books
04 Oct 2013

religious childhoods, nazis, and ???

I thought that I would surely have read enough Cybils nonfiction to brag about by this point, but of course, I have not. You guys are all shaking your heads and smiling, aren’t you. That Jessica, her eyes are always bigger than her stomach. Well, yes, they are. Setting impossibly high self expectations is one of my favorite hobbies.

However, I should also mention that nominations aren’t exactly pouring in at this point. Come on, guys! Hasn’t anyone read a decent YA nonfiction title this year? There’s still another week of nominations, so there’s hope, but right now pickings are slim – especially considering the wait time for library holds and titles still on order.

See how I cleverly wove in an excuse for my poor reading performance? Yes, it’s not only your fault for not nominating, but the library’s fault as well. Shameful. I know. The honest truth involves me reading pretty much everything else that isn’t a Required Reading text… and also Skyrim. I know. I know!

I did knock back a very good teen memoir this weekend – Aaron Hartzler’s Rapture Practice. Hartzler grew up in the South in a very traditional, very religious home. While in high school, he rebels against some of his parents’ stricter rules and questions their particular perception of God. Natural. Normal. I think most folks who grew up with any sort of religion will relate, even if our parents still let us visit movie theaters. But Hartzler also does a great job of narrowing in on his particular experience, turning reflection and memories into story while also capturing a teen voice. As good memoirs do, but good teen memoirs are so rare!

And can you believe that this book hasn’t even been nominated yet!? Hint hint. Hint. Hint.

I also picked up Neal Bascomb’s The Nazi Hunters this morning. From the first page, I felt transported… back to fall of 2012, the last time I read a book about the Holocaust. And oh, did I read a lot of them. I’m not far enough along to speak to Bascomb’s book, but so far it seems we are focusing on Adolf Eichmann, a particularly evil Nazi charged with exterminating all of the Hungarian Jews. Boo, Eichmann.

That’s my pathetic nonfiction showing, guys. But you know what I have been reading? This long feature on Daniel Radcliffe. Will someone please write a teen biography about this guy? You know it would sell like 60 zillion copies… come on, let’s get on this.

books
03 Oct 2013

stars upon thars – third quarter

Threes

  • Roomies by Sara Zarr and Tara Altebrando – future college roomies correspond through email
  • Make Good Art by Neil Gaiman – speech on creativity set to wild graphic design and typography
  • Attempting Normal by Marc Maron – comedian/podcaster bares all in personal essays
  • He Said, She Said by Alexander Kwame – opposite attract in an urban Southern high school 

Fours

  • Rapture Practice by Aaron Hartzler – gay kid grows up with very conservative religious parents
  • The Summer Prince by Alaya Dawn Johnson – guerilla artist teen protests injustice in a dystopian society
  • Far Far Away by Tom McNeal – danger awaits a guileless teen who can talk to the ghost of a Grimm brother
  • On Writing by Stephen King – author ruminates on life and writing
  • Winger by Andrew Smith – young boy learns how to be a good human at boarding school
  • The Moon and More by Sarah Dessen – girl decides between staying and leaving after graduating

 

Fives

  • Night Owl by M. Pierce – emotionally intense love/not-so-love/we are all fucked up story
  • Fangirl by Rainbow Rowell – nerdy fandom girl has an awkward first year at college
  • A Clash of Kings by George R. R. Martin – many kings try to grasp power in Westeros
  • A Storm of Swords by George R. R. Martin – more political intrigue, war, and complete mayhem ensues

 

 

 

 

book reviews
02 Oct 2013

The Kingdom of Little Wounds by Susann Cokal

Hmm… have I talked about my Game of Thrones kick in awhile? No? Well, let’s rectify that. I’m really into Game of Thrones. It’s true. Jessica, the Girl Who Would Not Read Historical Fiction or Fantasies is really into a historical fantasy series. I’ve spent many hours reading and listening to the first three books in the series, a decent enough time to ponder exactly why Westeros turns my crank. Since I am now an exceptionally mature adult, historical fiction is growing on me, and stories about family heritage passing down through generations, too. I don’t consider myself a particular junkie for political intrigue, but Martin cloaks the political power in various mystery plots, so it’s a pleasure (or, actually, a horror), to discover the characters’ secret motives as I read. I also like that Westeros is populated not by glistening princesses and shining knights – archetypes, roaming the seven kingdoms – but instead by characters with human needs and desires (Yes, that was code for ‘I like the sex and boobs and drinking’). And although Martin does write some fabulously insensitive crap about his female characters, I do enjoy the attention to the female experience in what is otherwise a male dominated time and place.

I liked Susann Cokal’s The Kingdom of Little Wounds for the same reasons, although the two may not seem particularly similar. Game of Thrones is an epic political saga spanning continents – The Kingdom of Little Wounds is hyper up-close look inside the royal castle walls of an imaginary Scandinavian castle, where lower class girls earn their living serving princes and queens… and currying royal secrets on the side. After a love affair ended with a public shaming, Ava Bingen is lucky to serve as a queen’s seamstress. But an accident lands Ava in the palace jail, and the only way to preserve her position is to enter a secret-sharing arrangement with a ruthless Duke, which draws Ava deep into the complex and occasionally gruesome secret lives of the royal court members. Although Ava – misguided, striving, and exploited – is the focus of the plot, Cokal’s multiple perspectives also explore the lives of a mute slave girl, an ill princess, and a queen who may be crazy or may be suffering from being Female in a Man’s World. There are a variety of richly imagined female experiences here, all of which weave together to change the course of political events, quietly undermining decisions made by the men in power.

I should also mention that if you thought Game of Thrones was raunchy, debauched, and otherwise graphic, then The Kingdom of Little Wounds will probably turn your stomach. I am generally a sensitive flower when it comes to literary bodily functions – pretty sure Mr. Martin’s characters soil themselves about 100 times more often than realistic or necessary – but Cokal uses the grotesque realities of medicine, daily hygiene, and sickness to play up the ugliness of royal political schemes and call your attention to the weirdness that is relationships between Royals (the randomly, genetically anointed chosen class) and the Servants (who empty their chamber pots and watch them sleep with one another). It’s almost a little like Downton Abbey in that regard.

So this book is basically Game of Thrones meets Downton Abbey!

Um. That was a joke. I should probably accentuate HOW gruesome this book is. It’s quite graphic. I don’t think it’s anything that teens can’t handle, but be warned.

But, really, I do digress. If I am going to make Game of Thrones comparisons, I should also mention that Cokal writes dizzying circles around Martin. The Kingdom of Little Wounds is like a thick chocolate cake of a book; moist and gooey language, rich imagery, best taken in small portions. This is a beautifully written book to the point that it will likely frighten you. Much more than GoT or Downton, reading this book reminded me of the brilliant and intimidating The Astonishing Life of Octavian Nothing by the inimitable M. T. Anderson. I assure you, this is the very highest of complements. I also assure you that The Kingdom of Little Wounds a gorgeous, dense, unflinching story about how history is written, and this review has done it zero justice.

adventures
30 Sep 2013

seven things about venice before i forget them

I did not want to go to Venice. Nope. I barely wanted to go to Rome, or to Europe. Then again, after a year of preparation and looming dread, I didn’t particularly want to get married. I mean, I wanted to BE married, I just didn’t want to GET married. This also sums up my attitude toward travel. I want to HAVE traveled, I just don’t want to get off the couch long enough to actually go through with it.

So I deferred honeymoon planning to The Boy. This was supposed to reduce the overall household wedding stress by division of labor, but I’m sure you guys know me well enough to know that it didn’t exactly work so well. First of all, I am an anal retentive freak and anyone who has to speak to me for more than 15 minutes deserves a medal. Second of all, at some point I told The Boy that I didn’t want to plan anything involving this honeymoon, that he should make all decisions in our best interests, but I also reserve the right to be pissed if things go wrong. Darling wife, love forever, etc.

I agreed to Rome and one other Italian city. The Boy insisted on Venice. I wasn’t keen on navigating European rail or dragging luggage on and off boats on my supposedly relaxing honeymoon, but Venice is sinking.

So we arrived in Rome on Monday afternoon, slept and ate pizza and drank wine for two nights. The next morning we carried our luggage down to the Termini station to board a high speed train. Four hours later, we arrived in Venice.

It was lovely and I forgot all of my anal retentive fears immediately upon arrival.

Just kidding. It was 90 degrees, neither of us could figure out where the proper water bus would pick us up or even how to purchase a ticket, and I probably did a lot of passive aggressive scowling at my dear husband for foisting all of these first world problems upon me.

Happy, happy newlyweds.

 

My mood improved significantly after we sat down for our first proper Italian meal. Wine. Bread. Spaghetti Bolognese for me and some seafood pasta for him. We were seated outside, the restaurant tucked away on a narrow side street. Supposedly Venice is known for having the worst food in Italy – chefs of any repute prefer to practice their craft without the practical limitations of acquiring fresh and fancy ingredients off the mainland – but my American taste buds were regularly impressed.

The sun went down and so did the wine and then it felt like vacation.

So what did we do in Venice?

Well, we hit as many of the touristy destinations as we could. We rode the vaporetto. We ate the same panini 4 or 5 times. We lounged around our BnB. We attempted to watch the fireworks at Festa del Redentore, but I got too grumpy. We chased Venitian kitty cats through the streets, trying to figure out where they lived.

But if you’re going to count the minutes, we probably spent 95% of our time in Venice getting lost, and getting un-lost.

Getting around in Venice is as close to an impossible task as you can get. You can get a map… but the names of the streets are so long and the streets themselves so short that even if the map-maker decided to label that particular street, what’s on paper won’t match what’s posted. And the canals. Oh, the canals. Each canal has a few bridges that cross over, but maybe a dozen streets that SHOULD have a bridge to cross over. So you detour around, looking for a bridge, and in the process lose your path.

You have no idea where you are. You do not speak the language. You are supposed to be having a relaxing, harmonious honeymoon with the one you love, not bicker over which way you should turn at an intersection… if you can call a giant square-ish open space with a toy store, a bar, and yet another ancient church an intersection.

Bring your patience to Venice. Instill in your heart a deep faith that you will find your way home, that you will not spend the night sleeping in someone’s boat. Follow the never-ending flow of tourists – they are generally on the easiest path to somewhere recognizable. And look closely at those churches – they’re large, they’re always on the map, and they will guide you home.

 

After experiencing the wonder that was the Italian Hotel Breakfast in Rome, we were dismayed to remember we did not opt in to the breakfast portion of our bed and breakfast stay. So began the hunt for the elusive cup of coffee.

For a country that is known for coffee delicioso, BOY did we have a tough time figuring out where to get some. Maybe our American, Starbucks-accustomed expectations were too high. The guide books and websites assured us that any local bar became a de facto coffee shop in the morning, that you could order a pastry and an espresso and take your breakfast standing at the bar, European style. But The Boy and I were either too timid or too lazy – or both. By the time we’d slept off the previous night’s vino della casa, dressed, and hit the streets, the bars seemed to be serving food-food, and the standers-at-the-bar drinking cocktails.

Even when I am on vacation, I cannot abide by booze before coffee. After who knows how many hours of stumbling, uncaffeinated through the streets, we finally found Caffe del Doge, which was exactly what we needed. Perhaps it would have been more European to stand in a darkened bar and knock back a shot of espresso to start our day, but I absolutely loved Caffe del Doge. It was just like the American coffeeshops I’ve grown accustomed to – there were tables, a large menu, folks who spoke English – but just substitute all the shitty caramel frappa-pumpkin-lattes with delicious and creative Italian coffee options.

The boy stuck to Americanos, espresso served with a little individual pitcher of hot water, while I tried a few things on the menu. Iced coffee with star anise was a favorite, but that shot of espresso with a giant pile of whipped cream wasn’t too shabby.

Let it also be known that I absolutely drank more black coffee in Italy than I’ve drank in my entire life. Desperate times, desperate measures. I lived to tell the tale.

Murano is a cute little group of islands off Venice proper. After riding the water bus over and watching a glass-blowing demonstration, we spent the rest of the afternoon wandering about Murano and talking about glass.

We bought a few souvenirs, but I am pretty sure that we didn’t succeed in buying any actual Murano glass. The best I could gather was that if it was real Murano glass, we couldn’t afford it.

That did not stop us from spending far, far too long playing the Is this real Murano glass? Is that real Murano glass? game. The Boy?  This is favorite game. Me? I don’t like to talk to strangers and I get exhausted when I’m on my feet for too long. I bought my overpriced little baubles and moved on with my day. The Boy haggled and debated and argued until the vaporetto was about to pull away and leave him stranded.

 

Speaking of souvenirs… they vex me. I don’t want to get ripped off on junky nonsense. I don’t want to spend an arm and a leg on anything (ever). I don’t want to pack an extra suitcase so I can acquire things. I don’t want to spend my vacation shopping.

However, I appreciate keeping items in your home that remind you of the places you’ve been. A few trips ago, we decided that until we feel financially comfortable enough to spend big bucks while traveling we will settle with buying nice postcards and framing them. REALLY nice postcards, you know, the artsy ones that cost like, 3 whole dollars. We were probably having an afternoon of Should we buy this? Should we buy that? when we came up with this scheme – I’m not sure that committing to hanging up random postcards is the best decor decision, but it was something that our stingy asses could agree on.

Anyway, we found a nice postcard of the Rialto bridge in Venice proper, so once we landed on Burano – The Most Adorable Place on the Planet – we did a little postcard shopping.

And by “we did a little postcard shopping,” I mean, he did some postcard shopping while I wandered down an adorable street and took photos of front doors and tried to find some cold coffee.

The Boy came back with a postcard. “I asked the woman if she had any postcards of Murano,” he told me, “but she said that Murano was too ugly.”

Venetian Island Feuds? Apparently a thing.

We spent four days and three nights in Venice. I got un-jetlagged. I adjusted to being in another country, drinking black coffee, and being on vacation. I started to feel adjusted, vaguely at home.

I did all that in Venice.

In our corner of Cannaregio, we regularly walked by a store with a maroon awning. We knew to take the alley to the right of the storefront, that we would be almost back to our bed and breakfast.

The second day in Venice, we popped inside the store with the maroon awning and it was a store filled entirely with wine and chocolate. So we came by every afternoon for the rest of our stay in Venice.

Even better? The wine was 3 euro for a liter. What romantic luck for the stingiest honeymooners alive.

~

Thanks everyone for indulging my summer ramblings about my summer ramblings. Glamor and glitz officially over. Now back to my regularly scheduled American adventures, such as  The Boy Takes 45 Minutes to Buy Vitamins at CVS,  Jessica Falls Down While Reading on the T, and We Have a Futon On Our Back Porch.

book awards
28 Sep 2013

Boston Globe-Horn Book Awards 2013

Hey! The Boston Globe-Horn Book Awards were just announced!

…umm… back in May. When I was completely strung out on wedding shit.

However, that doesn’t mean they are not worth celebrating. Especially when two of my favorite YA books of the year appeared on the fiction list! I will be attending the awards ceremony again this year, which is always great fun. Hobnobbing around the old alma mater, children’s lit celeb spotting, wine sipping and cheese noshing. And the acceptance speeches, oh, they are the stuff that sparks up the soul. People with considerable talents, choosing to pursue excellence in children’s literature through writing, through art, through teaching, reading, and reviewing. It’s a celebration of what we all are trying to achieve with our work. It is fun.

I am even more excited to get to attend the one-day colloquium on Saturday. I haven’t been for a few years, but I still remember some of the interesting bits of discussion.

Oh, and you might notice that my new favorite author will be in attendance. Yes. Yes. Yes. I will need to recruit a close friend to keep me from fangirling out; the fancy outfits, the spirit of celebration, the wine (the wine), oh, it can be a dangerous atmosphere for keeping one’s cool. I’ll try to stick to the signed books and admiration from a distance. I’ll try real hard.

Picturebook Award

Building Our House by Jonathan Bean


Picturebook Honors

Open This Little Book by Jesse Klausmeiser, illus. by Suzy Lee

Black Dog by Levi Pinfold

 

Fiction Award

Eleanor & Park by Rainbow Rowell (yay, rah!)


Fiction Honors

A Corner of White by Jaclyn Moriarty

Seraphina by Rachel Hartman (yay yay, rah rah!)

 


Nonfiction Award

Electric Ben: The Amazing Life and Times of Benjamin Franklin by Robert Byrd

Nonfiction Honors

Dreaming Up: A Celebration of Building  by Christy Hale

Hand in Hand: Ten Black Men Who Changed America by Andrea Davis Pinkney and illustrated by Brian Pinkney

 

book reviews
27 Sep 2013

Fangirl by Rainbow Rowell

Introverted Cath isn’t the most well-adjusted, outgoing teen in Nebraska, but she knows where she stands. With her mother gone and her father a little flighty, Cath keeps an eye on things at home. Her twin sister Wren is her best friend. And the rest of her life and livelihood is Simon Snow – specifically, her life is Carry On, Simon the epic, episodic work of fan fiction Cath writes for an audience of thousands of Simon fans around the world.

College upsets everything. Cath worries about her father and his empty nest. Wren has a new roommate and a new weekend partying habit, while Cath’s roommate is older and eyes Cath’s Simon Snow posters suspiciously. Cath’s creative writing class isn’t what she hoped it would be, and she either has time for schoolwork or updating Carry On, Simon, but not both. It’s awful. But she has to deal with it. Or drop out. Or fall in love. Or not.

There are a lot of conversations you could have about Rainbow Rowell’s Fangirl.

– You could talk about whether or not Fangirl is YA, or whether or not any book set in college could be considered YA.

– You could talk about if a character’s Internet-Life can be adequately and richly portrayed with prose, and whether or not Rowell did Cath’s fandom any justice.

– Rowell includes excerpts from Cath’s fan fiction as well as from Simon books themselves – you could talk about fiction within fiction… or more accurately, fiction-based-on-other-fiction all within fiction. Yikes.

– You could talk about “slice of life” fiction. Is it boring? Is it realistic? Is it an artistic form or a mark of authorial laziness? I

– If you are an introverted English major who somehow survived college feeling a little beaten and bruised – come on, I know most of you probably are – then you could talk about how Rowell must have been spying on you in your dorm room, subsisting on the cereal bars stashed in your dresser drawers rather than think of stepping into the school cafeteria.

I could write a blog post on any of those topics, but I believe I would need an entire post for each question. Maybe more. I know this blog has taken some strange turns over the years, but I’m not about to start a Rainbow Rowell Literary Analysis Only blog. Or, A Dramatic Retelling of My College Experience blog for that matter.

However, I would like to propose a theory to you, my few and amazing readers: the more discussion a book raises, the better the book. The more questions you have, the better the book. The more different angles you can come at a book, the better the book.

Obviously, this is not a hard and fast rule, but think about it next time you finish a book. Does the ending wrap itself up in a bow? Can you see where the plot is leading you at every turn? Do you understand every narrative decision the author made? Do you agree with every narrative decision the author made?

It’s nice to read a tidy book, but a tidy book is usually a safe book. Rowell’s narration is pitch perfect and yes, there is a fairly traditional romance plot, but I would argue that this is not a safe book. It’s a book you can critique. A book you can dissect. It’s a book you can love, but makes you think about why you love it.

I should also mention: I loved it. Loved it hard. Didn’t want it to end. It’s been years since I’ve added an author to my Must Read List, but welcome aboard, Ms. Rowell.

books
27 Sep 2013

Uncle Stephen

I first read Stephen King’s On Writing: A Memoir of the Craft on a summer break, home from college. I read most of it sitting on the family room couch while the TV was on. I remember sitting down to watch said TV, then finding myself opening the book without intending to, beguiled away from television.

This happens to me with certain books, usually memoirs that have easy prose and an intimate narration. There might not be a dramatic plot enticing me to read on, but just seeing the book on the couch is enough to get me to read a few pages, even if I sat down with less than literary intentions.

Inspired by Ashley‘s video on her favorite writing books, I just finished a re-read. Still beguiling. The snippets of King’s childhood and early adulthood read like you are peeking into his life through small but very clean windows – you can see everything quite clearly. The second half – the craft portion – isn’t revolutionary. Calm assurances. Jokes. Reminders. Do this thing, this writing thing, with care. Tell stories and take stories seriously.

Maybe this is one of my many low-brow habits, but I like nonfiction that feels like a friend. Like family, even. Books that speak of the things that are dear to my heart. Books that speak with the authority of one who’s spent time in the trenches, an author who isn’t afraid to talk about the painful, crummy bits, but also about the rest. How running connects us with our bodies and the bodies of our ancestors. How self-care can change the way you see your life and the rest of the world. How vulnerability can crack your soul open and let good things flow in. How in a society where pleasure is easy to grasp, the pursuit of happiness is still an ideal worth holding.

I am now wishing that I had a copy of On Writing to add to my read and re-read and re-read shelf.  And also wishing that Stephen King could be my uncle, sending me encouraging emails, reminding me not to take myself too seriously, sending me a new copy of  The Elements of Style for Christmas.

 

4
audiobooks
24 Sep 2013

what to listen to next

Earlier this week I told The Boy a few revealing stories about my childhood; some tales of my early childhood nerd-hood that I was sure I’d told him at some point in the past 9.75 years but apparently not. One such story was The Tale of Child Jessica and her Lifelong Audiobook Habit. This is one of those stories where the title gives away the plot, but not all of the embarrassing details. Like how I listened to the same Blossom Family book so many times that I could pop any single cassette tape into my clock radio and just pick up the story from wherever. Or the one Christmas Eve when I went to bed, knowing that sleep would be difficult, so I put in a tape of There’s a Boy in the Girl’s Bathroom – a comforting favorite – and told myself that I should fall asleep before the end of the tape. It worked, and I delighted in the discovery of a magical childhood insomnia cure.

The Boy’s response to my nerdy confession:

“You are telling me this like you don’t still do this. Like, every night.”

Ahem.

Embarrassing, but the boy is correct. Or at least correct most of the time. I do still suffer from sleep anxiety and go through stages where I decide the best way to sleep is with an audiobook in my headphones. All the better if it’s something familiar. Enter Game of Thrones and Clash of Kings, both of which I read in July, both of which I re-listened to August in September, often while falling asleep. I’ve also enjoyed Jim Dale’s soothing tones reading me various Harry Potter books in the past few years, but Game of Throne is my current sleep aid of choice.

But sometimes you want to listen to A Storm of Swords and so does everyone else at your library. Of course. Moving myself up the holds list is frowned upon at my library, and also makes me feel slimy.

Also, maybe I should give George R. R. Martin a rest and listen to something else. Something that isn’t 28 discs long. If I apply the same gusto I’ve applied to GoT listening, I could probably finish TWO audio books by the time my Storm of Swords holds come in.

This has been another episode of Jessica Rambles Too Much About Something That Is Really Not Important Just Read a Damn Book Already, Fool And Now Here are Some Book Covers.

Dead End in Norvelt. Have you ever had a book haunt you? I’ve been trying to read this book for… ugh. I can’t talk about it. I just need to read it. I thought I had the audio all ready to go on my computer, but then I looked yesterday and Disc One was missing. Disc One. Of course. I almost decided on Morgan Matson’s Amy & Roger’s Epic Detour instead, since it WAS on my computer. This choice also meets the re-read criteria for easy sleep listening.

When I finished Clash of Kings yesterday, though, I was not AT my house. Enter the Overdrive Audiobook. The last time I attempted this feat I had a Mac with an iPod and MAN that whole check-out/download/oops-that’s-a-WMA-file-you-dumb-ass thing was pretty frustrating. Not so much with an iPhone and the Overdrive App! Even the browsing was improved – it was really quick to browse YA and children’s and limit by what was available. I snagged a handful, including DC Pierson’s Crap Kingdom. Hey, remember when DC Pierson was on EVERY SINGLE PODCAST earlier this year promoting this book? Well, apparently that’s enough to at least get me to download the audio for free 6 months later. Or, I could be wholesome and productive and read a NBA longlist nom, Tom McNeal’s Far Far Away.

Or I could just pop in a random disc of Clash of Kings… you know… just so I can sleep…

 

book lists
23 Sep 2013

oh the nonfiction we will read

Nominations do not open until October, but I already have Cybils on the brain. Last year, I did that thing that stupid newbies always do…. you know, the thing when you think you have plennnttttyyyy of time to complete A Really Ginormous Task so you’re just going to start by doing a little, you know, a few Xs and Ys a week, ease into it, blah blah blah. That’s bullshit. Worst idea ever. Come November, you’re little “ease into it” phase will warp into a blistering, blathering frenzy where you aren’t really sure how in the world you will finish your Really Ginormous Task, even if there wasn’t such a thing as Thanksgiving or Housekeeping or Other Various Tasks that Keep Food on Your Table.

So yeah, Cybils on the brain. But my brain might just have to run in circles for another week because it doesn’t seem that 2013 was the best year for YA nonfiction. Last year Bomb was on everyone’s minds, Titanic got a little buzz, and I read the Temple Grandin bio back in January. Russell Freedman had a new book, Dorreen Rappaport and Marc Aronson, too.

It doesn’t help that while last year we read middle grade AND YA titles and this year we will split. Once it comes time to select a short list this division will prove immensely helpful, I think; it is almost impossible to compare a book written for a 4th grade audience to a book written for a high school audience. Right now, though, as I mine through old School Library Journals and Booklists, I have no stinkin’ idea how this division will be made. So much juvenile nonfiction hits that 5th through 8th grade audience, or 6th through 9th, or 5th and up. This will make for an interesting reading period, definitely, but for now, I am flummoxed.

I did manage to find a handful of teen nonfiction to put on hold, in a desperate attempt to get even a week’s leg up on that Really Ginormous Task. I suspect that most of these will get nominations. If they don’t, I’m happy to have read even one extra book to help broaden my knowledge of this year’s nonfiction offerings.

That last line was a bald-faced lie. Oh, please just repeat that back to me at the end of November and watch me weep openly at the prospect of reading one more unmandated nonfiction book. Please.

 

Dear Teen Me: Authors Write Letters to their Teen Selves ed. by Miranda Keanneally and E. Kristin Anderson

The Nazi Hunters by Neal Bascomb

Imprisoned: The Betrayal of Japanese Americans during World War II by Martin W. Sandler

Code Name Pauline by Pearl Witherington Cornioley

Bad Girls: Sirens, Jezebels, Murderesses, Thieves & Other Female Villains by Heidi E. Stemple and Jane Yolen

Rapture Practice by Aaaron Hartzler

Women of the Frontier by Brandon Marie Miller

 

 

book lists
21 Sep 2013

three kinds of realism

I spent a little time knee-deep in my Goodreads account this week, taking a gander at what I’ve read so far at 2013. I know I decided to read more YA, but really, I’ve read a TON of YA this year. Way more YA than any other genres. Pat on the back. Not everything I’ve read has been great – which is probably why I still feel like I need to read more YA – but not too shabby.

So in the interest of better selecting titles to fill the last few months of the year, I took a look at what stuck out to me from what I’ve already read. I made a list of The Bulk of My Reading: the YA contemporary realism titles that didn’t make me roll my eyes.

Then, I started to sort.

This highly scientific organization effort revealed that my most recent tastes in realism fall in one of the following three categories:

Realism in which the protagonist learns life lessons while pursuing romance.

This category should surprise nobody. I was surprised, however, that so many of the books I didn’t think were life-lessony-romances were definitely life-lessony-romances. The romances may not have the structure of a romance (see this rambly review of the lastest Dessen for more on that) and they may not all end well, but for the most part, these books are largely about love and growing up.

Humorous, voice-heavy realism in which the progatonist learns life lessons while pursuing romance

See above, except these books are just much lighter in tone; even the stories that deal with heavier issues (depression, sexuality, violence) do so with more humor than the books in category one. Also, the narrators here are much voicier than those above.

Realism not otherwise specified

The miscellaneous ends. The works of realism that were doing something entirely different, something that just didn’t fit in the other two categories. Should I be reading more of these? I think yes. This list includes my all time fave Frankie and has the best book covers.