessed by malice and anger, capable of hurting the people he loves the most.

The writing is simple but highly evocative. Selvadurai sets the scene in his childhood home-- Sri Lanka circa 1980-- complete with his fond memories of the place. Very low on plot action, which might be a deal-breaker for some, but the emotional side of this book is incredible.