Great article! I recommend reading the comments as well.
Came across this brief article from PublishersWeekly.com on Twitter:
(Photo by Carla Rennick)
Summary (from goodreads.com): This is a world divided by blood – red or silver.
The Reds are commoners, ruled by a Silver elite in possession of god-like superpowers. And to Mare Barrow, a seventeen-year-old Red girl from the poverty-stricken Stilts, it seems like nothing will ever change.
That is, until she finds herself working in the Silver Palace. Here, surrounded by the people she hates the most, Mare discovers that, despite her red blood, she possesses a deadly power of her own. One that threatens to destroy the balance of power.
Let me start by listing the things I loved about this book:
- Political intrigue
- Class struggle
- Rebellion (the life-and-death kind, not the staying-out-past-curfew kind)
- Military strategy
- Crazy fashions
- Oedipus complex
- Am I the only one who saw bits of Hamlet?
- Arena fighting (magic gladiators?)
- There’s so much more, but I’m trying not to be too spoilery!
Okay, now the characters. Mare is a great protagonist. She’s snarky, but in a self-deprecating way. She’s resilient, creative, stubborn, and like most people, she has a strong sense of right and wrong, which she has to tweak as she learns more about the world. She loves her family, but her relationship with them isn’t perfect. Also—and this might just be me—whenever she uses her ability, I picture her as the Emperor from Return of the Jedi (but, you know, not old and creepy). The supporting characters are just as intriguing and three-dimensional, each with their own complexities and motivations. The love interests all have their pros and cons, and while Mare is subject to the same cocktail of hormones and emotions as any other teenage girl, she does her best to make logical, objective decisions. I also appreciate that her romantic situation is more of a complication than a main plot point, but of course we’ll see how that develops throughout the subsequent books in the series.
Besides the characters, another of my favorite things about Red Queen is that there are so many wonderfully visual aspects to it. The red blood versus silver blood thing, obviously; the vivid colors of the noble houses; the violent and fantastical fight scenes; the variety of settings—metropolis, slums, the Stilts, the river, forests, gardens, etc.; the way the building structures literally shift like Transformer pieces; the sparkling glass and the shining metal armor. I can’t wait to see this adapted into a movie (which I understand is in the works), but it does bring up the question of casting. While reading Red Queen, I didn’t notice very much emphasis on skin tone other than the difference between the pallor of the Silvers and the flush of the Reds. (I will admit that one of my weaknesses as a reader is my limited ability to fully visualize characters in my head.) Upon further review, I found that two so far minor characters, Ara “the Panther” Iral and her granddaughter Sonya, are specifically described as having a “coffee-colored” complexion (pg. 123, paperback edition). However, Aveyard has discussed the racial landscape of the Red Queen world, and it seems that racial diversity is both prevalent and, in this future, a nonissue:
“Being set so far in the future, particularly a future where the divisions of race aren’t really a social construct anymore, it would be almost impossible to realistically have an all-white cast.”
Of course, the big division is between blood color, so we still get a struggle reflective of current issues in society while allowing for representation of many and diverse people of color. I think this would be great to see played out on the big screen, and I hope the film’s creators will take great care with it. I also look forward to further explicit representation of POC in Glass Sword and beyond, as I understand is the case.
Overall, this book was delightful, exciting, and thoughtful. Reminiscent of The Hunger Games in its political scope, Red Queen thrusts readers straight into the middle of the ruling class and asks us whose life is worth risking in order to fight its oppression. It also begs the question of what crosses the line from political protest to terrorism, another highly relevant issue in the world today. I am excited to read the follow-up books and to meet Victoria Aveyard in Charleston this November.
Favorite line: “This world is Silver, but it is also gray. There is no black-and-white.”
Victoria Aveyard quote from victoriaaveyard.com
(Photo by Carla Rennick)
Summary (from goodreads.com): In Crank, Ellen Hopkins chronicles the turbulent and often disturbing relationship between Kristina, a character based on her own daughter, and the “monster,” the highly addictive drug crystal meth, or “crank.”
I am going to start by saying: this wasn’t as hard to get through as I thought it would be. I have a friend who is a big fan of Ellen Hopkins, and she warned me that none of the books in this series could exactly be called “happy.” I actually ended up finishing it in a single day–partly because I was on a deadline for school, and partly because each poem had me eager to read the next one. This is only the second novel in verse that I have read (the first was Brown Girl Dreaming by Jacqueline Woodson), but I think it was really well done. I do have a lot of experience in reading poetry (I was an English lit major in undergrad), and I found Hopkins’s writing to be artful without sacrificing directness. She uses metaphor and other figurative language to enhance the experience of the reader, but she doesn’t hide behind these techniques to avoid brutal truths.
Hopkins also uses structure to great effect. One of my favorite things about this book is that the “title” of each poem is also usually the opening line. This basically prevents the reader from simply skimming over the titles while also helping to maintain the flow of the overall book. Hopkins also toys with the arrangement of the stanzas and lines on the page, allowing her words to convey multiple meanings simultaneously. I will say that the compact size of the book means that some of the poems are interrupted in inopportune places. This is especially unfortunate when the “shape” of the poem is relevant to its message. The reader has to sort of “cut and paste” it back together in their head in order to visualize the completed form.
With regard to characterization, I though the duality of Kristina/Bree was a very interesting approach. I have to admit that she (Hopkins or the protagonist, however you want to look at it) got me with the fifth poem (“More on Bree”). I was halfway to my psychoanalysis when she shut me right up. Bree, who is Kristina’s expression of her wilder side, did seem a bit extreme to me, but I suppose that is because my own wild side has never involved anything more exciting than that time I smoked cigarettes for like a week. So I had a little trouble relating to Bree, but I think everyone can understand that itch to let go of your inhibitions. I also deeply respect Hopkins’s portrayal of addiction and the domino effect it can have. She made me see Kristina as a very sympathetic character even while I thanked my stars that I have never found myself in her position.
Finally, although I really liked the direction Hopkins took the conclusion of the novel, it felt quite rushed to me. I would have liked to see at least one detailed instance of Kristina’s relapses so that the ending didn’t feel so much like an abrupt shift to a wrap-up montage.
Favorite line: “I could always say ‘no.’ / Couldn’t I?”
The New Yorker: The 2016 National Book Awards Finalists. http://google.com/newsstand/s/CBIw0qmsry4
Voya gets it wrong, then gets it wrong some more, then finally gets it right.
(Photo by Carla Rennick)
Summary (from goodreads.com): For the past five years, Hayley Kincain and her father, Andy, have been on the road, never staying long in one place as he struggles to escape the demons that have tortured him since his return from Iraq. Now they are back in the town where he grew up so Hayley can attend school. Perhaps, for the first time, Hayley can have a normal life, put aside her own painful memories, even have a relationship with Finn, the hot guy who obviously likes her but is hiding secrets of his own.
The Impossible Knife of Memory is only the second book by Laurie Halse Anderson that I’ve read, and while it shares some elements with Speak, I found it much more difficult to get through. This is not necessarily a bad thing, and most of the reasons for my struggle are very personal, so I don’t necessarily count it against the book.
I loved the opening of the novel. It gives immediate insight into Hayley’s unique personality, which Anderson later unpacks through revelations about her family and her past. Like Melinda in Speak, Hayley uses sarcasm and wit to force her emotions and memories into hiding. However, she does this to such an extreme that I found her character a bit more difficult to relate to. She closes herself off from the reader in much the same way that she closes herself off from her friends. This means that, like Gracie and Finn, we have to be patient and observant in order to get to know her.
One of the things I most admire about this book is the way Anderson treats drug use. Instead of decrying it from a distance, she gives Hayley a close-up view from two different sources–her best friend and her father. We see what could be a stereotypical angle of (very minimal) peer pressure, but Anderson takes the time to develop Gracie’s character and background so that we can understand the motivations behind her choices. The circumstances surrounding Andy’s drug use are even more layered. Hayley understands why her dad smokes weed, for instance, but she hates how it affects his attitude and the people he associates with. She also knows that there are different ways to use drugs and alcohol–as a coping mechanism and as a weapon against oneself.
I also loved the inclusion of Andy’s memories amidst the rest of the narrative. They are incredibly jarring and difficult to read, but I think they are an excellent way to temporarily thrust the reader into the mind of a traumatized war hero without making the story entirely Andy’s. They also help to mitigate some of the disgust the reader might feel when he treats Hayley particularly badly. I would have liked to see a few more instances of this viewpoint, though, to round out Andy’s development.
Overall, I think this is an inspiring and important book. The light that it sheds on mental illness, military life, drug abuse, and other issues will support teens as they examine their own struggles and will help them to be understanding of their peers who, like Hayley and Anderson herself, come from families affected by PTSD.
Favorite line: “I closed my eyes, pretended I was twenty thousand feet in the air, high enough to be able to see where we came from and where we were headed.”
As I’ve said before, I am always wary of dark, raw books such as The Impossible Knife of Memory, but I don’t think I mentioned why. Mental illness has been a problem for me all of my adult life and intermittently before that, and I am so grateful that it is gaining visibility in the media and particularly in YA literature. But I have to protect myself. I almost never watch sad or violent movies or TV shows, and I do not enter lightly into the task of reading a book like this one. Because of this, I have to caution readers who are triggered by mentions of violence, death, and suicide to be very careful with Impossible Knife. Practice self care while reading, and do not feel pressured to finish the book if it is hurting you to do so.