Tag Archives: young adult fiction

Un Lun Dun: Mostly Good

           After a little meltdown last night about my rate of reading in the last month and a half, M. reminded me that 10-10-12 is not a race or competition, but is an exercise in me loving to read. And someone how that pep talk (that wasn’t, I don’t think, intended as a pep talk) gave me the zip I needed to finish off Un Lun Dun, a mostly terrific young adult fiction book with illustrations (which category will it fall into?).

China Mieville might be better known for his adult fantasy novels (or so my friends who read fantasy tell me), but Un Lun Dun (pronounced UnLondon) is deserving of its own credit and following. The book follows our un-hero, Deeba, as she finds herself in the world of UnLondon – a shadow city separated from London, but not necessarily different from the ‘real’ city in terms of xenophobia, class conflict, and most prominently, environmental concerns.

After several – unecessary – chapters about Deeba’s friend the “Shazzy” (I say unnecessary because they do not add to Deeba’s characterization and rather than advancing the plot, these chapters stall its development. What these chapters do offer is a space to sketch the setting of UnLondon in some detail, a “setting up” that might easily take place on Deeba’s second visit) Deeba finds herself tasked with battling “The Smog,” a malicious force bent on destroying both UnLondon and London by consuming it with fire. This (somewhat?) allegorical menace allows readers of any age to connect the consumption patterns of the modern city with environmental toxins and pollutants and makes a vigorous case for “nothing” as the solution to this problem. The solution of “nothing,” is to me a poignant conclusion for the novel as it advocates at one at the same time that “nothing” can be done to solve the problem/character of the Smog, and yet simultaneously suggests that it is by doing less, or by doing “nothing,” that we might combat it.

In any case, the climatic battle between Deeba and the Smog is by far the most engaging section of the book. The rest of the novel is something of a trudging affair, a journey that is not all about the journey and rather all about the expected climatic-awesomeness of the destination. That the climax did meet my expectations of awesomeness was pleasant, but I’m not convinced the slog to get there was worth it.

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Filed under 100 Books of 2011, Book I'll Forget I Read, Young Adult Fiction

The Thief: As great as NWMD is terrible

      The Thief, by Megan Whalen Turner and the Newberry Honour Winner for 1997, is just so great. Our anti-hero, Gem, captivates the reader from the opening scene in his jail cell to the closing scene in his bedroom. I wanted him to succeed, yet I worried about his decisions, though I somehow came to believe his justifications for his actions. Knowing as you do how much I love good character, it should be little surprise that I loved (really really loved) The Thief.

The narrative does a masterful job letting the reader believe they have deduced secret ‘facts’ of Gem’s life – and this reader did deduce certain elements – but nevertheless codes some plot details with such subtlety that the climax remains suspenseful and surprising: we are taken in, not taken advantage of; we are rewarded for close reading, but still given the pleasure of a surprise twist.

More praise for plot: the adventure manages to contain itself. Where other YAF adventure stories (or adult adventure stories for that matter) fall prey to endless delays, meandering side-journeys, and excruciating details of campfires, trail food, and horses, The Thief delivers enough detail to convince and captivate, but arrives at the destination by such a direct route as to leave no question that it really is the destination that holds the magic and adventure, and not the journey.

The interweaving of Greek-cum-novel-civilization mythology and the struggle of our (darling) Gem to make sense of the apparent power of the Gods in everyday life is careful, measured and thought-provoking: what, the novel asks, do we owe to destiny and what do we owe to our own wits?

It’s really just so good. And something like 120 pages. I. tells me that there are two other books in the series, but this one ends with a decisive conclusion, something I admire and appreciate, as this is a complete work in its own right, and not simply a set-up for later books and other purchases. I’ll likely read the other two books because I loved this one so much, but I may save them, as they really are “Gems.”

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Filed under 100 Books of 2011, Book I'll Forget I Read, Fiction, Prize Winner, Young Adult Fiction

Twilight: to like, nay, to enjoy?

It is with some reluctance that I write this post about Stephanie Meyer’s Twilight. Reluctant because I’m all to aware that my review of the book must compare with thousands of similar entries, and reluctant because I’d rather not admit my response to the novel. But respond I must.

And so I finished reading Twilight wondering whether it might be possible to enjoy a book and at the same time not like it. My reasons for enjoying it are as simple as they are popular: a fantasy of being rescued, of being loved, and of feeling special. The reasons I did not like it were often times in direct opposition to the reasons I enjoyed it: I felt betrayed by a narrator who simultaneously claimed to want equality with her vampire partner while reveling in her dependence on him; I felt cheated that the apparently quirks of the “unique” narrator were nothing more then well entrenched stereotypes about passive women: poor coordination, fear of blood, fear of needles, poor driving, overwhelmed by emotion, and erratic and unpredictable mood swings. The supposedly mitigating factor of Bella’s apparent agency in wanting to be a vampire, too, is paltry indeed when considered as a decision undertaken with the only goal of securing – forever! – the lover/partner she unequivocally feels is too good for her.

I do find room for qualified praise on this last point: the novel’s consideration of insecurity in (teenage) relationships. Both Edward and Bella grapple with why they are the chosen love object, and both believe that the other doesn’t really “see themselves properly.” Except rather than using these scenes of self-doubt as a place to insist on reevaluations of what defines self-worth, the narrative concludes that it is only in the eyes and assurance of a lover that self-esteem and worth might ever be believed.

In terms of narrative style, the novel’s insistence on describing scenes as if in a movie annoyed me. A novel is not a screenplay. A novel does not require – nor does this reader want! – heavy handed (re: scripted) descriptions of Bella changing in and out of clothes, drying/brushing/flipping her hair. Character is not revealed, or complicated, by decisions to wear sweat pants.

So yes, I enjoyed Twilight as a pornographic fantasy of rescue from helplessness. I did not, however, like it as a novel. Like erotic literature of other, less public though no less popular kinds, it suffers from poor character development, problematic politics and explicitly filmic narration.

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Filed under 100 Books of 2011, Fiction, Young Adult Fiction

Artemis Fowl: Fowbulous?

             Gosh. Forgive me for the terrible play on ‘fabulous.’ I tried hard not to use it, but it’s been flitting around in my head since I finished Artemis Fowl and somehow when I sat down to type it just came out. Call it confidence in my compassionate readership?

Anyway. I really enjoyed the book. I didn’t fully expect to, as the first two or three chapters read as heavy handed and pushy, but then things turned about when the fairies and fairy technology arrived (as things are want to do). I’m not sure I’d go so far as to read the next bunch of books in the series (not sure whether that makes for a ringing endorsement, but I did like this one), mostly because I didn’t find myself drawn to either Artemis or his fairy foe (her name escapes me. typical.) I think to compel a reader to take on another book in a series you need to have some engaging characters or a cliff hanger ending (this book has neither).

That said the play between protagonist/antagonist in the novel is interesting. Artemis is meant to be our antagonist, but his YAF “orphan” status (think Harry Potter, Anne of Green Gables) and his focalized narration makes it difficult not to root for his winning of the fairy gold. All the while we’re meant to cheer for the fairies, but I couldn’t help being dissuaded by their motive for keeping the gold (none) and their general contempt for human kind (kind of like screaming Muggle in a crowded room).

I laughed a few times, in no small part because of the self-reflexive narration and its (often successful) attempts at humour. Also for the slap-stick, and fart jokes.

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Filed under 100 Books of 2011, Fiction, Young Adult Fiction