The Roar by Emma Clayton - review

The Roar by Emma Clayton
Almost five hundred pages of brilliantly unpredictable fully-immersive postapocalyptic British fiction, set in a thriftily-constructed half-drowned London, shot through with luminous sensory stimuli and an extra helping of good old-fashioned LANGUAGE. I read it in two days, and I loved it, and I want to do it justice. So I'm going to keep this short.

He paced and watched the sea and for a while he felt like a firecracker with its fuse lit, a bit dangerous - as if when she walked through the door he would erupt and fly around the room breaking the lights, setting fire to things, and taking lumps out of the ceiling. Then he felt all soft and gooey, as if when she walked in he would melt and she would find nothing more than a puddle of love in the middle of the floor. Then he felt both of these things, that he was a firecracker about to explode, but instead of sparks, he was full of love and it was all going to be a bit messy.

Do not take this passage the wrong way. It occurs on page 471, and contains I think the first and the second (and the last) instances of the word "love" in the book. I picked it because it gives you Emma Clayton using a twelve-year-old's casual vocabulary to precisely describe a complex emotional state - some trick! Plus, cute there at the end.

The best science fiction - and, I would argue, the best teen fiction - pulls pieces of the status quo out of context so that the reader has a chance to see some aspect of contemporary life from a new perspective. In the case of The Roar, Ms. Clayton has picked natural resource management, environmental degradation, and (because she is English and name me one English author who doesn't, given the chance) the injustice of class.

Exciting, beautiful, gut-wrenching stuff, fully on par with, say, Jo Walton or Charles Stross. Cyborg animals, fighter planes, high-stakes arcade games, diverse characters, mutations, truly dreadful villains, and food made of mold! No wonder it nearly crests the 500 page mark. The ending feels a little rushed perhaps, but by the time I hit it, I was so swept away that I did not mind.

Stonewall Hinkleman and the Battle of Bull Run by Michael Hemphill and Sam Riddleburger

Stonewall Hinkleman and the Battle of Bull Run by Michael Hemphill and Sam Riddleburger
I grew up in Maryland. Which means that every third field trip was to some vast undulant green field that once played host to one of the big bloody shindigs of the Civil War. Bull Run, Appomattox, Antietam. Harper's Ferry, Yorktown. Gettysburg if you were lucky, because at least then there was a side trip to the farmers' market, where all the bad kids bought bullwhips which the teachers confiscated for the bus ride home.

Ohhh, god that stuff was boring to me. Whatever visualizations the Park Service dreamed up: films, dioramas, 3-D maps with little lights, rangers in uniform... I never could get it up for the Civil War. Still can't. Seriously, I'm a full-on adult - a librarian, a photo archivist, a reader - who has never given a rat's rosy rumpus about the American Civil War. It's embarrassing but true.

Which is why Stonewall Hinkleman and the Battle of Bull Run has me SO IMPRESSED. Twelve-year-old Stonewall (named after the general by his obsessed parents) shares my outlook - he's been frog-marched to Civil War re-enactments every weekend since he was six, and he knows enough about the Civil War to know that he is not interested in it in the least.

I have to say, I was a little dubious at first. Those obsessed parents are pretty monolithic in their disdain, disregard, and disapproval of Stonewall, and Stonewall is good and sick of weekends without his PlayStation. I wasn't looking forward to, say, a father-son adventure during which they Learn To Appreciate Each Other's Skills And/Or Outlook.

Luckily, when Stonewall is catapulted back in time to the real Battle of First Manassas (aka Bull Run, the first battle of the Civil War), his parents are left behind, presumably to putter around pretending to shoot other History Channel addicts in the twenty-first century. No more jerky dad 'til the very end.

Instead, we get the entire Confederate Army, such as it was at this point in the war: barefoot and smelly, raggedly armed and freshly learning the terrifying and painful realities of battle. And Stonewall's reaction is even more visceral - no matter what words Stonewall uses in his fast-paced, detailed narration, you know that he is really saying "Holy crap!"

The action is easy to follow, though the decision to include a map of the battlefield is a good one. The supporting characters, though a bit broadly drawn, satisfy. The conclusions that Stonewall comes to - about war, slavery, freedom, and bravery - are strongly supported by the events that he witnesses. No murky philosophizin' here:

Most of them, I bet, had visions when they enlisted of doing heroic things in battle. But I wonder how many had thought about what really happens in war, that you might really get shot, get killed. I don't think my father and his reenactors think too much about this part of a Civil War soldier's life. How can you and still want to reenact it? (italics mine)

By the end of the book, Stonewall has a mission that reverberates into his own time, a pretty girl to share it with, and most importantly, a reason to attend next weekend's reenactment. Which I assume is also a reason for these authors to write another book. I hope so, because Stonewall Hinkleman humanizes the Civil War like nothing I've ever read.

Marveltown by Bruce McCall - review

Marveltown by Bruce McCall
When I plucked this big sunny square off the Professional Review shelves at work and surveyed the faux- Fifties Futurist paintings, I flashed back to pulling old books on rocket science off my Dad's shelves when I was a kid. The illustrations in those books were so intriguing - immense curved structures with impossibly thin floors and spires, a few tiny humans scratched in to give them scale; cratered surfaces and craggy mountains; big control rooms stocked with banks of giant flanged capacitors and oversized dials... but the books would always disappoint. I would expect breathless stories full of firecracker surprises, but... there was a lot of nonfiction in our house. Those books would actually be about rocket science. Lots of parabolas and charts.

I shook my head paging through Marveltown, thinking that Bruce McCall had a lot of fun creating a catalog of outscale inventions, and thinking that just drawing lots of cool stuff does not make a book.

What a fantastic surprise, therefore, to turn a page and, beneath a painting of a huge control room with banks of flanged capacitors and oversized dials, see the words, "Until one quiet midnight..." A story! A robot rebellion! Yeah!!

I couldn't wait to get Marveltown home to my boys. I wanted to see whether my enthusiasm was purely based on my retro-futurist nostalgia - ideas of the future that were old when I was a kid: Helmut Karl Wimmer's paintings from the old Hayden Planetarium, which came down when I was working at AMNH; the illustrations of Frank Tinsley and Chesley Bonestell; the villain's control room in old Bond movies; silly stuff from very old MAD magazines. There's a picture in Marveltown of a terrified guy in a hat, his pipe flying from his mouth as he runs screaming, that I think is a direct quote from a Kelly Freas painting.

The interesting thing about Bruce McCall, in this context, is that Wikipedia says the man is 73 years old - same age as my Dad. These illustrators that I am all nostalgic over... their careers overlapped his. These ARE his visions of the future. Makes Marveltown extra-sweet to me.

So let's hear from our panel. Here's what the boys said as Mao read the book aloud:

"It's supposed to be the kids are the run-away-ers and the grownups are the stayers, but it's the opposite!"

"How about they don't make living robots, they just make working robots?"

"Whoa, that's what somebody invented?" (about a tall crack-the-whip Maypole kind of thing that... ok yeah I can't describe it)
"That is totally better than a big robot."

"The ripple-rug was my favorite invention."
"The metal dog who ate everyone's homework was my favorite, because he was a great guard dog."

Does it make you want to invent things?
"Makes me want to want to turn our LEGOtown into Marveltown! With giant robots! With a couple different things, with the robots only attacking three grownups - bad guy grownups - not Skeletor, because he's dead. They would attack Larry Jenkins, 50-foot Spreitel, and The Boss."

Ok, so... any questions?

The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins - review

The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins
I do approve of science fiction for teenage girls - too much fiction aimed at young women is vapid and self-fulfilling. And I habitually enjoy post-apocalyptic worlds. Also, nothing wrong with a little ultra-violence of the type the kids in this book must engage in. Plus, it's Suzanne Collins, my go-to gal in the children's section - I have yet to meet a kid (boy OR girl) who didn't thank me for introducing them to Ms. Collins's friend Gregor.

So why am I not jumping up and down about The Hunger Games? Let me break it down.

1.
If I think young adult fiction has a mission, and sometimes I think it does, I think it should be to cause young people to question things that have been presented to them - truths (Not the End of the World by Geraldine McCaughrean), values (Uglies), government (Little Brother), commerce (So Yesterday), etc. Ok, yeah granted, books can be just fun too. That's fine. But speculative fiction particularly has this opportunity - because the context of the story is so different, the elements of the book's world that are the same as ours stand out in higher relief.

And to make a long sentence short, I don't think The Hunger Games takes that opportunity. There's no one element that is terribly similar to our world. Even the 'reality show' that is the titular Hunger Games is so dissimilar to our reality shows - watching it is mandatory - that it's hard to tell what, if any, comparison Ms. Collins is inviting.

2.
I found the insertion of a little romance to be tedious. It felt like it was jammed in there to make the book more palatable to the teen girls. I'd like to think that not all teenage girls NEED romance for a book to be relevant to their interests.

I thought when the romance became a major part of the Uglies series, that's where it bogged down. God knows if the next Hunger Games books are all about Katniss choosing between Baker Boy and Hunter Guy, I will be disappointed.

3.
I thought the very best parts of the book were the chapters that described Katniss's home town and the capital city. Suzanne Collins does wonderful detail, as we know from Gregor, and her alternate worlds are richly and roundly imagined and full of dirt and vistas and infrastructure.

I am hoping that Katniss takes a tour of all the districts of her world in the next two books, and leaves both those boys behind.

Gone by Michael Grant - review

Gone by Michael Grant
Postapocalyptic young adult science fiction with a healthy dose of (clean) teen romance. The Stand, minus the cusswords. Left Behind, minus all of the judginess and most (but more about that later) of the sexism.

(And don't look so surprised: I read the first Left Behind book. As hacky postapocalyptic horror goes (think Robert McCammon's Swan Song, a guilty pleasure if there ever was one), it was not bad... but as propaganda, it was mesmerizing. Quite a lot of attention was paid to women: their inherent badness, the ways that they can transcend that badness. (Stay at home, cook regular meals, no smoking. Burqa optional.) This I half-expected, but I was quite surprised at the animosity toward cities. Apparently they're ALL Sodom. Or Gomorrah. And taxi drivers are all thieves.)

That little digression is germane, because Gone is so very like Left Behind in plot. Here's Gone's apocalypse: one afternoon, everyone aged 15 and up disappears from Perdido Beach, California. Upon investigation, the kids discover that their town has been cut off from the rest of the world by a huge, impenetrable bubble - a sphere 20 miles wide centered on the nuclear power plant outside of town.

Luckily for the kids of Perdido Beach, the kids do not leap to the conclusion that everyone else has been Raptured away, and that they have been left behind because they are not worthy of God's love. They spend a fair amount of time just kind of flipping out, before getting down to the business of starting life over after the big Reset button has been pressed, which is always my favorite part of post-apocalyptic fiction. What form of government will be chosen? How will the food supply be rationed? Who will emerge as the natural leaders, engineers, police, child care providers, and doctors after the people who once filled those positions have been done away with?

And, of course, who will emerge as the Bad Guy?

What follows is a fun, not-necessarily-predictable page-turner of a YA novel. There's a fair amount of internal conflict, quite a bit of external conflict, a lot of running around, some of it a little pointless, some supernatural stuff, and, oh yeah, talking coyotes.

Some of the kids develop extra-normal powers: telekinesis, healing touch, superstrength, etc. This is a fine thing for a couple reasons. As anyone who has ever written a comic book knows, superpowers make fight scenes more interesting: they escalate rapidly and end abruptly. Also, that healing touch mitigates some of the not-inconsiderable gore in Gone.

I just wish it wasn't always the girls who make the peanut butter sandwiches, who bail the boat out, take over the day care center and the makeshift hospital. Of the three main female characters, one has the healing touch, one is a strategist, and the third is a "reader": her power is that she can tell how strong another person's power is. And by the end of the book, they all have boyfriends.

Soapbox bonus:
I've been thinking about the violence and gore in this book ever since I finished it. These kids lose limbs, live through agonizing pain, die, are burned horribly, and, in one case, turn into gravel. It made me think of movie ratings.

We saw The Dark Knight the day it opened, and I came away very impressed, but also astonished that it was rated PG-13. The physical and emotional violence and the depictions of pain in that movie were profound and disturbing. But there was no sex and very little cussing, which, I guess, puts it at the same level as Transformers if you're the MPAA. It's the same with Gone and many other kid's books. The authors may keep the sex and language extremely muted, but seem to have no such reservations about pain and violence.

Just a thought.

We're off to look for aliens by Colin McNaughton - review

We're Off to Look for Aliens by Colin McNaughton
When is a gimmick not a gimmick? When it WORKS, baby! How's this for a gimmick: Colin McNaughton's new book has a BOOK glued inside it - a book called "We're Off to Look for Aliens".

We're Off to Look for Aliens starts with a man accepting a book from the mailman. The man is Dad, and Dad writes and illustrates children's books. The book is his new book, fresh from the printers, and, judging from the characters that surround Dad as he works (Captain Abdul, Preston Pig, etc.), Dad is Colin McNaughton.

Dad asks Family to have a look at the new book, and steps out to walk the dog. Turn the page, and there's Dad's new book! (Becky from Young Readers took a picture of the book-within-a-book) Dad's new book ROCKS. In it, a character (who looks a lot like Dad) leaves Earth on a rocket with his faithful dog Wilberforce to look for aliens. Dad's new book is colorful, energetic, set to the tune of "Here we go 'round the mulberry bush," and full of rockin' aliens with lots of eyes and bumps.

Dad comes home and Family gives him their review. Unfortunately for Dad, Family has just one problem with it, and I'm not going to tell because it's a darn cute joke!

This one goes home with me.

The adoration of Jenna Fox by Mary E. Pearson - review

The adoration of Jenna Fox by Mary E. Pearson

Interesting. The adoration of Jenna Fox is many things. It is:

• a young adult speculative fiction novel for girls who don't like science fiction

a coming-of-age novel for people who eschew the touchy-feely (me!)

a medical thriller, fully as suspenseful as early Robin Cook

a meditation on choices nearly as profound as Walden, which it frequently quotes

And I think it is, very subtly, a pro-life statement.

Now, I, like the reviewers at SLJ, Publishers Weekly, The Horn Book, etc., and my colleague Other Paula, who recommended it to me, enjoyed this book. I liked Jenna, who has awoken from a coma with no memory, and who struggles to assimilate information that will help her interpret her world and make sense of her often conflicting impressions. I enjoyed watching her evaluate her former life, explore her new life, and forge a new identity from the best pieces of both. The near-future world that Pearson has invented, full of genetically engineered species and antibiotic-resistant bacteria and oxygenated transplant gel loaded with neurochips, is both believable and intriguing. And I thought that "waking from a coma" was a serviceable metaphor for teenagers just beginning to realize that they are not merely extensions of (or reactions against) their parents, and that they can choose what kind of person to be.

But although this book is a suspenseful, thrilling read, I went through it slowly, because there's a lot going on in it beyond the mystery of Jenna's past. Specifically, the frequent ethics discussions merit very close attention.

In Jenna's world, "Science" (it almost wears a capital S in this book) is responsible for the disappearance of native species and an epidemic that killed a quarter of the world's population. In response, the federal government has enacted laws and created an ethics board that controls access to and application of advanced medical treatments. To ensure equitable access, a point system is in place, under which every person is assigned 100 points. Medical procedures use up those points: physicians decide whether a person 'needs', say, biofeedback software for their prosthetic limbs, or a kidney, or a heart transplant, based on how many points they have left.

Jenna is the daughter of a biotechnology billionaire, and she has recovered from a truly devastating car accident. I don't think I'm giving away too much of the plot when I say that Jenna has exceeded her points.

This fact, along with various revelations pertaining to what was lost and what recovered from Jenna's body after the crash, as well as a quadruple amputee whom she meets at school, and the fate of her best friends from before the accident, leads Jenna to question her right - and desire - to be alive.

I was skating right along with Jenna, feeling her dilemmas, rejoicing in her rebellions, all the way up to the book's ending, an artificial-feeling happy coda set two hundred and forty years later. 240 years is a long time: long enough, presumably, for a character to gain complete perspective. And 240 years later, Jenna is content with her choices, and the world's society backs her up. She muses on faith and science, and thinks that they are two sides of the same coin. At this point, I thought to myself, "'Faith'? Was this book about faith?" Earlier in the book, Jenna wondered if she had a soul, and her grandmother is Catholic... and then I realized that Jenna's post-coma memories include events that happened before she could talk: a near-drowning as a toddler, her baptism, and... being in her mother's womb. This representation of a fetus's perceptions and feelings is extremely provocative and, amid Pearson's well-written examinations of the meaning and value of human life, I think it's unnecessary. It made me go back and re-examine all of the science and ethics in the book.

I feel sure that Mary Pearson did not write The Adoration of Jenna Fox (although, if that title isn't Jesus-y enough for you, I'll write the sequel, and call it Ecce Jenna) as Christian or pro-life propaganda.

Until that ending, I would even say that her presentation of the ethical issues faced by the characters is basically balanced - though that point system thing rather reeks of pro-life rhetoric. If the book had been left open-ended, I would recommend it without reservation. It could be used in many terrific science-class discussion topics (some of which are listed in the discussion guide, some, not). Teen literature should challenge convictions, should poke holes in the status quo.

But resolving Jenna's ethical conflicts - presenting her choice as the one right choice - damages the credibility of the book. Sure, "it's just fiction," but I'd like to give this book more credit than that. You quote Walden that much, you kind of better be prepared to defend your choices.