Let me tell you this about my grad school experience… early in 2009, I was putting concerted effort into “reading widely across genres.” I gave myself 10 “slots” for books each month, and tried to fill in the first five with different genres – YA Fiction, Juvenile Nonfiction, Adult Fiction, etc. By April, I had set my academic course (aka wrote some deposit checks) on a path towards a children’s literature degree. By April, I’d also become weary of “reading widely.” It was hard. Uncomfortable. I would rather just read and re-read my favorite books and authors, ya know?

So one of the things I found exciting about a children’s lit degree was the prospect of a Syllabus! I longed for someone to tell me what to read (see also: Marriage). And although I watched new releases pass me by for three years, and every semester I reached a point where all I wanted was to read ANYTHING that wasn’t 19th century/realism/taking place on Mars, I discovered so many genres and authors that I never would have given a second chance otherwise.

See: Historical Fiction. If you had asked me in 2009 if I would like to read a book about teenagers in Scotland in 1952 (that starts with 50 or so pages detailing THEIR parents’ and grandparents’ heritage and history), and that can also legitimately classified as a book ABOUT the Cuban Missile Crisis? I would have certainly laughed mightily, either in my mind or later after you left the room. Perhaps I would discredit your future book recommendations completely. Who knows, it was 2009, I was ruthless back then.

However, it is 2012, and I just read Mal Peet’s Life: An Exploded Diagram and I loved it I loved it I loved it so much. It is everything I described above, yes, but don’t be afraid. The family heritage bit is actually pretty brief, and mostly humorous. The historical retelling of the Cuban Missile Crisis is actually interesting, especially for me, who felt suddenly shamed to realize that even after XX years of history courses, I knew NOTHING about this incredible moment in US history. The narrator is a likeable, knowledgeable, and cheeky guide through this all.

But what wraps it all up in a delicious package is The LOVE STORY. Oh, there is a love story, a first love story, that is so evocative, so touching, and at times, downright steamy. Peet knows what he is doing when he alternates chapters here, teasing you into being interested in JFK because you know there’s another chapter of romance when you finish.

And the ending. Agh, the ending! This is a terrible review, I realize, but after you read this ending, you will think that every other novel’s conclusion was more of a lame fizzle, a drag-out, a ramble on. Peet? He has written here an Ending, capital-E-, practically Hollywood worthy, throw your book down and gasp-worthy.

Gush gush gush glow glow glow, please drop what you are doing and pretend like you are desperate to learn more about JFK’s early presidency so you will not waste another moment of your life not reading this book! Consider it your syllabus for the month.

Let’s talk briefly about the Problem Novel. Although I’m sure there are a few good articles and books to be read about this modern YA phenomenon, my understanding and use of the term refers to a type of novel where The Problem dominates the reading experience –  all other elements of story – plot, setting, character development become secondary. Sometimes, writing a Problem Novel means the writer gets away with slopping up the writing, filling a book with lousy, one-dimensional characters, or other crimes against literature. Sometimes, a Problem Novel is a well-written, complex piece of literature that just happens to be about Teens with Problems.

However, if one reads only Problem Novel after Problem Novel, no matter how well-written, one might start to feel their hope for humanity start to fade,  one might start to regret ever wanting to read YA when every book is full of drugs/death/prostitution/neglect/abuse, one might start running far in the opposite direction into a fluffy romance or other fantasy.

Jo Knowles’s See You At Harry’s criss-crosses the line between Problem Novel and Regular Novel with alarming rapidity for a book that is, otherwise, a quiet family story that falls in the late middle-grade, early YA territory. Fern is a middle child among four literarily-named, problem-prone siblings: Sara didn’t get into any good colleges, so she’s stuck at home working for the family restaurant, Holden is keeping a major league secret from his family and everyone he knows, and Charlie is a four-year-old, so he’s a handful. To sensitive Fern, her parents’ marriage seems strained, and the realities of running a family-owned ice cream shop put a strain on everyone.

There’s a lot of angst going on here, and Holden’s secret is certainly a capital-P Problem, but the combination of personalities and strong characterization emphasizes the family dynamic and the intricacies of each relationship, rather than focusing on the “issues.”

And then, Knowles throws in a sucker punch of a PROBLEM, for the whole family. By this point in the novel, I was so endeared by the characters, it didn’t feel like PROBLEM, it felt like a painful but complex family issue. That happens to far too many families.

And also, I was so endeared by the characters that I read the last half of the novel with pages flipping – I was alone with the boy, driving home to Michigan. It was getting late, and I read and read, finishing the last few pages with just barely enough daylight to light the page. Since then, I’ve run into two friends who uttered the phrase “Did you read See You At Harry’s?” in the just same tone that I knew immediately they had gone through the same emotional rollercoaster I did.

So there you have it – a not-so-Problematic Problem Novel that will make you weep. Well done, Jo.

Back in June, Deborah Hopkinson’s Titanic: Voices from the Disaster lit a Titanic-related fire underneath me – I think the day I finished, I picked up Allan Wolf’s The Watch that Ends the Night: Voices from the Titanic.

(I probably also put the movie on hold at the library, but forgive me – as established, I was 12 in 1997)

The Watch that Ends the Night is the story of the Titanic told in poems, with different passengers, crew members, and others providing unique voices and styles to each verse. I am not always a fan of books told with poetry, but I loved both Wolf’s writing and story execution – the alternating voices were engaging, the variations in each poem’s style and form was subtle, and the poems stand alone. It’s the kind of writing that makes you want to slow down, maybe read aloud.

I’m glad that I read Hopkinson’s book first – although Wolf’s work is most certainly a work of fiction, the voices and characters are actual Titanic passengers, many of whom are profiled in Hopkinson’s work. I liked recognizing some of the more obscure characters who played major roles on-ship and during the wreck – the tireless and cheerful wireless operator, Harold McBride, was one of my favorite characters in both Hopkinson & Wolf’s works. But maybe even more interesting is when Wolf give some of the more famous characters an unlikely voice or point of view; his treatment of John Jacob Astor IV, the richest passenger on board, traveling with his pregnant 18-year-old mistress, was particularly unique and moving.

But the most enigmatic, surprising character with the most intoxicatingly rhythmic style? The Iceberg. Gimmicky? Eye-roll-inducing? No. Wolf’s Iceberg is dark, menacing, and constant, providing a voice for the undercurrent of pain, of destruction, of death that is so frightening about Titanic’s story… and about all stories. Nature always wins.

Overall, I was impressed by how Wolf uses language and style to capture these bigger, human themes. This book never feels like a “fictionalization,” but more like an exploration, using poetry to do things that straight nonfiction can’t. I’m not sure this is a book I could ever bear to read again, but I don’t think I will soon forget it.