All posts tagged rural

Not Your Jessica and Elizabeth Wakefield: Andy Squared

A Review of Andy Squared by Jennifer Lavoie

Bold Strokes Books, 2012

by REBECCA, April 17, 2013

characters

Andrew (A1): popular at school (and with the cheerleaders), he just wants to play soccer and hang out with his twin . . . or, at least, he used to

Andrea (A2): more ambitious than her brother, she has their college careers all planned out for them and does not take kindly to changes in plans

Ryder: recently arrived from Texas, Ryder is a laid-back and generous friend, and totally crushing on Andrew

hook

Andrew and Andrea are twins who have always done everything together. When Andrew becomes close friends with new kid Ryder, Andrea can’t understand why he seems to be changing. He hasn’t dated a cheerleader in (gasp!) a month, he’s learning to ride horses, and now he’s talking about not wanting to play college soccer. Andrew, though, feels satisfied for the first time in his life. Which path will he choose—the one his twin has laid out for him, or the one he and Ryder are building together?

worldview

With only one letter separating them, the two Andys have it made: both popular at school, both talented soccer players, and part of a close, happy family, they’ve never had to think very hard about who they are or what they’re going to do. Andrea is busy planning for their future and Andrew is absently dating his way through the cheerleading squad when Ryder, nephew of local horse farmers, moves to their small, New York town. Ryder and Andrew are immediately drawn together. Ryder is the opposite of Andrew’s other friends: he’s laid-back and thoughtful, he doesn’t expect or judge anything or anyone. When Ryder tells Andrew that he’s gay, Andrew suddenly reevaluates his own assumptions about himself, realizing that perhaps the reason he only dates each cheerleader for two weeks isn’t because, as he’d always thought, they’re too clingy. As Andrew and Ryder start exploring a romantic relationship, people begin to suspect that Ryder might be gay and make trouble for Andrew by association.

Jennifer Lavoie’s Andy Squared sounds like your typical high school coming out story, but it really isn’t. Ryder is totally comfortable with his sexuality, although it’s not the first thing he advertises about about himself, and once Andrew realizes that he might be gay—or, at least, that he is attracted to Ryder—it isn’t a particularly big deal to him either (although he knows it likely will be to his friends and family). Rather, when he’s with Ryder, he finally feels like he’s connecting with someone on an intimate level, in contrast with the way he’s been “dating” cheerleaders but avoiding spending time with them.

Mostly, Andy Squared is a pretty chill story of how someone who has always gone with the flow learns that to really find out who he is he has to stop automatically doing what is expected of him. And it’s in these expectations that the angst of the novel comes out, because Andrew has always kind of deferred to Andrea about what they’ll do, so when he actually looks at the path he’s on, he realizes that perhaps he doesn’t want to just default to Andrea’s assumptions about their lives anymore. As someone who’s really close to her sister, I really responded to Andrew feeling torn between being true to himself and disappointing his sister. Although: Andrea, girl, you’re an insensitive asshole and you are not being a good sister; stop it right now.

what were this book’s intentions? did it live up to them?

Andy Squared isn’t a flashy book; it isn’t really voice-driven or experimental. It’s just really solid storytelling that has a believable and compelling plot, two charming main characters, and a pleasantly particular setting (horsies!!!). The setting was a high point for me, too, because you really get the feeling that Andy2 are total products of their environment, which makes their disagreements about college even more understandable. I don’t mean to sound like Andy Squared was boring or unremarkable—it isn’t at all. It just knew what it was and what it wasn’t and it didn’t try to do too much. I, for one, am a fan of that kind of nice, solid, realist story; it had the charm of, like, a What’s Eating Gilbert Grape or something.

In the last five or six years there has been such a heartening increase in both the number and diversity of queer characters that we’ve seen in YA fiction. Ryder and Andrew are cool additions to this list, then, because their sexual orientations don’t really play a large part in their lives. This is something we’ve seen in other YA books, but mainly in urban areas or in opposite-day settings where queerness is majoritarian; it’s not as common in a book set in a rural town.

All in all, Andy Squared isn’t a knock-your-socks-off gay romance, if that’s what you’re looking for, but I definitely recommend it for anyone in the mood for an easy read that includes horses, snow, wholesome families, and first loves.

readalikes

Gemini Bites by Patrick Ryan (2011). Judy and Kyle are twins who are always at odds. When Garrett moves into their already crowded home, they can’t figure out anything about him: is he a vampire? is he gay? He’s certainly mysterious and, of course, Judy and Kyle fight for his attention—Kyle because he’s actually interested and Judy because she wants to win.

Ghost Medicine by Andrew Smith (2008). I paired Gemini Bites and Ghost Medicine as readalikes because I found Andy Squared to be, in music-reviewspeak, a kind of Gemini Bites meets Ghost Medicine, the former for the twins, the gayness, and the punchiness, and the latter for the really slow, beautiful evocation of a rural landscape (and the horsies!—sorry, I have had, like, three conversations with people about horsegirls this week, so I’ve been thinking about HORSIES. Note, google image searching “horsegirls” does not pull up the kind of pics I was expecting, although it does pull up the kind of pics I should have been expecting). As usual, Andrew Smith’s prose is gorgeous and his characters tell a painful brand of truth.

procured from: I received an ARC from the publisher (thank you!) in exchange for an honest review. Andy Squared by Jennifer Lavoie is available now.

2 Comments

by Rebecca on April 17, 2013 • Permalink

Posted in Book Review

Tagged GLBTQ, horses, new friends, rebecca, rural, sports, twins

Posted by Rebecca on April 17, 2013

http://crunchingsandmunchings.wordpress.com/2013/04/17/review-of-andy-squared-by-jennifer-lavoie/

Lisa Jenn Bigelow: “Put your characters through the wringer!”

Today at Crunchings & Munchings we’re proud to welcome Lisa Jenn Bigelow, author of Starting From Here. It’s a new contemporary fiction title that we co-reviewed/discussed on Wednesday (click through to find out what it’s all about). She joins us today to talk about how coming out is still hard to do, diversity in YA fiction, the dreaded “dead dog book”, and where to eat in Pittsburgh. Yay!

C&M: I really liked that this was a story about the way kids’ lives can be really hard when they don’t have money. Can you talk a little bit about why it was important to you to portray characters that had material concerns as well as social concerns?

LJB: I grew up in a working class neighborhood. Both my parents had higher education, but they were in the minority. And while we always had enough money, we were careful, and I grew up hyperaware of how much things cost. When I got to middle and high school, several affluent neighborhoods joined the mix, and social tiers became obviously tied to economics. The popular kids, the preps, the student council, many of the athletes—they were from the rich (by my hometown’s standards, anyway) neighborhoods. You couldn’t not notice that.

I think well-off kids are the norm in YA books, and when money’s an issue, often it comes out as abject poverty. I wanted to represent the kids around the corner from me, the kids on the line between being “haves” and “have-nots.” That’s an underrepresented segment of the American population. Especially in today’s economic climate, I think those kids are the majority.

Photo by David Sutton

C&M: There have been more and more queer characters in YA books being published in the last few years. Have you noticed any trends (or types, or stereotypes) that have begun to emerge within these books? Did you find yourself trying to embrace/resist/complicate any of these with your own characters?

LJB: On the whole, I think we’re moving away from stereotypes and toward greater diversity. We’re seeing more queer girls and trans characters. We’re seeing more characters of color and different cultures. We’re seeing more stories that move beyond the “coming out” sub-genre. We’re seeing more genre fiction—fantasy and science fiction and even historical fiction—starring queer characters.

One of my favorite trends is the growing recognition of the fluidity of sexuality and gender. Characters aren’t so quick to label themselves. They’re more comfortable following their hearts without taking a hard line on whether a particular attraction makes them gay or bi or what-have-you. That’s something I really liked about Very LeFreak, by Rachel Cohn, which stars a girl who might best be described as pansexual—if she were one to care about labels.

In Starting from Here, Colby identifies strongly as gay, but the two girls she’s involved with don’t want—or aren’t ready—to label themselves that way. I want teens to know that it’s totally okay not to. I think it’s more important to simply feel what you feel at any given moment and to accept those feelings without judging yourself or worrying about “what it makes you.”

C&M: What do you think of the cover? I’m super into it – no generic photograph of a person staring off into the middle distance — and it reminds me of the iconic David Levithan covers. I especially like how the truck is pink and the heart is yellow. Did you have any input on it? Were you hoping for a certain vibe from the cover?

LJB: The cover’s awesome—no thanks to me. My nightmare was actually that the cover would be a stock photo of an empty country road with one of those yellow diamond-shaped road signs with the title printed on it. So I was thrilled with what the designer came up with. I think it’s very appealing and distinctive from the slew of stock-photo-girl covers out there. I do love that it evokes David Levithan’s Boy Meets Boy, and also the hardcover edition of Lauren Myracle’s Peace, Love, and Baby Ducks—two great books by two of my favorite authors.

C&M: Starting From Here is set in rural-y Michigan. What’s your connection with the area and why did you decide to set it there?

LJB: I grew up in the Kalamazoo area—technically in Portage, which is a smallish city just south of Kalamazoo proper. It has one huge, commercial road running through the center of town, but drive a mile or two to either side, and you basically end up in the country. Cornfields, trailer parks, lakes and nature preserves. My own neighborhood was right near the commercial center, but over the course of eighteen years, I got a feel for just about the whole town. It’s all remained very vivid to me, plus I get a refresher course every time I visit my parents.

The culture of the area is just as important. When Starting from Here was on submission, there were actually editors who expressed confusion as to why Colby had qualms about coming out to her father. I think that’s cosmopolitan New York talking. Anyone who follows the news should know that in most of America (including New York), coming out can still be a dangerous thing. Coming out can mean being harassed, ostracized, disowned, assaulted, or even killed. Kalamazoo County may have gone Blue in the 2012 presidential election, but Southwest Michigan is, overall, a pretty conservative area. Things have changed for the better there since I was a teen, but I wanted to reflect the reality that things are still far from perfect.

Kalamazoo by Dave Sizer on flickr (creative commons)

C&M: Mo the dog is a huge part of the story, and in some ways the heart of the story (please forgive me for that cheesy phrasing). Rebecca and I, as devoted cat owners and animal lovers, were both very touched by Mo’s inclusion. So we wanted to thank you for showing the responsibility and love that pet ownership entails! Although, thankfully, this is not a dead dog story, those types of stories are notoriously divisive. Where do you come down on the Old Yeller issue? Do you have a dog?

LJB: Funny you should bring up Old Yeller. The very first chapter of the very first draft of Starting from Here had Colby talking about how she’d read that book over and over again, until she didn’t have any tears left. That’s how I feel about “dead dog books” at this point in my life. I read Where the Red Fern Grows, as well as various other tearjerkers, so many times when I was a kid, but I got to a point where I was tired of crying. Maybe because real life seemed hard enough.

this dog will lighten the mood. by RollanB on Flickr

Now whenever I pick up a dog book, I flip to the last page—something I normally don’t do—to see if the dog makes it to the end alive. If it doesn’t, forget it. I’ve had to say goodbye to three dogs in my life, and it’s terrible. I still tear up when I think about my dog Carly, who died a year and a half ago–she’s the German shepherd mix in my official author photo. She was more neurotic than the average dog, but I loved her to pieces.

I adopted another dog last fall—another shepherd mix, incidentally. Her name is Saffy, and while she’s middle-aged, she’s very energetic and loves fetch and going in Lake Michigan. She’s also a total cuddle. Now I’m searching for a second rescue to make us more of a pack.

Anyway, that was actually the initial inspiration for Starting from Here: I wanted to write an “anti-dead dog book.” A book that kicks off with an awfully close call but doesn’t end in tears. A book that shows how a dog can save someone’s life simply through love, no fatal acts of heroism required.

C&M: Colby’s trust issues get worse and worse and she eventually reaches a breaking point. I thought it was a really truthful portrayal of a character with a lot of love to give and a fear of being hurt. It’s a fine line when you have one of your characters do hurtful things to the people around them and to themselves, but Colby is never unlikeable. Did you ever feel bad about putting her through that process?

LJB: Will I sound callous if I say “not really”? That’s how the novel-writing game is played: put your characters through the wringer! I guess the hardest thing was making Colby convincingly self-absorbed. She feels like the world is out to get her, when it was obvious to me (as it will be to readers) that isn’t true. If I knew her in real life, I’d want to give her a good shake. But we’ve all been there, and I hope readers can make that connection.

The most emotional scenes for me to write were, unsurprisingly, when Colby hits bottom. But they were also some of the most satisfying. I figured that if I could make myself cry—me, the puppetmaster, the one person who should be immune to emotional manipulation—then those scenes would touch readers, too.

C&M: Does your work as a youth librarian influence your writing, and if so, how so?
LJB: As a youth librarian, I’m immersed daily in books for young people. I read reviews of them, purchase them, read them, review them, discuss them, suggest them. All these activities have given me a strong awareness of what’s being published (which is far beyond what you are likely to see on the shelves of a big box store), what kids like to read, and what reviewers and award committees are looking at. On the one hand, it makes me read–and therefore write–more critically; on the other, I’ve become more generous in my definition of what makes a “good book,” because as a librarian you have to accept that it’s different for everyone. Above all, being a librarian gives me perspective. There are so many very good books out there that don’t get starred reviews, don’t win awards, don’t make the bestseller list, and go out of print within just a few years. A lot of that is luck; it’s just how the business is. So you just have to hope your book will find its readers and touch their lives before it fades away. And libraries, which treasure books as long as they have the shelf space, play an instrumental role in that.

BONUS QUESTION:

Tessa: Tell me about your favorite place(s) to go in Pittsburgh!

LJB: You’re making me nostalgic. I went to Carnegie Mellon University, which doesn’t have a particularly nice campus but is a great home base for what Pittsburgh has to offer. For ice cream, I have to go with Dave & Andy’s. For pizza, the Church Brew Works. My friends and I loved Sree’s Foods for Indian. Sree himself ran a food cart next to campus and was a kind and generous man. He died last year, unfortunately.

one of the buildings at CMU, taken by Flickr user jiuguangw

I could go on all day about food—have I mentioned Bloomfield Bridge Tavern makes tasty pierogi?—but onward. The Carnegie Library of Pittsburgh is a beautiful old building, and I checked out many a YA book from it while I was in college. Bonus, the art museum is right next door. I also love Pittsburgh’s wooded parks, especially Schenley and Frick. The best part of Frick Park is Hot Dog Dam, a swimming hole for dogs. So cute!

Tessa: Those are indeed all wonderful Pittsburgh places. Thank you for visiting, Lisa, and giving us thoughtful answers and a great book to read and recommend.

11 Comments

by tessabarber on November 30, 2012 • Permalink

Posted in Interview

Tagged author, class, coming of age, coming out, cover design, culture, depression, diversity, dog, first love, gay, GLBTQ, High School, interview, lesbian, librarian, michigan, pittsburgh, poverty, Rebecca & Tessa, rural, sexuality

Posted by tessabarber on November 30, 2012

http://crunchingsandmunchings.wordpress.com/2012/11/30/lisa-jenn-bigelow/

“Pink Is Not Pink”! Starting From Here by Lisa Jenn Bigelow

A Joint Review of Starting From Here, by Lisa Jenn Bigelow

Amazon Children’s Publishing (formerly Marshall Cavendish Children’s Books), 2012

by TESSA and REBECCA, November 28, 2012 (Happy Birthday to Rebecca’s dad!)

It is our total delight to announce that Lisa Jenn Bigelow will be joining us on Friday for an interview about her debut novel, Starting From Here! Be sure to check back for a chat about Michigan, dogs, and love!

Sixteen-year-old Colby Bingham’s heart has been broken too many times. Her mother has been dead for almost two years, her truck driver father is always away, her almost girlfriend just dumped her for a guy, and now she’s failing chemistry. When a stray dog lands literally at her feet, bleeding and broken on a busy road, it seems like the Universe has it in for Colby. But the incident also knocks a chink in the walls she’s built around her heart. Against her better judgment, she decides to care for the dog. But new connections mean new opportunities for heartbreak. Terrified of another loss, Colby bolts at the first sign of trouble, managing to alienate her best friend, her father, the cute girl pursing her, and even her dog’s vet, who’s taken Colby under her wing. Colby can’t start over, but can she learn how to move on?”

After both reading Lisa Jenn Bigelow’s debut novel, which she was lovely enough to send us, we decided that we wanted to have a little Pittsburgh-to-Philadelphia book club about Starting From Here, so the following joint review is brought to you via g-chat. Woo-hoo, technology.

Tessa: Hello

Rebecca: Hi!

[long period of talking about weird things, including cookies, toilets, and Scotland]

R: Anyhoo, wanna talk about Starting From Here?

T: Yes. Let’s start out by talking about the basic plot.

R: Sure. I really liked that it started with a breakup as opposed to a crush; it had romance and relationships in it, but the structure was totally not the structure of a romance, and the main relationship is with the dog!

T: Yeah! Colby starts out being broken up with by the girl she’s obsessed with [Rachel], and she’s really bummed. So the book kind of fakes you out at the beginning, because I thought it was going to be a pining-after/getting-over book. And it is, but it’s much deeper than that. Colby works through more issues that are brought up by the breakup—family issues, self-esteem issues. But I feel like it’s a fast, almost light read nonetheless, because it has love and hopefulness. I read it in a day. Would you agree?

R: Yeah, it’s interesting that you call it light—to me, it was really quiet. Definitely fast. I, too, read it in a day and it flowed really well, so I read it quite quickly. There’s nothing out of place, no sticking point that tripped me up or made me put the book down. I think that for me, the emotional core of the book (whether I think of it as Colby’s relationship with the dog, or her dad, or her girlfriends) was about Colby’s depression, and, like depression, I felt like I just slid right down into the book and had to read until I came out the other side.

T: Oooh, good description. Yeah, Colby has a relatively good support system, except her dad isn’t around. But her friends can’t save her from herself.

R: Totally. I thought it was a really brilliant description of depression (whether or not we mean that clinically or not) because it built slowly, thing piled on thing, until Colby just couldn’t bring herself to move or change or pull herself out. But Bigelow never says, like “Oh, Colby’s depressed”; it’s just part of her psychic landscape. It felt very real to me, and very relatable.

T: Yes, and so when she hits rock bottom it’s so heartbreaking. And so frustrating that she can’t talk to her dad—I feel like a lot of teenagers (including myself) feel like this around their parents, but with Colby it’s amplified because she knows how important her dad’s job is and she feels like she can’t protest how much time he spends doing it. Plus she can’t find the words or the space to come out to him:

“Even when we spent the day under the same roof, I felt like we were sealed in a crystal bubble. It looked so easy to reach out and touch each other, but there was only so close we’d get before—crack!—knocking each other back.” (187)

This is also mirrored way earlier in a school dance scene—Colby feels so alone!

“I was aware of a girl standing solo across the room trying to catch my eye. . . . I didn’t want to dance with them, bump shoulders with them, feel them soft and vulnerable through their shirts, hoping the negative space in our hearts would somehow add up to a positive.” (84)

R: Yeah, her relationship with her dad was my favorite part (besides the puppy). My favorite part of it is when she tries to get him to buy the pink big rig.

“If dad bought his own rig, he was in this for good. Instead of getting a short-haul job, he’d keep working extralong weeks driving from one end of the country to the other. I’d come home each day with no one to talk to, no one to hug me, no one to just sit on the couch with who remembered and missed Mom the way I did. . . .

‘Tell you what, Bee,’ Dad said, looking up at me, ‘Why don’t you pick one out. What color do you think I should get?’

‘Pink,’ I spat out. . . . Get pink.’

‘I can’t get pink. I’d be laughed off the road. I don’t even know if I could find one. Even lady drivers—’

‘You said I could pick.’ I stared him down, by arms folded across my chest. ‘Promise you’ll get pink, to remember me when you’re on the road. That’s the least you can do.’

For a moment Dad looked—ashamed? Guilty? Both, I hoped. . . .

Dad shook his head, but he said, ‘All right, Colby. I promise.’” (127-8)

It’s such a perfect moment because you can imagine everything that might be going on in his head—trying to please his daughter; being willing to sacrifice for her; knowing something’s wrong but not knowing what; not knowing what to do to make her happy; dreading having to drive a pink truck, etc. And then he actually finds one, and tells her that pink is pink because he doesn’t know the exact shade, she’s like “pink is not pink” (198) and tells him to do whatever he wants since he always does. Broke my fucking heart.

T: Yes, all those things—subtle awkwardness and love between a parent and a kid. I was so happy to read adult characters who were fully fleshed out. Even the vet’s husband wasn’t a two-dimensional character. He could so easily have been “laid off angry dude,” but he had more behind him, and he wasn’t even in very many scenes!

R: Totally. I think that’s one of the things that made it a quiet book for me: each character is really fully fleshed out, but it’s done in such a beautifully economical manner that the book is really bare bones. I feel like every thing I learn about someone is one more pebble in the bowl of them, but there’s nothing that doesn’t do a lot of work. Also, I know it sounds simplistic and superficial, but I love that Colby was a total tough guy whose favorite color was baby pink.

T: Good point.

R: What did you think about Colby’s friends and girlfriends?

T: I felt like as a reader I was seeing more of how Colby saw Rachel than how Rachel actually was. So she remained on a pedestal or tucked away as a painful ideal. I liked how Van was like a brother to Colby, or even a cool aunt. And Amelia . . . I don’t see their relationship lasting after high school, but I liked seeing their appreciation for one another unfold. You?

R: Yeah, I agree wholeheartedly about Rachel—we never got to know what the big deal was about her (which seemed very realistic to me); we just knew she broke Colby’s heart. Van did seem super brother/aunt-ish, which I liked because Bigelow didn’t work too hard to portray their relationship; it just was, and it clearly had been for a long time. As for Amelia, I don’t know: I couldn’t tell if Colby’s feelings were about Amelia or about Colby being lonely. I could believe either, and both seem right. Or maybe it was a combination of both.

T: Maybe it was just about feeling good about being with someone who felt good to be with you. I can get behind that.

R: Me too!

T: Let’s talk about Mo. Were you a dog person before this book?

R: I feel about dogs the way I feel about other lives I could have lived: I don’t see one ever just existing in my life as it is now, but I think if I’d ever taken a slightly different path then maybe one could. I think dogs are beautiful and cute and I love how loyal they are, but I’ve never really been a dog person, per se. I think part of it is that I’m afraid of the commitment; partly that I think they smell bad unless you bathe them constantly (which I’m too lazy to do); and partly that I may not think I’m worthy of the kind of unconditional love they give you. What about you?

T: I feel similarly. Only recently have I become more dog-positive. I used to just like them but not want to really hang around them, but I’ve met several very cool dogs, and now I like hanging around them (and petting their soft bellies, if they are Pitbulls). But I still can’t see myself owning one, mostly because I feel like I’m too lazy. And because it’s hard to tell if you’ll get a dog that has a dog smell, or one that likes to lick your hands too much. But this book definitely made me more of a dog person. It also helps that I own a cat and could identify with that kind of quasi-maternal love and responsibility

R: Yes. I think I might like a dog if ever I find myself living with a lumberjack in a cabin in the woods and the dog can mostly live outside and like, I dunno, chase sticks and stuff, and only come inside to lie in front of the fire. Dogs seem happiest when they have a purpose, so I think that would be a nice way to have a dog. As I mentioned to you earlier, when I was reading about Mo needing surgery at the vet’s, Dorian [my lovely cat] was sitting on my lap, and I was straight-up sobbing and clutching at her fur, so I definitely felt the pet relationship hard.

INTERLUDE: Tessa’s cat, Turkey, and Rebecca’s cat, Dorian Gray, are totally adorable!

T: I also liked that it showed all the facets of having a pet. I’m used to seeing dogs as quest-companions in YA books. They’re supernaturally loyal, already trained, and basically understand English. You don’t see the work that goes into getting a dog to adapt to a habit.

R: Absolutely! (Another reason I don’t know if I could have one.)

T: (I can see you living the lumberjack life, btw)

R: Yeah? I think I could learn to love it. After all, freshly-cut wood is totes one of my love potion smells, à la Harry Potter!

T: ha ha!

R: I loved the end of the book—I won’t say any more because of spoilers, but I really liked it.

[chat devolves into spoilery personal discussion about our feelings about the end of the book, families, and Scotland.]

T: Anyway, I’m glad we’re in agreement about the fact that people should read this book!

R: Yes! I can’t wait for your interview with Lisa on Friday!

T: It’s going to be great—she’s so nice!

R: ta

T: bye!

R: <3

You have just enough time to gobble down Starting From Here before you join us right here on Friday for an interview with Lisa Jenn Bigelow!

We received these books from the author (thank you!), with no compensation on either side. Starting From Here is available now.

3 Comments

by Rebecca on November 28, 2012 • Permalink

Posted in Book Review, Joint Review

Tagged depression, dogs, GLBTQ, Rebecca & Tessa, rural

Posted by Rebecca on November 28, 2012

http://crunchingsandmunchings.wordpress.com/2012/11/28/pink-is-not-pink-a-joint-review-of-starting-from-here-by-lisa-jenn-bigelow/

A Review of The Raven Boys by Maggie Stiefvater

The Raven Boys (The Raven Cycle #1) by Maggie Stiefvater

Scholastic, 2012

by REBECCA, November 5, 2012

characters

Blue: the only non-psychic in a super-psychic family, rather than having an inferiority complex, Blue is open-minded and appreciative of the possibilities that others see

Gansey: a monomaniacal to-the-manor-born nice guy—who ever thought something so delightful could exist!?

Adam: a scholarship townie too proud to accept anyone’s help, he is honorable to a fault

Ronan: angry, self-destructive, genuine, loyal to his friends, he seems as scared of himself as others are of him

Noah: though he always seems to fade into the background, he is great at finding things . . . and people

hook

Blue’s family has foreseen that if she kisses her true love he will die, so she has no intention of ever falling in love. But then she meets Gansey, Adam, and Ronan and gets caught up in their pursuit of a magic larger than she has experienced. And she gets caught up in them.

worldview

First of all, can I say how pleased I am by this use of “Cycle”? It just makes me expect some glorious, Wagnerian epic. And I’m sure it won’t disappoint. Second of all, I adore this cover. You can’t really tell from the picture, but the paper it’s printed on has this really beautiful nacreous coating. The image is by the wonderful Adam S. Doyle, who also did the forthcoming cover for the paperback edition of The Scorpio Races. You can check out more of his work HERE. Third of all, I want to say the word Aglionby all the live-long day.

In The Raven Boys, Maggie Stiefvater combines a number of my favorite things for a delightfully balanced story that makes me immensely excited to read the rest of the cycle (apparently there are to be four? yay!), but still feels like it could stand alone. In Henrietta, West Virginia, Blue is the only one in her family without the sight, but she acts like an amplifier to the powers of those around her. Her whole life, Blue has avoided who she calls Raven Boys, boys from Aglionby, the private school in town, but one night at work, she meets four of them and is drawn into their quest for the ley lines, magical lines that Gansey (the true quester) believes will lead to a long-buried king. Gansey is driven in this quest, and Adam and Ronan are devoted to Gansey, so they’re devoted to the quest. As Blue’s friendship with the boys deepens she sees that there is truth to their quest and that, perhaps, her own story is connected in ways she never would have expected.

While I certainly enjoyed the interlocking plot elements, The Raven Boys‘ greatest pleasure for me was the friendship among the Raven Boys, who are a rather unexpected crew. Gansey, in particular, is a gorgeously conflicted and surprising character. He is accustomed to leisure and privilege, and is driven by his monomaniacal desire to find the body of Owen Glendower, a Medieval Welsh king. With his meticulous research notebook, his khakis, and his friendships with old British dudes, Gansey is the kind of ageless character that I’m really drawn to. He seems like he could be from any time since, like, the 1920s. His friendships with boys as different as Adam, Ronan, and Noah add to this quality. He is the center of their group, and his sincere dedication to his quest and to the well-being of his friends connects them to him in ways that I imagine will only grow more complicated in the next books.

Also, I loved that Stiefvater seeded a number of things that I imagine the next books in the cycle will take up (what a fantastic and sinister final line!). It’s hard to make these tidbits both really compelling and not like big, shiny buttons labeled “HEY, I’m going to press this in the NEXT BOOK!” and Stiefvater nails it.

Blue comes from a tight family and we get the sense that they have been her main relationships thus far, so her new friendship with the Raven Boys feels full of discoveries for her. Blue’s relationship with Adam is sweet and makes sense: she is a townie who wouldn’t ordinarily poke a Raven Boy with a stick, and he is a scholarship kid who lives in a trailer and has much more in common with Blue than with his friends. It seems exactly the kind of first relationship that they would each have. Blue’s feelings for Gansey, on the other hand, are more complicated and much less clear. They’re not romantic—although, neither is her relationship with Adam, exactly—but more like the recognition of something she respects but cannot control, like an untamed animal.

what were this book’s intentions? did it live up to them?

The different worlds of Aglionby and Henrietta are also particularly vivid, and Stiefvater’s engagement with class is really well-done. In the way of all the best storytellers, Stiefvater manages to use the differences in economic and cultural backgrounds to develop her characters and the intricacies of their relationships:

“Adam had once told Gansey, Rags to riches isn’t a story anyone wants to hear until after it’s done” (131).

“Gansey knew he had to make a difference, had to make a bigger mark on the world because of the head start he’d been given, or he was the worst sort of person out there” (131).

“A wrinkle formed between Adam’s eyebrows as he looked away. Not at the double-wides in the foreground, but past them, to the flat, endless field with its tufts of dry grass. So many things survived here without really living. He said, “It means I never get to be my own person. If I let you cover for me, then I’m yours. I’m [my father's] now, and then I’ll be yours.

It struck Gansey harder than he thought it would. Some days, all that grounded him was the knowledge that his and Adam’s friendship existed in a place that money couldn’t influence. Anything that spoke to the contrary hurt Gansey more than he would have admitted out loud” (133).

The only uneven thing about the book, for me, was the perspective. The roaming, third-person perspective is part of what makes the character development so strong, but it also gives the narrative a bit of a floaty feeling; I often found myself backtracking a few sentences because I realized I had shifted from one character to another. I think this was partly because in the chapters that focus on Blue, she’s the only one who we’re following, whereas in the chapters that focus on the Raven Boys there are several perspectives.

As you’ll remember from my review, I adored Stiefvater’s Scorpio Races—it was gorgeous, a soaring yet restrained duet. The Raven Cycle promises the opposite: all of Stiefvater’s beautiful writing and insightful characterization in a sprawling, wide-reaching tale that explores magic, fate, the limits of belief, and, you know, dead kings. COUNT ME IN!

readalikes

The Secret History by Donna Tartt (1992). Something about Gansey put me in mind of Donna Tartt’s character Henry, a wealthy scholar totally out of touch with contemporary life or mores. They both have this delightfully nineteenth-century intellectual thing going on—the notion that knowledge is the highest pursuit and its own reward that only the very wealthy can envision for themselves. The Secret History is one of my favorite novels, so Gansey’s touch of Henry-ness delighted me. I write about The Secret History and a ’90s series that totally rips it off HERE.

Practical Magic by Alice Hoffman (1995). Blue’s psychic-y, clairvoyant-y family is a little like the Owens family in Practical Magic. If you’ve only ever seen the Sandra Bullock/Nicole Kidman movie (don’t get me wrong: I love it and my sister and I watch it at least ten times a year, but . . . ) the book is far superior and completely different in tone. Check out my review of both the book and the movie HERE.

The Scorpio Races by Maggie Stiefvater (2011). I know it’s totally cheating to put one of Stiefvater’s own books as a readalike, but I really feel like they go together in some way. Besides, as a bonus, you can read my review HERE and laugh at how I cried all over myself in public. Good times!

procured from: the library! But you should feel free to get me a copy of my very own for Chanukah, since I’ll certainly want to re-read it.

7 Comments

by Rebecca on November 5, 2012 • Permalink

Posted in Book Review

Tagged clairvoyance, magic, monomaniac, private school, quest, rebecca, rural, small town

Posted by Rebecca on November 5, 2012

http://crunchingsandmunchings.wordpress.com/2012/11/05/a-review-of-the-raven-boys-by-maggie-stiefvater/

One Moment by Kristina McBride

One Moment

Kristina McBride

Egmont USA, 2012

review by Tessa

Hook

There’s a hole in Maggie’s life – her boyfriend just died in a cliff-jumping accident – and in her mind – she was there with him when it happened, but she doesn’t remember anything. But getting her memories back means starting to see the whole picture of who she, Joey, and her friends really were.

Characters

Maggie – happy and in love, a little timid but secure in her place in the world (until)

Joey – daredevil boyfriend, always joking, likes Maggie so much that he doesn’t want to call it love.

Shannon – showoffy bestie. The phrase “you know she can be a bitch” seems to follow her around.

Adam – steady dude, foil to Joey

Pete – dreadlocked, laidback, guitar-strummer

Tanna – the sixth friend of the group (I’m sure she’s very nice).

example of a Jumping Hole – deadly! captivating! © Copyright Andy Waddington and licensed for reuse under a Creative Commons License

Worldview

Maggie and her friends live in a small town in Ohio (specific state revealed only by of the Library of Congress Subject Headings). They aren’t cliquey, but they’re tight-knit – they go to parties, know people, drink and have fun, but prefer each other’s company. At the outset of the book, everyone in the group is settled into their designated role – Maggie is sweet and shy, Joey is outgoing and rebellious, Shannon is harsh and fun, Pete is a hippie, etc etc.

After Joey’s death, the group is shaken and their secret selves come shaken loose. Whatever they wanted to be, or were in the process of becoming through growing up either starts to blossom or is revealed by the tragedy. Maggie’s memory loss exacerbates the process, because no one else knows why Joey’s jump from the cliff was so off-kilter. Everyone in the group thinks they’ll get more closure if they know exactly What Happened.

What is the book’s intention and is it achieved?

What could have been simply a poignant exploration of grief takes on more dimensions and becomes a mystery/group growing up story (not quite a bildungsroman). McBride, according to her bio, was an English teacher and yearbook adviser and she obviously spent time observing the teenage condition. Her characters have the un-self-consciousness of friends who are comfortable with each other and have grown up in a small town, a relatively worry-free middle-class group. For that reason they don’t overdose on slang and replicate a kind of Friends-like proto-adult rapport with each other while still retaining that teenage over-jokiness regarding sex and its companion focus on who has and hasn’t had it.

When the friend group starts chafing against each other after Joey’s death, the dynamics are also spot-on. Maggie is trying to figure out why she can’t remember anything, and she’s exploring her memories of her relationship with Joey. She tries to talk to the group, but keeps hitting unexpected anger and, from Adam, outright silence. The switch from mourning to psychological mystery is what sets the book apart from other realistic fiction. As a portrait of a group, it’s very compelling – more so than it would be if it were simply Maggie’s story. There are some real stomach-dropping moments when Maggie finds that she didn’t know who someone really was or was too blinded by how she wanted things to be to see what was really going on. And because they involve someone who is dead, they’re tough realizations to process. The mix of sadness, frustration, and regret is palpable. Although the short, declarative, fragmentary narration is not my personal favorite style (because it sounds over-dramatic to my ear) it works well with Maggie and her shocked, grief-stricken state of mind and doesn’t overwhelm the plot.

I will say that I didn’t totally see Maggie’s brokenness and panic – it was in the story, but I had to work to integrate it with her character and take her word for it. However, anyone who has had a brush with tragedy or loss will be able to layer their experiences over Maggie’s and make the imaginative leap. I’m glad I decided to put the book on hold after reading Liz B.’s review over at A Chair, A Fireplace, and a Tea Cozy.

Readalikes

If I Stay / Gayle Forman

I’m willing to bet that this will leave you with tight-throat-almost-crying-syndrome the entire time you read it. Mia faces her own life or death. (I also wasn’t totally into the narrative style here but really liked the book anyway.)

Burn for Burn / Jenny Han & Siobhan Vivian

As I mentioned in my review (linked above) it’s about a group of friends who maybe aren’t as tight as they think they are, and the revenge that arises from that discrepancy. Coming out soooon.

Past Perfect / Leila Sales

I seem to be reading in an unintentional theme lately (my review linked above). The re-evaluation of an expired relationship is done so well here, much like (& maybe a little better than?) in One Moment. But no death in this book, and hence much more levity.

2 Comments

by tessabarber on August 29, 2012 • Permalink

Posted in Book Review

Tagged accident, amnesia, death, donuts, first love, frenemies, friendship, grief, memory, ohio, psychotherapy, rural, secrets, summer, tessa, trauma

Posted by tessabarber on August 29, 2012

http://crunchingsandmunchings.wordpress.com/2012/08/29/one-moment-mcbride/

Song of the Sea: The Scorpio Races

Review of The Scorpio Races by Maggie Stiefvater

Scholastic Press, 2011

By REBECCA, August 3, 2012

characters

Puck Connolly: Lives with her brothers and loves Thisby Island with her whole heart

Dove: Puck’s underfed farm horse, nota capall uisce like the rest of the Scorpio Racers’ mounts

Sean Kendrick: 19 year-old horse trainer who just wants peace and the space to train his own horses

Corr: Sean’s best friend, a capall uisce owned by his boss

Finn Connolly: Puck’s brother, sensitive and hopeful

Gabe Connolly: Puck’s older brother, who threatens to leave the island

hook

Every November, on the shores of Thisby Island, men race the wild horses that rise up from the toiling waters—only one man may win, but many may die, bloodied and broken by their mounts, or dragged under the water with them, unable to resist their otherworldly call. Sean Kendrick is the returning champion of the Scorpio Races, and there is every reason to believe he’ll win again this year. Until something unthinkable happens on Thisby Island: Puck Connolly enters the race—the first woman ever to do so—and although they barely know each other, she and Sean are soon forced to sacrifice everything to pursue the one thing they each desire.

worldview

First, a confession: I read The Scorpio Races nearly five months ago and I have avoided writing about it because I loved the book so much that I knew no review I wrote could express my feelings about it. But, in case there are people who haven’t gotten around to reading The Scorpio Races yet, I feel so strongly that you should deny yourself the great pleasure no longer that I’m sucking it up and slapping together what I hope will be a review not quite so tear-sodden as the library copy of the book I read (apologies, Free Library of Philadelphia patrons: I cried my face off on that book).

Ahem. Now, then. I read Maggie Stiefvater’s Shiver a few years ago and although I liked the concept and thought the prose was lovely, the story wasn’t really my speed, and I lost steam about halfway through the sequel. I love beautiful prose, though, so when I heard Maggie Steifvater had a new book out—about bloodthirsty water horses, no less—I was really eager to see what this lovely prose stylist did with a story that was a bit more up my alley. My word!: even in the first few pages I was completely captivated by the prose and sucked into the amazing world of Thisby Island.

To put it clearly: The Scorpio Races is simply one of the finest examples of world-building I’ve read. Stiefvater’s touch is subtle and effortless as she evokes what read like only the relevant pieces of a capacious other world. This is fantasy at its finest: I felt as if I were reading a piece of historical fiction about real people who lived in a world slightly different than my own. Thisby Island has its own history and traditions; its own social mores and superstitions (though Stiefvater draws on Scottish and Irish legends of the capaill uisce—flesh-eating horses that come from the sea during storms).

I loved the way I felt dropped into the middle of it all. In the hands of a less talented storyteller, it could have felt info-dumpy, but Stiefvater simply writes as if we are all familiar with the place and time in which the story takes place, doling out details as we need them and allowing the context to reveal them slowly when we don’t (for example, rather than informing the reader that capall uisce is the singular of capaill uisce, Stiefvater simply uses each where it is appropriate, her very vocabulary enfolding us in this other world). And, oh, what a world.

“I am dreaming of the sea when they wake me.

Actually, I am dreaming of the night that I caught Corr, but I can hear the sea in my dream. There is an old wives’ tale that capaill uisce caught at night are faster and stronger, and so it is three in the morning and I am crouching on a boulder at the base of the cliffs, several hundred feet from the sand beach. Above me, the sea has made an arch in the chalk, the ceiling a hundred feet over my head, and the white walls hug me. It should be dark, hidden from the moon, but the ocean reflects light off the pale rock, and I can see just well enough not to stumble on the coarse, kelp-covered rocks on the floor. The stone beneath my feet has more in common with the seafloor than the shore, and I have to take care not to lose my footing on the slippery surface.

I am listening.

In the dark, in the cold, I am listening for a change in the sound of the ocean. The water is rising, quickly and silently; the tide is coming in, and in an hour, this incomplete cave will be full of seawater higher than my head. I am listening for he sound of a splash, for the rush of a hoof breaking the surface, for any hint that a capall uisce is emerging. Because by the time you hear a hoof click on the stones, you are dead” (27-28).

I won’t say much about Sean or Puck, except that they are exactly the kind of characters I love to read about: complex characters with material, emotional, and economic needs, desires, and challenges who are flawed but honorable. Also, it’s no secret that I love obsessoids and monomaniacs. Although neither Sean nor Puck reach an Ahabian level of monomania, its waves certainly lap at their feet.

what are this book’s intentions? does it live up to them?

I’ve read several reviews of The Scorpio Races that note two things that are, for me related: first, that the book feels really different from other YA fantasy that’s out there, and two, that the pacing is slow. Second thing first, for me, the pacing was perfect: I was sucked in by the details of the world and the incredibly interesting characters and beautiful prose for the first half of the book, and then sucked in by the excitement and suspense and drama for the second half (then I was reduced to pathetic, weeping, pile of tears at the end; but more about that later). I think the pacing (which I would call measured, rather than slow) contributes to The Scorpio Races feeling like a different kind of book.

I think also, though, that Stiefvater’s treatment of her characters’ desires is a large part of why The Scorpio Races feels different from many other YA novels. To wit: Puck and Sean are characters who have to work hard for their own survival and to support the people (and horses) they love. This means that they are much more focused on practical matters than many YA characters, and that there is little emphasis on friends or the trappings of school-bases sociality. What Sean desires more than anything else is for his capall uisce, Corr, to belong to him instead of to his boss. What Puck desires is to keep her family together.

What this means, above all else, is that The Scorpio Races isn’t a romance (in the genre sense of the term). Puck and Sean’s developing relationship is beautiful and deftly wrought, but it is not Romantic. Their bond is one of necessity and mutual determination—a restrained and clutching need, not a dreamy or lustful desire. In this way, Puck and Sean seem more like a tough old ranching couple than any kind of star-crossed lovers. And it’s stunning to see a teen relationship portrayed that way.

“Sean Kendrick opens the door.

He looks at me.

I look at him.

This close, he’s almost too severe to be handsome: sharp-edged cheekbones and razor-edge nose and dark eyebrows. His hands are bruised and torn from his time with the capaill uisce. Like the fishermen on the island, his eyes are permanently narrowed against the sun and the sea. He looks like a wild animal. Not a friendly one” (137)

As is now nearly a given with successful YA novels, The Scorpio Races has been optioned for a film by KatzSmith Productions, so that Hollywood can squeeze every last ha’penny out of young adults’ allowances (and, of course, my paltry wallet). Let’s hope they don’t completely f-ing ruin it by, among other things, turning it into an insta-love smooch-fest.

personal disclosure

I finished The Scorpio Races on a plane. I was sitting in the window seat and a middle-aged woman sat next to me. Despite the fact that I always confess to crying on trains while reading, I am so not a public crier—and usually when crying at books on trains a discreet tear will slip from under my sunglasses and glisten unnoticed in the sunlight. While reading The Scorpio Races on the plane, six inches from a total stranger, I was crying so hard that tears were streaming down my face and I turned around 90 degrees so that my back was to my seatmate and I was facing the window shade. But I could not stop reading. I was all, “hey, Rebecca, just put the book away and save the last 50 pages for when you get home because otherwise this woman is going to call a flight attendant to have you sedated; there’s a good girl.” But I didn’t listen. It was like the other people on the plane didn’t even exist.

readalikes

Daughter of Smoke and Bone by Laini Taylor (2011). Daughter of Smoke and Bone is another rich, dark book that sinks the reader right into another world. Tessa and I have discussed its highs (Prague!) and its lows (angels!) at greater length here, here, and here (with bonus Viggo Mortensen)!

Ghost Medicine by Andrew Smith (2008). No, I didn’t just pick this as a readalike because it has horses. Still, though, I’m not sure—not having grown up around horses myself—but it does seem as though horses inspire a certain kind of . . . reverent tone when written about by awesome prose stylists. A beautiful book about friendship, nature, and the things we value by the inimitable Andrew Smith.

Taming the Star Runner by S.E. Hinton (1988). Ok, fine, this one I picked kind of just because of the horses. I love S.E. Hinton! No, but, Travis moves out of the city to live with his uncle, who owns a horse ranch. He is captivated by the horses, though he knows nothing about them, particularly Star Runner, a beast who seems more alien than earthly being. And the girl who rides Star Runner is like no one Travis has ever know.

Procured from: the library, but then I loved it so much that I bought it

14 Comments

by Rebecca on August 3, 2012 • Permalink

Posted in Book Review

Tagged competition, death, horses, obsession, ocean, otherworldly, rebecca, rural

Posted by Rebecca on August 3, 2012

http://crunchingsandmunchings.wordpress.com/2012/08/03/song-of-the-sea-the-scorpio-races/

Film Review: Beasts of the Southern Wild

A Review of Beasts of the Southern Wild, directed by Benh Zeitlin, (2012)

By REBECCA, July 23, 2012

I’ve been eagerly awaiting Beasts of the Southern Wild for months, now, and I am thrilled to report that it did not disappoint.

The film is based on Lucy Alibar’s one-act play ”Juicy and Delicious.” Hushpuppy (played by Quvenzhané Wallis, who was only 5 when she auditioned, and beat out thousands of other Louisiana locals) lives with her father, Wink, on a Louisiana island called The Bathtub, on the wrong side of the levy. Hushpuppy’s mother left years before, and her father (played by Dwight Henry, another first-time actor who happened to own the bakery next to the casting offices where director Behn Zeitlin often bought bread) is ill and drinks all the time. When violent storms threaten to flood The Bathtub, many locals pack up and head out, leaving a small cadre behind, who have to survive in the wake of the flood, which kills animals and plants, and floods their homes.

Hushpuppy narrates the film and both the script and Wallis’ performance are haunting in their emotion and simplicity, as is Dan Romer’s score, which reviewers have compared to a kind of stripped-down Arcade Fire. Guided by her voiceover, we experience the events of the film through Hushpuppy’s eyes: after her teacher tells the children about the aurochs, great beasts trapped under the ice, Hushpuppy incorporates the aurochs into the landscape of The Bathtub, finally identifying as a beast herself in sympathy with them; when Hushpuppy hits her father, we see him fall down, as if the fury and hatred she feels toward him actually have the power to slay him. Beasts is magical realism, then, inasmuch as Hushpuppy’s reality is our access point to this world.

Waterworld

More interesting, though, are particularities of the film that aren’t magical but are composed from a hodgepodge that seems almost post-apocalyptic: Hushpuppy and Wink putter through the floodwaters in a boat made out of the bed of a blue pickup truck atop floaters, grabbing fish straight from the water for food; they live in ramshackle huts that appear to be constructed of layer upon layer of detritus gathered from their surroundings; in the evenings, they drink and socialize with the other denizens of The Bathtub, eating crabs, shrimp, and crawfish by the bucketful and knocking back liquor as the waters lap their feet.

Despite its overwhelming critical success (it won this year’s Grand Jury Prize in drama at Sundance) Beasts of the Southern Wild has been criticized for what some see as a kind of cultural tourism in which the lives of poor Southerners are exoticized and made magic, rendering them curiosities instead of complex characters. While I recognize the impulse behind this critique, I found the film’s genre—a kind of magical realism meets regional adventure piece—to argue against it. Rather than using Hushpuppy, Wink, and the other inhabitants of The Bathtub to generalize about a group of rural Southerners, Beasts uses the intricacies of the region itself to portray one particular coming of age story. Throughout the film, Hushpuppy works to make her personal mark and archive her existence, drawing her story on the wall of her cardboard box hiding place and speaking it to us in the voiceover: “In a million years,” she tells us, “when kids go to school, they’re gonna know that once there was a Hushpuppy and she lived with her daddy in The Bathtub.”

Similarly, Beasts has also been held up as an example of a director aestheticizing poverty, as the film finds exquisite beauty in scenes dominated by dirty, broken places, and muddy, hungry people. This critique is by no means a new one, and rests, it seems, on the troubling assumption that just because a place is poor it is necessarily immune to beauty. Further, this critique seems to reveal an anxiety on the part of viewers that they might find the suffering of others beautiful, be it Wink’s ever-further protruding cheekbones that catch the dim light like a wood carving in Beasts, or those of the concentration camp prisoners in Schindler’s List. Rather, the cameras of Beasts’ director and cinematographer seem to unfailingly find precisely the beauty of The Bathtub and its inhabitants that makes Wink and the others who stay cling so ardently to their home, despite the attempts of all forces to drive them from it. It is beauty, yes, but a fierce and treacherous beauty that betrays all attempts to control it—a sublime beauty, like the cleaving of the immense glaciers that Hushpuppy imagines frees the aurochs from their icy prisons.

Not tourism, then, nor aestheticization, but a kind of joyful tramp—as only children can—through the mud connecting Hushpuppy’s home, her school, a much-maligned rescue center, and a floating paradise of catfish and women that brings Hushpuppy a kind of peace, finally allowing her to return to The Bathtub on her own terms rather than her father’s, a pack of fierce and loving girlfriends around her.

At its most explicit, Beasts of the Southern Wild is a critique of the institutionalized blindness to the populations of certain regions and the hypocrisy of rescue-efforts that value the lives they would choose for those people over the lives those people choose for themselves. More subtly, though, it’s a story of how we make our own homes and our own histories despite—or perhaps because of—the attempts to obliterate them. Does it have moments of sentimentality? Yes. Echoes of other films with innocent or young protagonists? Sure. But Beasts is very much its own movie. I highly recommend Beasts of the Southern Wild, whether you’re in it for its politics, its story, its beauty, or its characters.

3 Comments

by Rebecca on July 23, 2012 • Permalink

Posted in Movies

Tagged family, fantasy, girls, movies, poverty, rebecca, rural, Southern, survival

Posted by Rebecca on July 23, 2012

http://crunchingsandmunchings.wordpress.com/2012/07/23/film-review-beasts-of-the-southern-wild/

YA Summer Survival Kit: A Crash Course for the Apocalypse

A List of Books That Teach Us How To Do Important Stuff

By REBECCA, June 18, 2012

knots!

Most of my friends are divided on whether or not they liked survival books as kids. Some (like me) found them exhilarating and educational, where others found them boring and/or stressful. It seems clear to me, however, that with the current (YA lit-indicated) threat of apocalypse, the resurgence of DIY culture, and people’s obvious desire to prepare for the impending zombie hordes, it is time for a crash course in SURVIVAL!

To that end, I have collected some of my favorite YA titles that teach us how to do stuff. I can personally guarantee that if you read all these books you will have significantly improved your chances of surviving—nay, thriving!—in the face of a zombie attack, economic collapse, the overthrow of capitalism, extreme global climate change, or whatever generalized apocalypse is your own personal bête noire. In short, this is for your own good! Crunchings and Munchings is trying to save your life (don’t say we never did anything for ya)! Don’t worry—this list does not stop at digging tubers and chopping firewood; read on.

SO, YOU NEED TO . . .

Homestead rurally:

The Little House Books, Laura Ingalls Wilder (1932).

I don’t think I can possibly overstate how much useful stuff the Little House books can teach us. My favorites are the really descriptive ones, like when Pa makes bullets, and builds the smoker or their new house when they move to the prairie; when Ma makes head cheese (that is so disgusting) or weaves hats out of summer grass; when Mary and Laura churn butter. And, of course, there is my all-time favorite chapter, when they go to Laura’s grandparents’ house for sugaring time and they eat fresh maple syrup on everything, and make maple candy by pouring the syrup on pans of snow (which never worked for me no matter how many times I tried it with Mrs. Butterworth’s as a child). A must read for all hopeful homesteaders.

Survive off the land:

Hatchet, Gary Paulsen (1987).

The first in the Brian’s Saga, Hatchet introduces us to Brian Robeson, who must survive in the wilderness after the tiny plane he’s riding in crashes in the Canadian wilderness and the pilot dies—and let me tell you, it is a saga, indeed. Brian is wicked smart even though he’s only 13 and has nothing but (you guessed it) a hatchet to work with. I like this book because he makes lots of mistakes, but you can totally follow the logic of the things he does. In the sequel, The River, the government wants Brian to DO IT AGAIN! They’re so impressed by him that they want to watch what he does and use it to train military folks in impromptu survival. And Brian agrees. And, therefore, he is not as smart as Hatchet made me think he was, because obviously everything goes wrong and he has to survive again for real.

My Side of the Mountain, Jean Craighead George (1959).

Obviously, this cover looks like nothing that you would ever be caught dead reading, but I totally love this book. For New Yorker Sam, it is a damp, drizzly November in his soul, so he pulls an Ishmael and goes to sea—well, to the Catskills. And lives in a hollowed-out tree. And learns to live off the land. And has a falcon and a weasel for friends. I’ve loved this book since I was a kid, particularly because Sam’s feelings about the world and wanting to be in touch with himself are so sincere and lovely.

Island of the Blue Dolphins, Scott O’Dell (1961).

Twelve year-old Karana is being evacuated with the rest of the population of the island she lives on (horrible!), but realizes that her brother has been left behind. She jumps off the boat to stay with him and ends up living on the island alone for years and years. While totally horrifying as a concept, Island of the Blue Dolphins is a really beautiful book, and the descriptions of how Karana finds food, uses bone and wood to make tools, and creates shelter are really interesting and lyrical. It’s based on the true story of a girl who survived on an island 70 miles off the coast of California for 18 years.

Survive off the land while fighting people who are trying to kill you:

The Hunger Games, Suzanne Collins (2008).

One of the most exciting things about The Hunger Games series for me is seeing how the strengths of each district translate into the survival skills of those districts’ tributes. That Peeta’s cake decorating could provide some form of protection in the Games gave me hope that perhaps my skills of cat-petting, color-coding, editing, and my frankly impressive ability to watch an entire season of tv on dvd without stopping to sleep might some day prove as useful as Katniss’ skill with a bow or at climbing trees. Note: please do not disabuse me of this notion; it is all that stands between me and terror.

Tomorrow, When the War Began, John Marsden (1993).

When Ellie and her friends get home from a camping trip in the Australian bush they find that their town has been invaded and their families taken prisoner. So, they have to survive off of what they can scavenge from the abandoned houses of their neighbors and pool their knowledge to fight back against the invaders. I am a fan of seeing how the little bits of seemingly useless knowledge we have can be put together with someone else’s seemingly useless knowledge to outsmart other people and make . . . you know, bombs and stuff.

The Grounding of Group 6, Julian F. Thompson (1984).

Check out that totally ’80s cover; I love it. So, five teens are sent to a boarding school by their parents to whip them into shape. Or so they think . . . duhn duhn duh! In actuality, this boarding school offers rich parents the chance to send their nuisance children there to be killed and disposed of in a terrible accident during the start-of-year camping trip. Nat, the only-slightly-older leader of this year’s group 6, has second thoughts and decides to help the kids survive in the woods instead, allowing them to escape the fate planned for them. This is a super fun (and super dated) book; after reading it I accused my parents (who were trying to send me to summer camp, horror of horrors) of trying to group 6 me. As you can see from my presence here today, I must have scared them into calling off the hit.

Escape in order to avoid certain death:

Long Live the Queen, Ellen Emerson White (1989).

So, long story short, I had no idea until like two weeks ago that this book, which I read as a stand-alone as a kid, was actually book three in a series (so now, of course, I have to go back and read the rest)—anyway, it works just fine as a stand-alone. Anyhoo, Meg’s mom is the president and Meg gets kidnapped. She has to escape, once it becomes clear that she won’t be let go, and then she has to make her way to help. I really like Meg as a character and her feelings and tactics while she’s held captive feel super realistic. She has to do some gnarly things to get away, but they’re all rendered logically, so it seems like a totally useful primer if one were ever to be kidnapped.

Survive urban(-ish) perils:

Slake’s Limbo, Felice Holman (1974).

Slake is bullied at school and abused by his aunt, with whom he lives. Finally, Slake can’t take it any more and he runs away to live in the subways of New York City. I will confess to being straight up fascinated with any kind of off-the-grid living stories, so this is right up my alley. I mean, I read Jennifer Toth’s Mole People: Life in the Tunnels Beneath New York City and watched the documentary Voices in the Tunnels. Holman details how Slake gets food, makes shelter, and makes friends in 1970s underground New York.

The Borrible Trilogy, Michael De Larrabeiti (1982).

Borribles are runaways who live hidden around London. They lie, cheat, and steal to survive, and they’ll always stay young unless they are captured by adults and have their (pointy) ears clipped, which is the ultimate horror for a Borrible. When creatures invade their Battersea neighborhood, a specially chosen group of Borribles sets out on a mission across London. Great world-building, and a super fun adventure story. The Borribles could teach anyone a trick or two about surviving on the streets, from nabbing fruit to breaking into buildings, and, of course, evading the capture of those most evil of creatures, adults.

Stick, Andrew Smith (2011).

Fourteen year old Stick has always had his brother, Bosten, to look out for him, but when Stick finds out that Bosten is gay he realizes that Bosten has to leave home to survive their abusive father. Once Bosten leaves, Stick sets out across three states to find him. Without much money or any connections, Stick finds himself in, erm, sticky situations (sorry!), which he handles because he has no other choice. Anyone who reads C&M regularly knows that I basically fucking adore everything that Andrew Smith writes, so I’m thrilled whenever I compile a list that can include his marvelous books, which you should all be reading. You can check out my full review of Stick here.

Survive intergalactic perils:

Tunnel In the Sky, Robert A. Heinlein (1955).

To pass their Advanced Survival class, Dr. Matson’s students have to take a practical final exam, which could take place on any terrain and in which anything goes, including weapons. But, when something goes wrong, Rod Walker and the rest of the class are stranded at an unknown place in the universe (AHHHH!) through a tunnel in the sky. With no promise of rescue, the class must try and survive in this unknown and, of course, hostile place. So, basically, this is close to my worst nightmare about space travel (my worst nightmare involving drifting in the vastness of space after my spacesuit has come untethered while I have enough of an air supply left to fully take in the complete and total existential horror before me that can only be ended by my slow and terrified death, but I won’t get into that).

Ender’s Game, Orson Scott Card (1985).

Although Orson Scott Card is a raging idiot, I am annoyed to say that Ender’s Game is one of my all-time favorite books. Monitored for a particular personality type and level of intelligence, Ender makes the grade and is sent to interplanetary Battle School to train for command in an army that will one day fight the next in a series of Bugger Wars with an alien species. Small for his age and cumbersomely smart, Ender is certainly one of the most iconic survivors in YA literary history. His survival takes the form of a dizzying understanding of strategy, including interpersonal psychological strategy: knowing why people do things and, thus, being able to predict what they will do. He’s an amazing (but still believable) character and anyone who wants to think a bit about how we use strategy in our daily lives should absolutely pick this up.

Take down a corrupt government institution and stop the nation from turning into a police state:

Little Brother, Cory Doctorow (2008).

Hacker Marcus and his crew are gaming in the wrong place at the wrong time—in San Francisco after a terrorist attack. After being taken into custody by the Department of Homeland Security, they’re placed in a secret prison and interrogated mercilessly. After their release, Marcus realizes that the city has become a police state, with limited access to internet resources, surveillance of private citizens, and civil liberties violations up the wazoo. Marcus sets out to free the people (and the information), bending his not inconsiderable skills toward taking down the DHS himself. Awesome example of kids using the resources available to them to change the world. And Doctorow practices the freedom of information he preaches; you can download Little Brother here.

So, how about you—what are your indispensable YA survival guides?

14 Comments

by Rebecca on June 18, 2012 • Permalink

Posted in Book Lists

Tagged apocalypse, rebecca, rebellion, rural, survival

Posted by Rebecca on June 18, 2012

http://crunchingsandmunchings.wordpress.com/2012/06/18/ya-summer-survival-kit-a-crash-course-for-the-apocalypse/

Sharing Our Snacks: The Freak Observer by Blythe Woolston

Welcome to another edition of Sharing Our Snacks, in which Rebecca and I each recommend YA brain food that they think the other would enjoy crunching and munching! Rebecca recommended this book to me with no explanation as to why. She just knows I like pictures of internal organs, I guess. Check out our other shared snacks here.

You can recommend books to us, too—contact us!

The Freak Observer
Blythe Woolston
Carolrhoda Lab, 2010

review by Tessa

Characters
Loa Lindgren: has a lot on her plate, and even more on her mind
Corey: Loa’s absent friend, in more ways than one.
Esther: Loa’s accidentally (?) dead friend
Asta: Loa’s formerly ill, now dead sister
Jack: successfully friendly with Loa, has found therapy in the ceramics department.
The Bony Guy: Death. Haunts Loa.

Hook
What does it feel like before things gets better? That’s where Loa Lindgren is now. Luckily for us, her inner narrative is bleakly funny and sprinkled with observant details, even as she wades through a swamp of grief, depression, and PTSD.

Worldview

one interpretation of The Bony Guy

The Freak Observer starts with Loa’s recounting of the accident that kills her friend Esther. Esther runs out into the road along a curve and gets hit by a truck. Loa’s parents, in a cold and almost practical reaction, are mad at her for missing work because of it. Now Loa won’t get more hours at the Cozy Pines retirement home. They need the money because her father is out of work.

But this isn’t the worst of Loa’s problems. Her sister Asta recently died from a genetic disease that left her unable to care for herself, and this is what really broke up Loa’s world. She has terrible nightmares where Death haunts her, and crippling attacks of panic from her PTSD, but no money for therapy.

A third layer of the book concerns Corey, a boy who functioned as Loa’s friend, escape from the rest of the world, debate partner and sometime sex buddy. He is gone, abruptly leaving for school in Europe.

Loa is left alone to trudge through each day.

What was the book’s intention? Was it achieved?
The description on The Freak Observer’s jacket simply says that it’s “about death, life, astrophysics, and finding beauty in chaos.” And that’s a smart move on their part. Because writing out all those things that are going on in Loa’s life during the course of the book make it sound like a total slog to read. And it’s the opposite of a slog. It’s a fast ride through a tunnel, bursting out on a view of a city lit up at night.

a chicken!

Blythe Woolston has given Loa Angela Chase levels of introspection, but a darker sense of humor, and more poetic observational skills. For example, one of the first ways we learn about Esther is through a story about the first time Loa saw her as a kid, ending with this statement: “Esther is dead now. She was a defender of puppies and whacker of pigs, and now she is dead.” (4). And she watches everything in her life in that way, with a little detachment, but with care. She takes the time to mention that “Chickens don’t always cluck…. When they are happy, they sort of hum–they chirp–they purr. The chickens are all around my mother waiting for her to make them happy. They are singing to her in their chicken way.” (19).

Reading The Freak Observer is visceral in that it’s like looking at something’s insides. It’s fascinating and vulnerable and bloody. It’s for good reason that the (kickass) cover features a large photograph of a (human?) heart. And the first person narration is used to full effect. Since Loa is narrating, the reader sees the world that Loa sees, and interprets people according to her views of them. It also serves to stretch out terrible moments, like this one:

“…I didn’t see the rest of the picture right away.
Then I saw Esther.
My first thought was
Her heart has fallen out of her body.
I didn’t know that could happen. I didn’t know what to do. So I just froze there on the cutbank.
I don’t know how to put a heart back into a body.
It was the only thought I had, and it wasn’t very useful.
It seemed like a long time, but it wasn’t really, because Abel was right behind me, and he pushed me out of the way. I slid down the bank in the loose dirt and rocks. Then I just sat there where I fell. I watched Abel while he grabbed his sister and tried to make her be alive.
I could see that her heart hadn’t fallen out. The muscle on her arm had been torn away from the bone. It was just a lump of muscle. Her heart was safe inside her, but she was still dead.” (12-13).

Most wonderfully, this is a book about living with loneliness, done undramatically, as when Loa observes that:

“I’ve known a lot of people, grown up with people, and done stuff with people. I know what color their bedrooms are and if they like to eat a dill pickle before they go to sleep. I watched people outgrow sweatshirts. …But friendship is something more than breathing the same air or touching the same basketball. Not much more, maybe, but something.” (74).

or when she remembers her dead dog Ket, saying: “I still miss Ket and the way he used to look at me like he wanted to know what I wanted him to know. It is the sort of look that can easily be mistaken for love.” (191).

But this isn’t a good book just because it describes those feelings and realizations so perfectly. It’s a great book because it lets Loa grow and gives her a little relief and it does it naturally. None of the bad things about Loa’s life feel overwrought, and none of the better things feel like plot devices.That’s what good realistic fiction should be. I’m so glad that Rebecca recommended this little gem for me.

Readalikes

If I Stay
Gayle Forman
First person narration, heartwrenching subject matter. This one’s a little more forced in tone and execution but I didn’t care because I was too busy gulping it down and trying not to weep. Mia narrates her days of trying to decide whether to stay in her broken body or die, after a car crash kills her parents.

Looking for Alaska
John Green
There’s something about the truthfulness of Loa’s voice that reminded me of John Green narration. And they both have black covers with one lone photographic element. And there’s death in this one too.

Andromeda Klein
Frank Portman
I won’t lie, this book is hard to get into. I almost stopped reading it. So in that way it’s nothing like The Freak Observer. But what it does have in common is a complex, loner girl protagonist who is rewarding to get to know and who feels real.

Disclosures & Digressions

Digression: Can I just say how impressed I was with Woolston’s dream descriptions? Usually dreams in fiction are such bald allegorical crap. Not so here. Let me quote:

“The Bony Guy likes disguises.
I am watching a late-night show. There is a guest who tried to pay for a cruise with a glossy photograph of the host. The host declares that it ought to be as good as money. It is a picture of him. people like him better than any of the guys on the money,don’t they? The audience applauds wildly. Then he has a quiz for all of us. Question 1: Would you watch a bunny rabbit eat some lettuce? Question 2: Would you watch a bird peck something dead by the side of the road? Question 3: would you watch dogs eat a live donkey? The audience applauds wildly.” (92-93)

Disclosure: Blythe Woolston sat at a table with me and other librarians at ALA last summer for 5 minutes to shill her books, and she was very personable.

Procured from: the library

7 Comments

by tessabarber on April 25, 2012 • Permalink

Posted in Book Review, Sharing Our Snacks

Tagged accident, anxiety, ceramics, death, dreams, illness, lonely, physics, poetry, pottery, poverty, PTSD, rural, tessa

Posted by tessabarber on April 25, 2012

http://crunchingsandmunchings.wordpress.com/2012/04/25/freak-observer-blythe-woolston/

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A List of Books That Teach Us How To Do Important Stuff

SO, YOU NEED TO . . .

Homestead rurally:

Survive off the land:

Survive off the land while fighting people who are trying to kill you:

Escape in order to avoid certain death:

Survive urban(-ish) perils:

Survive intergalactic perils:

Take down a corrupt government institution and stop the nation from turning into a police state:

So, how about you—what are your indispensable YA survival guides?

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