Camel Rider- Prue Mason

Interesting. A book called Camel Rider that isn't about riding camels. There are a few scenes that involve camels. There is a young camel rider in the book, though he doesn't drive the narration as much as his co-protagonist. So, why did Prue Mason title her book thusly, and why did the publisher put a camel on the cover? Let me guess-- to sell a book about the Middle East. Wouldn't be the first time.

So what is it really about? It's mostly a long chase scene set in a fictional country, presumably based on one of the Emirates. There's a fictional war, too. Bratty expat kid Adam is home alone when his neighborhood evacuates. He decides to go back for his dog because, well, I guess he's young and impulsive and it seems like something a brat would do. Meanwhile, Walid is a camel jockey from Bangladesh who rebelled against his employers and is running away. Their paths cross, and they must rely on each other to escape/ get home safely. They don't speak a common language and they come from different backgrounds, so this is where we get the HEY EVERYBODY THIS IS A CROSSCULTURAL NOVEL.

The plot is pretty thin and the characters on the pithy side, but Mason has done something interesting in talking about these disparate communities living in the UAE. The dialogue involving Walid's cruel masters has a surprising ring of authenticity-- I say surprising, because the book hits that mark better than it does Walid's characterization.

I didn't know what to do with this book. Perhaps it would be interesting to kids who like action-based plot, but it seems like it's all about the "small world" themeology (hey, you have a pet? I have a pet! you like chocolate? I like chocolate!) above anything else. Certainly well-intentioned, but this isn't a book I'd recommend. And to say it's about camels totally misses the point.

A Mango-Shaped Space- Wendy Mass

This is a book about synesthesia.

Wonder where the plot might come from? Yeah, I did too. But this is one of those great books that is not all about explaining a condition. This is really a book about the relatable Mia, who is going through a process of learning about herself.

For Mia, letters, numbers, and words have colors and textures in addition to sounds, values, and meanings. Sounds and energy also have hues and physical shapes. Unfortunately, this makes a loud cafeteria a chaotic explosion of visual "noise." In Spanish class, it gives the word amigo totally different properties from the word friend. And it makes doing math problems impossible, where the sum does not reflect the qualities of individual numbers. Mia has kept her condition a secret, but when she does badly enough in school, she and her parents finally learn there is a name for this-- synesthesia-- and that Mia is one of many.

Through the internet, Mia starts to learn all about a community that she had no idea she was part of. This is where things get interesting. She becomes absorbed in the exploration of her condition, blocking out her family, classmates, teachers, and even her best friend. Mia also has a wheezing kitten she loves very much, and when the little cat goes missing, you know it's going to be bad news but also the impetus for revelation.

I think it's worth noting that really successful young adult books teach readers something about themselves as well as about the world. Mia is not alone in her obsession with self-discovery and her resulting self-isolation. Wendy Mass effectively captures that train of thought that takes Mia so far away from everyone else, and I think that's what makes the story so effective. Many YA novels incorporate pithier plotlines that have us screaming "Why are you treating your best friend like that? Why are you ignoring your parents?" and already we know that there is going to be a little "I told you that was not cool" at the end. Here, Mia gets to a place of mutual empathy and understanding with the people who care about her, and it feels genuine.

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.