wordchasing recommends: contemporary YA

Recently I was asked via twitter for my favourite and/or recommended contemporary YA titles. Of course, I didn’t have a list at the ready, because I’m not that organised. So I decided I’d round up a short list of some of my favourites here, with a twitter-esque synopsis of why they made the cut.

Please note that I’m being very lax with the definition of contemporary here; some of the titles to follow may be more accurately described as realistic, or even historical. But for the purposes of this post I’m grouping them all under the contemporary label. (Also, this is my blog, I do what I want.)

I believe that there’s an art to making good book recommendations. And for that reason I’m generally reluctant to recommend books to anyone unless I’m familiar with their reading tastes and history, to increase the likelihood of making a successful suggestion. (Which isn’t to say I haven’t made some absolute clunkers – you can’t win them all..) So while I would (and have) absolutely recommend each of the following books – bear in mind that results may vary.

Also, I like truthful endings – not necessarily happy ones. You have been warned.

Graffiti Moon by Cath Crowley: One summer night in Melbourne. 3 girls. 3 guys. Art, poetry, love and punches in the face. Let me make it in time. Let me meet shadow. (Also: Chasing Charlie Duskin).

Girl Defective by Simmone Howell: Inverse superheroes marked by their defects. Summer nights on rooftops. Masks and music and a girl’s face staring down from St Kilda walls. (Also: Notes from the Teenage Underground).

This is Shyness and Queen of the Night by Leanne Howell: Look at me breaking the rules already. A genre-bending, lucid dreamscape of a parallel Melbourne. Endless night and howling at the sky.

Stolen by Lucy Christopher: This book will punch you in the head and the heart and leave you emotionally winded and gasping for breath. Powerful is an understatement.

The Spectacular Now by Tim Tharp: Left me walking around inconsolably sobbing: “Did it have to end that way?” until I realised that yes, it really did have to end that way.

Hold Still by Nina LaCour: Respectful, authentic and moving portrayal of friendship, depression and suicide. Beautifully written, with strong characters. And photography.

Some Girls Are by Courtney Summers: Stock up on antacids and clear your schedule because the feels are going to lay you out. Summers takes on mean girl dynamics like no one else. (Also: Cracked Up To Be).

Wildlife by Fiona Wood: Beautiful insight into the dynamics of friendship, sex, desire, grief, beauty and betrayal – all in the pressure cooker of isolation.

All I Ever Wanted by Vikki Wakefield: A gritty and unapologetic slice of life through the perspective of the gutsy and driven Mim. Gorgeous prose, offbeat charm and rich characters. (Also: Friday Brown)

On the Jellicoe Road by Melina Marchetta: Emotional juggernaut of a novel, complicated and layered with mystery and history. Will break your heart into a million pieces, as only Marchetta can.

Good Oil by Laura Buzo: Nostalgic, intelligent, funny, touching. The awkwardness of adolescence, part time jobs, feminism and first love. (Also: Holier Than Thou).

Raw Blue by Kirsty Eagar: Impressive, emotional debut from a talented writer who nails the vibe of Australia’s surf culture. Handles heavy issues with skill and insight.

Story of a Girl by Sara Zarr: Anything and everything written by Sara Zarr. Stunning writing, bittersweet stories, realistic characters, profound honesty.

If I Stay and Where She Went by Gayle Forman: Enjoyed both, but loved the second book. Excellent tension and pacing. Compelling premise. Crap band name.

Miracle by Elizabeth Scott: Unusual, thought-provoking, vivid – and all in Scott’s trademark sparse style. Excellent portrayal of PTSD. (Also: if you’re looking for something a little lighter without being too fluffy: Perfect You.)

I could keep going – I’m already thinking of additional titles to slip into this post (Jacyln Moriarty, Jennifer Echols! Sarah Ockler! A.S. King!)- but this is a start, at least.

Read any excellent contemporary YA lately? Do you have an all-time favourite? I’d love to hear your recommendations!

ARC Review: Charm & Strange by Stephanie Kuehn

When you’ve been kept caged in the dark, it’s impossible to see the forest for the trees. It’s impossible to see anything, really. Not without bars . . .

Andrew Winston Winters is at war with himself.

He’s part Win, the lonely teenager exiled to a remote Vermont boarding school in the wake of a family tragedy. The guy who shuts all his classmates out, no matter the cost.

He’s part Drew, the angry young boy with violent impulses that control him. The boy who spent a fateful, long-ago summer with his brother and teenage cousins, only to endure a secret so monstrous it led three children to do the unthinkable.

Over the course of one night, while stuck at a party deep in the New England woods, Andrew battles both the pain of his past and the isolation of his present.

Before the sun rises, he’ll either surrender his sanity to the wild darkness inside his mind or make peace with the most elemental of truths—that choosing to live can mean so much more than not dying. – Synopsis from Goodreads

“Love doesn’t always look nice.”

Few books manage to make me feel this way: cut open and broken and completely overcome.

It’s difficult to talk about Charm & Strange in detail without revealing significant plot points; and I do feel this is a book best experienced as it is structured, that is, allowing the story to unwind from Andrew/Win gradually. His narrative is one of violence and blood and glimpses in between shadows, trauma layered deep in shame and visceral pain. His story emerges in fragments between the past and present, reality and dreams, relentlessly gaining clarity until its devastating climax.

Kuehn has written a brilliant novel. It is confronting, yet empathetic. Heartbreaking, but affirming. It’s not an easy story to tell – Kuehn delves deep into disturbing places – but it is compelling and evocative. Through the use of rich imagery, the symbolism of chemistry and Win’s distinct cognition, Kuehn has written a novel that spurns straightforward classification. It seems to be one thing, but becomes another – not because Kuehn is being purposefully evasive or coy, but because this is the story that is true to Win. We read it as he experiences it, as it emerges from the recesses of his mind and body: raw, dark, and animal.

There are various forms of conflict in the novel, but the central source is from within Win himself, and what he believes to be inevitable. The present day thread of the story deals with Win’s acceptance of his imminent change: that his Ego and Superego will be devoured by his ferocious Id, that what is at his core is monstrous. It’s this internal wrestling of what a person believes themselves to be, and what they want to be, that forms the crux of the novel. For Win, his deep-seated convictions give this battle an element of finality, that his metamorphosis is not only brewing, but inescapable.

For all its twisting decent into horror, Charm & Strange is a compassionate novel, and while it doesn’t offer all the answers, it does extend a glimpse of hope. Even more than that, it provides a voice of understanding. And for readers who can connect with Win’s experience, the importance of this can’t be overstated. Much has been made of “darkness” in YA, but (to paraphrase Patrick Ness), “not engaging with darkness in fiction is abandoning teens to face it alone.” Charm & Strange is an important book because it offers support and solace to those who may feel beyond reach.

Kuehn’s writing is strong – she has created a complex, challenging novel in beautifully rendered language that is compelling and true to Win’s voice. There is a depth of emotion and pain articulated in the story without it feeling forced or consciously manipulative.

The novel tackles serious content respectfully, while being authentic to the experience of its teenage characters, who are flawed and complicated. Although not a lengthy book, Kuehn develops her characters well, choosing to show (rather than tell) the reader who they are through powerful scenes and flashbacks. There is a lot covered here, even outside the central premise of the novel, much of which Kuehn chooses to allude to rather than explicitly state. This is particularly effective in the early stages of the novel, where the reader needs to tease out the meaning from passages that seem to take a nebulous form between contemporary and paranormal.

Charm & Strange is an intense novel, darkly psychological and unsettling. It takes the reader on a troubling journey, and arrives in a profoundly moving place.

An advance reader copy of Charm & Strange was provided by St Martin’s Griffin via Netgalley.

Goodbye, Autumn

I never paid much attention to Autumn until I moved to Melbourne. Where I lived before, leaves didn’t change colour or fall; arguably, there were only 1.5 seasons: warm and warmer.

I’m a little bit fascinated by Autumn: the colours, the textures, the way the air feels different. The staff at my local film processing lab are probably amused that I bring in roll after roll of shots of trees. But as someone who’s spent so many years not seeing Autumn in its full glory, I feel like I have to soak up as much of it as I can.

But winter is coming (ha ha) and I don’t feel quite as enthusiastic about the cold in Melbourne. So there’s something melancholy about Autumn for me, in the shortening days, the bite in the air, the coats and boots being unearthed from storage. It feels like the shortest season to me: stunning, but brief.

Camera: Canon FTb

Film: Fujichrome Velvia 50

Mini Reviews: Steal My Sunshine and Out of the Easy

Coincidentally, two books I’ve read recently have dealt with complex mother-daughter relationships. It only struck me in hindsight that each of these novels feature a complicated dynamic between mother and daughter, and explore non-traditional concepts of family, heritage and home.

Steal My Sunshine by Emily Gale

Gale’s first YA novel is a blend of the contemporary and historical, entwining the stories of fifteen year old Hannah, her mother Sara, and grandmother Essie.

Steal My Sunshine deals with one of the darker aspects of Australia’s history: the forced adoption of children born to unwed or ‘wayward’ girls, often at the coercion of churches, hospitals and adoption agencies. This practice of removing babies against the mothers’ will, or ‘institutionalised baby farming’, went on for around five decades. Apologies to those affected have only been issued since 2010 (commencing with Western Australia) and most recently in 2013 on behalf of the Federal Government.

There’s an element of mystery in the unwinding of Hannah, Sara and Essie’s story. The relationships between the three women are fraught; tense with resentment and unfulfilled yearning. Hannah, who’s already trying to navigate her parents’ separation, school, her crush and a complicated relationship with her best friend, begins to uncover Essie’s history, sensing that it holds the key to the family’s conflict.

Essie gradually reveals her secret, piece by piece. These sections are related via flashbacks, and what is unearthed in these scenes is truly harrowing. Even with the knowledge that Gale is only providing a glimpse of the horror endured by these girls, it’s enough to make for compelling, albeit grim, reading. Though Essie’s portions of the novel are comparatively brief compared to the contemporary storyline, they pack a punch.

Gale’s novel is a heartfelt coming of age story that tackles the themes of redemption and forgiveness, internalised pain and the far-reaching effects of trauma. Particularly noteworthy is her skilful hand with crafting realistic relationships between the characters. There’s a touch of romance in this story – but mostly it’s about family, and learning to heal the wounds of the past.

Publisher: Random House Australia

Publication Date: May 2013

Out of The Easy by Ruta Sepetys

Reader, I loved this book.

I adored Sepetys’ debut, Between Shades of Gray, and had been eagerly awaiting her follow up novel. I was not disappointed. Sepetys’ commitment to impeccably researching her subject matter shows, and she brings 1950s New Orleans to life on the pages of Out of the Easy.

I really enjoyed Sepetys’ take on class and social stigma in Josie’s story. As the daughter of a prostitute, and in the employ of shrewd Madam Willie as a cleaner, Josie is keenly aware of the limitations society would put upon her. Savvy and streetwise, Josie dreams of getting out of New Orleans and attending Smith college, while at the same time being conscious of her allegiance to her Mother. When a mysterious death occurs, Josie finds herself drawn more deeply into the underbelly of the Quarter, and her plans for escape and a future of her own making at risk.

Sepetys excels at crafting nuanced, believable characters, and this was the highlight of the novel for me. These are flawed, realistic people and they bring the story to life, make you care about what happens to them. Josie herself is relatable: a resourceful, strong teenager who also experiences self-doubt and fear. The plot necessitates Josie questioning her conscience and her choices, and the conflict feels real.

Some readers may have preferred to see a story that deals with prostitution handled through the perspective of the women involved directly. By framing the narrative through Josie’s perspective, it could be argued that it is inherently biased, and the agency of those characters is denied. I respect that opinion, although I don’t share it. What felt important to me here was that the story be true to Josie’s experience and voice; the lens through which she views the world. I think Sepetys succeeds in this. Josie’s narration and opinions are influenced by her past, and it’s conveyed without disrespect to the other characters.

So much about this book worked for me: the clear, vivid setting, the strong characterisation, the complex relationships and questions of family and loyalty. And I can’t wait to see what Ruta Sepetys writes next.

Publisher: Penguin Books

Publication Date: 7 March 2013

Review: Wildlife by Fiona Wood

Life? It’s simple: be true to yourself.
The tricky part is finding out exactly who you are…

In the holidays before the dreaded term at Crowthorne Grammar’s outdoor education camp two things out of the ordinary happened.
A picture of me was plastered all over a twenty-metre billboard.
And I kissed Ben Capaldi.

Boarding for a term in the wilderness, sixteen-year-old Sibylla expects the gruesome outdoor education program – but friendship complications, and love that goes wrong? They’re extra-curricula.

Enter Lou from Six Impossible Things – the reluctant new girl for this term in the great outdoors. Fragile behind an implacable mask, she is grieving a death that occurred almost a year ago. Despite herself, Lou becomes intrigued by the unfolding drama between her housemates Sibylla and Holly, and has to decide whether to end her self-imposed detachment and join the fray.

And as Sibylla confronts a tangle of betrayal, she needs to renegotiate everything she thought she knew about surviving in the wild.

A story about first love, friendship and NOT fitting in. – Synopsis from Goodreads

“..my heart is its own fierce country where nobody else is welcome.”

The long-awaited companion to Wood’s much-loved debut, Six Impossible Things, does not disappoint. Wildlife is a beautiful and bittersweet novel of heartbreak and healing, friendship and betrayal; an achingly authentic portrayal of coming of age against a backdrop of the Victorian wilderness.

Where there was a certain light-hearted buoyancy that tempered the issues explored in Six Impossible Things, Wildlife has an emotional resonance and depth that befits both the maturation of the characters and the themes of the novel. This is a story that navigates the complexities of grief, sexuality and (not) fitting-in, written with a perceptive grasp of how the teen characters internalise and process these events.

The writing is a blend of lyrical and astute, laced with the raw longing and heady desire of heartbreak and burgeoning attraction. Related through the dual perspectives of Sibylla and Lou, Wood weaves a narrative of loss and love, gradually entwining the lives of the two girls as they learn to survive in the wild.

“Greatest pain in the world: the moment after waking. Remembering again as consciousness slaps my face in the morning’s first sigh. Nips fresh the not-healed wound. Clubs its groundhog self into my brain, a new sharp bite, a new blunt instrument for every single day of the week. Grief has so many odd-value added features. You’d laugh.”

Using the setting of an outdoor education program, Wood places her characters into a heightened environment – here, life is distilled, concentrated down to its fundamental elements. In one sense, it’s survival in the physical world, stripped of outside influences and support networks. In another, it creates an incubator that intensifies and tests allegiances. This concept of habitat and isolation from external factors serves to pressurise relationships, forcing them to either evolve or disintegrate.

“Sometimes I think I see you, Sibylla, but then you get all blurry about what people think about you… The only person you should be is yourself. You can’t control perception. All you can control is how you treat someone else.”

Into this amplified reality, Wood mixes envy and manipulation, referencing the novel’s Othello motif in the dynamic of Sibylla and Holly’s friendship. The longevity of the relationship and the tenuous balance of power that both girls have grown accustomed to is challenged when the limelight suddenly falls on Sibylla. With this new attention, the roles they occupy within the school’s social order are shifted, presenting opportunity, confusion, and a catalyst for the toxicity of their friendship to emerge. It’s an insightful portrayal of the insidious creep of jealousy and cruelty, the way lines between friend and enemy can be obscured by years of shared history, and the complex nature of female friendships.

Within this framework, Wood also addresses perceptions of beauty and popularity, particularly as it relates to the hierarchy of high school. The concept of Sibylla’s beauty and how it is viewed and acknowledged by the characters is handled particularly intelligently; Wood has smart, interesting things to say about self-image and change, and the frequent dichotomy between the way we see ourselves, and the way others see us.

Wildlife is frank in its depiction of sex and desire – in both the physical acts and feelings, and in attitudes towards sexuality. Anyone who thinks YA shies away from candidly portraying teen girls’ responses to sex needs to read this book, because it’s handled openly and positively, even while it acknowledges the negative messaging and misogyny that saturate mainstream media. Wildlife is refreshingly honest, addressing the imbalance while remaining true to the characters – who are complex, fallible, three-dimensional.

But most of all, I loved the achy ambiguity of the relationships, the palpable sense of yearning that accompanies reality when it doesn’t quite match the characters’ expectations. Wood has a keen grasp of how it feels to be in this emotional limbo, and it comes across raw and compelling in her writing. It’s like being fifteen all over again – exposed, vulnerable, yet brave – tasting the world for the first time and being surprised that the sweetness can be laced with the bitter.

A novel about testing new realities, survival and nine-letter words, Wildlife is utterly gorgeous.

Publisher: Pan Macmillan Australia

Publication Date: 1 June 2013

Book Jaunts: Wildlife by Fiona Wood Book Launch

This evening Fiona Wood’s gorgeous new novel, Wildlife, was launched at a packed Readings Hawthorn with the assistance of fellow Melbourne authors, Simmone Howell and Cath Crowley.

Yes, it really was, Maggie And they all speak as beautifully as they as write.

Simmone Howell spoke about the cover of Wildlife being prescriptive, as if it were meant to be read lying down on soft grass; you could just turn your head to the side and let your tears run onto the ground. She spoke about the novel’s raw and compelling emotions, about its female friendships, about how the smart stuff (and it is smart) is never at the expense of the emotional stuff.

The book took her back to being 15 again, like a photograph, or overhearing teenagers on the tram.

YA is about change, Howell said. The best books become living things with their own subconscious.

Cath Crowley praised Wood’s beautiful writing, the three dimensional characters, Lou’s words about grief, heartbreak and private memories. “I am intrigued,” said Crowley, “I want to go back to this book again and again and again.”

Fiona Wood had lots of “thank you”‘s, and briefly discussed her choice to write about attitudes to sex and sexuality, as a kind of antidote to the plethora of negative messages young people are exposed to.

I had my copy of Wildlife signed along with a line of enthusiastic Fiona Wood fans, and also got to meet the lovely Danielle of Alpha Reader – we’ve decided the official blogger greeting should be a high-five. All agreed?

Book Jaunts: Patrick Ness at the Athenaeum Theatre, Melbourne

As someone who is frequently mocked for carrying so many pens on her person at any one time (a minimum of four, if you’re interested), there was some serious Alanis-Morissette-style irony in two of them running out during the Patrick Ness event last night, and not being able to find the other two.

Fortunately, a kind fellow attendee offered me her pen before anyone could turn around and shush me for all the rustling around in my bag, so I could continue making frantic notes on the back of my ticket print-out.

Rookie mistake right there, readers! Going to see Patrick Ness without being adequately prepared.

So I’m going to attempt to untangle my semi-legible notes and try convey at least some of the brilliance that was the Patrick Ness event at the Athenaeum Theatre last night – but please bear in mind that my hand was struggling to keep up his awesome and occasionally I’d just forget to write things down because I was starstruck. (Ahem. Totally profesh recap, right here.) Also, some things may be slightly out of order; I’ve tried to group them together for the sake of making this recap semi-logical.

The lovely people at The Wheeler Centre organised this event, a double feature with Carlos Ruiz Zafon, since Ness is in the country for the Sydney Writer’s Festival. He was interviewed by the charming Lili Wilkinson, who opened with praise for Ness’ “darkly complex” writing – which Ness picked up and ran with for the rest of the evening. Patrick Ness is funny, readers. (Also, if you were on your phone – innocently tweeting – or wearing a panda hood, you were fair game).

Following Wilkinson’s introduction, Ness read an excerpt from the beginning his forthcoming YA novel, More Than This, and I’m going to presumptuously speak for everyone in the audience when I say it was epic. You could have heard a pin drop in the silence of 300 collectively held breaths.

“Here is the boy. Drowning.”

I had chills. Actual chills.

The Crane Wife

Ness confirmed that the Crane Wife was partially inspired by the Japanese folktale of the same name, and partially by The Decemberists’ album. He remarked that many fairy tales or folk stories open with an act of violence, or darkness: a child abandoned in the woods etc. However, it struck him that the Japanese folktale opens with an act of kindness, a very human response.

Wilkinson asked Ness about the juxtaposition of lyricism and stark realism in the novel – whether this was something he wrote consciously, and strove to balance. Ness replied that it he didn’t think about it as a “balance” as much, but more that the world of a book should be firmly established. A book is a world made of worlds and the things that happen in the book should be possible in that particular world.

They then spoke about “truth” and the various perceptions of it, which is a theme of the book. Ness related an anecdote of he and a friend being struck by a car while riding their bikes as children and how that story would be different from his perspective, his friend’s perspective, and that of the onlookers who witnessed it. The truth lies somewhere in the coming together of those stories. Telling stories is a vital function of making sense of our existence.

Chaos Walking Trilogy

Ness knew he wanted to write a book in vernacular. The story came from two ideas – one big idea and one stupid idea. The big one being that of information overload – our world is so full of noise, especially for young people. What would happen if you couldn’t get away from it? Young peole have so little privacy today – what are the consequences of this? The stupid idea was that Ness hates talking dogs. If a dog could talk it would basically just be eating, sleeping and shagging. And how excited they are to see you. Chaos Walking was born out of these two concepts.

Todd’s voice came first, and Ness knew the novel would be YA once he heard the voice.

Wilkinson asked Ness about his feelings regarding writing YA versus writing adult fiction. He responded that he was fine with the novel being YA, he thought that was great. There’s no difference in commitment between writing a YA novel and writing an adult novel.

Ness also noted the importance of writing a book you’d want to read yourself. When a writer is writing for themselves, rather than for a trend, you can sense their joy. It’s arrogant of a writer to ask a reader to laugh, or be moved, if the writer is not laughing or moved themselves.

He commented that teens are prepared to go further away in terms of the world of a story. They’re not liars, and they’re not snobby. They love plot – Ness thinks a lot of adults read YA because they’re craving plot. Ness believes that teens keep writers honest, they’re very clear about what they like and don’t like.

Wilkinson then made an observation about the trilogy being critical of evangelical religion, and whether his upbringing influenced this. Ness didn’t necessarily agree with this idea (except in the case of Aaron’s character) – he thought the ideas in the novel were more representative of fascism than just evangelical religion. This led to some discussion of Ness’ upbringing being raised by journalists, and how they try to link this to his writing. Ness stressed that it’s easy to bash people, or for family to be misunderstood. People pounce on family. But people are much more complicated than that. They are layered. It would be unfair of him to write about his family in that way – they didn’t ask to have a novelist in the family. This segued into some conversation about the idea of good people being capable and bad and vice versa, and how the characters in the novel reflect this.

On the topic of difference, Wilkinson raised how the Spackle and women are treated in the Chaos Walking books. Ness believes it’s short-sighted and dangerous to see difference as “mere” difference, which causes people to look down on others or exploit them. Rather, we need to accommodate difference, without seeing it as “better” or “worse”.

The infamous Daily Mail comment about Ness’ books being “so violent they need a health warning”. Ness emphatically rejects this, and believes that not engaging with darkness in fiction is abandoning a teenager to face it alone. He spoke about reading what teens write themselves, and the fact that they write much darker things than published adult authors do. There was very much a sense in Ness’ comments here that teens should be respected, not talked down to.

Wilkinson had put the call out on twitter earlier for questions and they were overwhelming about one thing (if you’ve read The Knife of Never Letting Go, you know what that thing is). So as not to spoil audience members who hadn’t read the books (Seriously, what’s wrong with you!? Go read them!?) Ness said the following things: “It’s how he would have wanted it” (*cue gasps of shock and horror from the audience*.) “It’s the only way it could have happened, if you think about it.” “I’m not sorry, but I do understand” and “I’m sad too”. Aww.

Some people define YA by the fact that the endings all have a sense of hope. Ness doesn’t necessarily agree with this, but he does think truthful endings are important.

Chaos Walking movie! Ness confirmed that it has been picked up by the studio that did the Hunger Games movie, and that it is being written by Charlie Kaufman (*cue sounds of wild approval from audience*).

Connor / Todd

Ness and Wilkinson spoke about how teens are complicated. Adolescence is a conflicted and transitional time, a loss of innocence is some senses. It’s a realisation that mistakes don’t have to define you. You are not a single thing, you are many things.

A Monster Calls

Ness had some trepidation about writing this – he didn’t want it to be a tribute, rather than a story – and the worst tribute is a bad story.

He doesn’t know if he can write something like that again. It just clicked, and he views it as a very special part of his career. Jim Kay’s illustrations are better than anything he could have possibly imagined.

When asked whether adults and teens respond differently to A Monster Calls, Ness spoke about how in some reviews, adults suggested that “kids wouldn’t get it.” This is doing them a disservice, kids are more emotionally savvy than they are given credit for.

Other Work

Ness has written a Dr Who e-short (out this week, if I recall correctly). Ness believes the 5th Doctor is the one who looks most like he’d be a novelist, he’s an observer.

Audience Q&A

I have to mention here that the teens who came out to the event and got up to ask questions were incredible – so insightful and interesting.

I’ll paraphrase the questions as best as I remember below.

Q You’ve been compared to another nerdy life-ruiner, Joss Whedon – is he an inspiration?

A. They have a “nerdy life ruiner’s club”. Ness considers Buffy a work of genius – so fearless, true, emotional and funny.

Q. In the Chaos Walking books, a lot things are said, but not specifically described. (e.g. Todd telling us that Viola has a look on her face, but not telling us exactly what the look is.) This was powerful, but was it a conscious decision?

A. Yes. Ness wanted the reader to fill in the blanks. Also, regarding things such as physical appearance, race, he wanted the books to be inclusive, so readers could imagine what they wanted. However, this raises the problem of inadvertently making them exclusive depending on the readers’ default setting, so he did describe some characters – for example, Bradley – to be clear on the diversity. Mainly the choice not to describe things (e.g. clothes etc) was to do with Todd’s voice. Todd assumes he is telling the story to someone familiar with the world, so he wouldn’t describe things they would already knew. This also removed the problem of having a lot of info-dumping in the story.

Q. My feelings towards Mayor Prentiss changed throughout the books. Was he based on a historical figure?

A. No specific historical figure, though figures like him can be found throughout history. One dimensional characters are boring. Villains don’t think they are villains. Mayor Prentiss has a point of view, a plan, he doesn’t think he’s wrong. Is he redeemed? That’s left open-ended for the reader to decide. Above all, Ness wanted him to be understandable.

Q. Did reviews (as in feedback on drafts) make you change anything?

A. No. No one reads the firsts drafts. He wants them to be as unselfconscious as possible, to keep them private and protected. Novels are not a crowd-sourced art form, and he doesn’t write them for people’s approval. He spoke about good ideas often arriving late in the writing and then having to go back and re-write and pretending you had the good idea all along.

Q. What are you scared of?

A. Cockroaches. And open water. (This answer was longer but I didn’t write enough to give you a better idea of how funny it was, sorry!)

Q. Which of your books is your favourite?

Ness: Which one is your favourite?
Audience member: [pause] Well I just started reading The..
Ness: SIT DOWN!
*LAUGHTER*

A. That’s like asking a parent which of their children is their favourite. You know they have one but they’re not going to say. Ness loves them all for different reasons. That said, he is content that they are done and out in the world.

Q. So much loss and heartbreak in the books – which part broke your heart the most?

A. Obviously, there’s MANCHEE. But also Davy. Ness really felt for Davy, really understood him. And it was sad that he was so close, he was almost there!

[I think this was my favourite part of the Q&A – Ness’s response to the question was so moving]

Lili Wilkinson asked about a comment Ness made previously about writers being singers, not songwriters. This is something Ness firmly believes. He spoke about “compare and despair” – when you’re write a novel, get 60,000 words through, then someone publishes a story with the exact same plot. It happens all the time. But a book is not a song, a book is performance of a song. It’s a delivery system for ideas. No one else can perform it like you can.

This concluded the Patrick Ness portion of the presentation and was met with a fairly thundery applause. I got my copy of The Knife of Never Letting Go signed – Ness was really lovely and very engaged with his fans. (Though while in line, I overheard someone completely spoil someone else who hadn’t read it! Whoops.)

Totally worth braving the inclement weather. If you ever get a chance to see Patrick Ness speak, I can not recommend enough that you drop everything and do it.

No doubt I’ve missed loads of detail, so please also check out Danielle’s excellent recap over at Alpha Reader.

Review: Cry Blue Murder by Kim Kane and Marion Roberts

Will anyone hear you cry?

Celia and Alice share everything – their secrets, hopes and the increasing horror that a killer is on the loose and abducting schoolgirls just like them. Three bodies have been found, each shrouded in hand-woven fabric.

From within the depths of a police investigation, clues are starting to emerge. But as Alice and Celia discover the truth, danger is closer than anyone knows. Who can you trust at a time like this?

A contemporary fable about loyalty and betrayal from two exciting new voices in Australian young adult fiction. – Synopsis from Goodreads

Despite a genuinely creepy and intriguing premise, I found the execution of Cry Blue Murder somewhat wanting.

The story opens with the abduction of Hallie Knight, a school girl from Melbourne’s south-east suburbs, and the subsequent investigation into a possible link with two previous murders. Someone – dubbed the Cocoon Killer – is kidnapping girls in their early teens, poisoning them and leaving their naked bodies wrapped in shrouds of handwoven fabric and hair. Rocked by the tragedies, and as the cases remain unsolved, the community responds with understandable fear. Suddenly, their suburban streets are no longer safe.

Cry Blue Murder is related entirely through documents: emails exchanged between the two main characters, spliced with statements, interview transcripts and newspaper articles. The two girls, Celia and Alice, meet on a facebook page for then missing Hallie Knight, and quickly strike up a regular correspondence. Both feel somewhat isolated in their situations – Celia at a new school and Alice banished to a boarding school after a family tragedy – and find comfort in their budding friendship. It’s also a medium for the girls to express their anxiety over the ongoing Cocoon Killer case, and communicate how it’s impacting their lives.

With some reshuffling in order to tell the story in a logical and suspenseful manner, Kane and Roberts have attempted to replicate the kind of material that might be found in a Barrister’s brief – organising records of the police investigation to gradually reveal clues. And while the format works exceptionally well for a maximum impact reveal, it unfortunately makes the beginning feel somewhat flaccid and slow. I had expected to be immediately plunged into a chilling story, close to the detail of the mystery. In reality, the first half of the novel is more about the girls themselves and the way their friendship develops. In hindsight, it’s the right choice for the story, but it did take me a while to warm up to the pace.

The thing is though, I called the killer early. It’s possible that that was meant to happen, to augment the unsettling tone of the book; I can’t say for sure. By the final pages, I was less shocked by the reveal than by the abruptness of the ending. The authors leave readers with little explanation of the killer’s motivations, just a few breadcrumb hints threaded through the plot.

Cry Blue Murder is a quick read, and both Kane and Roberts have a good grasp of their characters’ voices (even if a couple of the cultural references and instances of slang felt somewhat dated given the ages of the girls.) The emails are conversational and expressive, while still conveying detail about their lives and fleshing out the secondary characters, including family members. That said, I never felt particularly engaged by either Celia or Alice, and perhaps this was the problem. For much of the novel, my lack of interest in them resulted in diluting much of what should have been a creepy, unsettling atmosphere.

That said, the concept really is clever, and I suspect other readers won’t have the issues with the execution that I did. If you’re looking for an inventive YA mystery, definitely give it a go.

Publisher: University of Queensland Press

Publication Date: 24 April 2013

ARC Review: The 5th Wave by Rick Yancey

The Passage meets Ender’s Game in an epic new series from award-winning author Rick Yancey.

After the 1st wave, only darkness remains. After the 2nd, only the lucky escape. And after the 3rd, only the unlucky survive. After the 4th wave, only one rule applies: trust no one.

Now, it’s the dawn of the 5th wave, and on a lonely stretch of highway, Cassie runs from Them. The beings who only look human, who roam the countryside killing anyone they see. Who have scattered Earth’s last survivors. To stay alone is to stay alive, Cassie believes, until she meets Evan Walker. Beguiling and mysterious, Evan Walker may be Cassie’s only hope for rescuing her brother—or even saving herself. But Cassie must choose: between trust and despair, between defiance and surrender, between life and death. To give up or to get up. - Synopsis from Goodreads

I don’t know about you, but for me, every iteration of the “Next Big Thing in YA” hoopla now comes with attendant alarm bells.

I am wary of hype; worn weary by hyperbolic accolades and extravagant marketing campaigns that vary from the invasively viral to the downright obnoxious. It all starts to seem like a lot of unabashed snapping at the heels of the Last Big Thing in YA – (whether it’s warranted or not) – a desperate attempt to replicate its success, or at the very least to sop up the remaining interest in the latest trend. Call me cynical – (you’d be right) – but I am suspicious of hype. So much of it seems manufactured now, the product of heavily orchestrated, militant marketing strategy; rather than a groundswell of genuine grassroots enthusiasm among readers.

But I will concede defeat to The 5^th Wave.

There was an obvious marketing push – though arguably it was clever and far less offensive than other campaigns clogging up the blogosphere – but it has also been accompanied by critical acclaim and strong reader reaction.

Then there’s the fact that I read The 5^th Wave and I thought it was pretty darn brilliant.

I still don’t like applying sweeping statements of annexation to books, like YA is ground to be conquered and previous successful books are targets to be taken out. I don’t think this book is necessarily The Next Anything. But I do think that it’s an intelligent and gripping apocalyptic/sci-fi novel and Rick Yancey deserves ALL the high fives.

Alien invasion stories are nothing new. This is well-trodden ground since War of the Worlds; even Stephenie Meyer had a crack. The trope speaks to a very primal instinct for survival, as well as serving effectively as allegory for the human condition, or metaphor for political manoeuvring and current events. We read alien invasion stories not necessarily because we believe in the possibility of extra-terrestrial hostilities, but because it sets up a scenario that speaks to our fundamental urge to examine and define our own existence.

In The 5^th Wave, Yancey uses the premise of an alien onslaught on Earth to develop the themes of humanity, survival in the face of desolation, and “otherness”. ‘Humanity’ is a word that appears frequently throughout the novel in various contexts and on different scales, but the question overarching the book drills down to a very personal level. What does it mean to say that a person has humanity? Can it be lost? And can it be gained?

The framework of The 5^th Wave, using primary first-person narrators interspersed with secondary, third-person points of view, provides readers with a wider lens through which to examine Yancey’s concept of invasion. The novel written firmly in only Cassie’s perspective would still have made for an entertaining story, (more on Cassie soon), but the narrower angle would have somewhat stifled the true brilliance of The 5^th Wave, which lies in solving the jigsaw of the plot. Like all puzzles, some pieces are more easily connected than others: astute readers will anticipate certain twists. But it’s the way the segments of the novel snap together that keep it compelling: the constant hypothesising that accompanies the reading, the uncertainty of whether you’re right or not, the dread that your suspicions are correct.

In Cassie, Yancey captures the essence of The 5^th Wave: the sense of utter isolation and dread balanced with the tenacity of hope. Cassie is rendered in shades of snark, fear and determination. There’s an immediacy and authenticity to her voice that keep her story engaging, even when chunks of it are delivered via flashblacks. She’s an accessible character, without any of the strength of her personality having to be diluted or her flaws glossed over.

Yancey uses moral ambiguity to excellent effect in all of his main characters: Cassie, Evan, Zombie, Ringer. The question of whether they are “good” or “bad”, and whether or not these are mutually exclusive concepts as far as the characters’ actions and motivations are concerned, maintains tension in the story. By challenging readers’ perception of the characters, we get to the crux of the novel, that is – what is humanity? What does it mean to be human?

Interestingly, while the story could be perceived by some as taking, or even perpetuating, a problematic and imperialistic stance on the idea of the “other”, one that’s steeped in discriminatory doctrine – I’m not convinced that this is the case. I think there are enough clues in this novel to expect a deeper exploration of the issue of “othering” in subsequent instalments. Since the characters themselves display ethical gradation, I would be surprised if Yancy left the idea of “us” and “them” in such oversimplified terms. Rather, I think he’s only just scratched the surface of what’s going to be examined in this series.

As to the titular fifth wave, and what it comprises of, I think Yancey’s concept is frighteningly plausible. Not plausible in terms of an extra-terrestrial invasion, but in terms of tactics employed (trying very hard to avoid spoilers here). Sadly, we have more than enough historical and current evidence of indoctrination and use of child soldiers in conflicts around the world, including genocides and so-called ethnic cleansing. There is no shortage of examples of systematic desensitisation and exploitation of children as a tool of hostilities. In this sense, The 5^th Wave is a complex, thought-provoking novel; a high-concept premise layered with relevance to our current reality.

Of course, The 5^th Wave asks for a certain amount of suspension of belief from the reader, particularly in the climactic action scenes and some of the more convenient plot developments. I’m more than willing to do this for a good story, and for characters I’m invested in. Mileage will vary as to how much you buy into to the denouement and the choices that lead the characters there; I found it no hindrance at all, so entrenched was I in the characters’ predicaments.

So, consider me a fan. I don’t know what Rick Yancey has in store for us in the follow-up, but I am so on board for it.

An advance reader copy of The 5th Wave was provided by Penguin Books Australia via Netgalley.

Review: Bruised by Sarah Skilton

When Imogen, a sixteen-year-old black belt in Tae Kwon Do, freezes during a holdup at a local diner, the gunman is shot and killed by the police, and she blames herself for his death. Before the shooting, she believed that her black belt made her stronger than everyone else — more responsible, more capable. But now her sense of self has been challenged and she must rebuild her life, a process that includes redefining her relationship with her family and navigating first love with the boy who was at the diner with her during the shootout. With action, romance, and a complex heroine, Bruised introduces a vibrant new voice to the young adult world — full of dark humor and hard truths. – Synopsis from Goodreads

“If a girl punches someone, she’s crazy. If a guy punches someone, he’s dealing with his feelings. He’s normal.”

I have to thank several friends for recommending Skilton’s debut recently; without their encouragement to pick it up, Bruised might have been quietly sucked into the black hole of my growing TBR list.

Bruised is an insightful novel about a girl’s journey to redefine her sense of self in the wake of a traumatic incident. While suffering PTSD as a result of a diner hold-up, Imogen is compelled to confront what she believed to be fundamental truths about herself. Considering herself responsible for the gunman’s death, Imogen struggles to reconcile the reality of the event with her own expectations of herself.

In some ways, Bruised reminded me of Elizabeth Scott’s Miracle, in its thought-provoking take on PTSD and the way it impacts self-perception. By failing to act when she believes she should have, Imogen’s sense of worth is undermined. The construct of herself as an empowered, disciplined and strong young woman is challenged by the fact that she froze under pressure, which drives a desperate need to prove herself. Under the weight of what she perceives as a failure, Imogen begins to pursue an increasingly self-destructive path in an effort to redeem herself. She wants a real fight, a chance to do-over the moment her mind, body and training betrayed her.

Skilton’s characterisation of Imogen and the depiction of her internal conflict is effective: its sharp and visceral, and Imogen’s disillusionment is believable. Imogen passes through a broad emotional spectrum, and this progression is developed organically. Skilton is unafraid to push Imogen into some dark places emotionally, essentially stripping her back to a state of mental vulnerability and raw instinct, before allowing her to slowly reconstruct her life.

This reconstruction is not only within Imogen, it’s also necessary in her core relationships: with her parents, her brother, her friends, and with Tae Kwon Do. Then there’s the boy who was also at the diner the night of the hold-up, the one person Imogen feels is able to relate to what she’s going through, and the burgeoning attraction between them.

I felt the most successfully handled relationship development was that within Imogen’s family. She is emotionally distant from both parents for different reasons, and sees her brother as responsible for her estrangement from her former best friend. Skilton tackles each of these dynamics realistically, and I enjoyed the manner in which they progressed and their issues were addressed, particularly between Imogen and Hunter. Their sibling bond felt genuine, yet believably complicated.

Most of all though, hats off to the author for allowing her teenage girl main character to respond to conflict in such a physical way. Imogen spends a considerable portion of the novel looking for an opportunity to test her ability to fight, a rematch of sorts. This quest leads her to make some poor choices (understandable in her situation), and also to try to get Ricky (her co-witness of the hold-up) to fight her. Imogen’s insistence on having someone engage in an no-holds-barred physical fight with her is not something commonly seen in YA, but Skilton navigates it well, addressing not only Imogen’s need, but Ricky’s reluctance to hit a girl (or be beaten by one).

If this novel lost me a little, it was in the way some of the plot threads/conflicts were resolved. While I enjoyed the openness of the ending, and the place where the author left Imogen, I felt a couple of the closing scenes were a bit twee in their delivery, and not necessary to communicate that the characters were in a positive space.

That said, the novel is tight and engaging. Although flawed, Imogen is a sympathetic protagonist with a compelling struggle. The romance and friendship subplots complement the story, while keeping Imogen’s internal journey front and centre. She develops as a character, yet there’s integrity to the way she is written; Imogen grows, but her core beliefs and strengths are not transformed, just adjusted. I appreciated Skilton’s dedication to Imogen in this way – allowing her to keep those fundamental elements of her personality and principles. This is especially evident in the way the novel handles various attitudes towards sex. Skilton presents the characters’ perspectives without judgement or commentary – respecting the diversity of their experiences and choices.

Bruised is an accomplished debut novel about navigating physical and psychological trauma, and the challenging of self-worth. It’s a respectful and knowledgeable portrayal of martial arts, relationships and the journey of a teenage girl to redefine her inner world.

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