Fault in Our Stars / Not a Test / Ashfall

In The Fault in Our Stars (WARNING - MAJOR SPOILERS AHEAD), we see Hazel on a journey toward acceptance, not of her own mortality, but rather of that mortality in others.  Hazel has lived with the knowledge of her own death for quite some time and has accepted her own mortality, from that moment in the hospital before we ever met her on the pages of this book, when her mother asked if she was ready and she answered yes.  We read The Fault in Our Stars, knowing that Hazel has already accepted her own mortality.  It is the journey toward acceptance of Augustus’ death that is truly her coming of age journey - the acceptance that some will go before her, including the boy she loves.

In This Is Not a Test (WARNING - MAJOR SPOILERS AHEAD), Sloane too has already accepted her own mortality.  She is ready to die.  She has decided on a day and time and it is only through sheer circumstance that she ends up surviving beyond the moments of her intended death.  She is somehow caught up in the race for survival, even as she has convinced herself she is in a race toward death.  She must somehow achieve an acceptance of the loss of Lily before she can truly embrace the idea of life.  She must somehow reach a point in her coming of age story where her will to live drowns out her will to die, where she is able to see that there is something worth living for, even in a world defined by the words “zombie apocalypse”.

I’m going to throw in a third book here, simply because I just finished reading it and it is on my mind as I grapple with the issue of death in YA novels.  Ashfall by Mike Mullin is another end-of-the-world, apocalyptic YA novel.  The main character, Alex, is on a coming of age journey as well.  As he treks through a post-volcanic world, trying to reach his family, he encounters people willing to help in times of terror and others who wish to harm.  Along his journey, he is continuously forced to make decisions that may not only impact his chances of survival, but also his ability to retain a sense of humanity.  His journey isn’t necessarily one toward an acceptance of death, or of Being-toward-death, but rather one of living with strength and honor.  He is continually confronted with the idea that it isn’t how we die that matters, but rather how we live.

As for my own writing, my thesis project is a YA fantasy that features quite a bit of death, some of which happened offstage before the novel begins, and more that occurs as the novel moves us forward.  I don’t know that I am dealing with death in a way similar to either John Green or Courtney Summers.  Death hovered over The Fault in Our Stars persistently.  There was always an awareness that death was coming for many of the characters, sooner rather than later. Hazel and Augustus spend much of their time ignoring its presence until they are unable to avoid its reality any longer.  Courtney Summers had death occurring offstage for much of the novel, then ruthlessly killed two-thirds of her cast in the final chapters of the book.

In essence, our characters struggle to accept the mortality of others. Though our methods for dealing with death are quite different, the journeys of our characters may be the same -  Hazel must accept the loss of Augustus, Sloane must accept the loss of Lily, Alex must accept the loss of his parents, and my own characters must accept the losses in their lives.

In the end, I think that it is the willingness to live, the act of turning away from death and embracing life, that truly represents the shouldering of adulthood and is truly representative of the stories being told in YA literature today.

Grave Mercy

We were asked as a class to assign a genre to the YA novel, Grave Mercy by Robin LaFevers.   The choices we were given were Fantasy and Historical.  When it came time for me to vote, I was very frustrated because I did not want to vote for either of those choices.  Why?

Because for me, Grave Mercy was clearly a romance novel.  Certainly it was set in a historical time period and had a number of paranormal elements, but at its core, I felt this was more a romance than anything else.  In fact, if this were marketed for an adult audience, I believe it would have been placed in the romance section, rather than in fantasy or even historical fiction.

Having said that, I would be more likely to label it historical romance than paranormal romance, which is what led me to choose the genre of historical novel, rather than fantasy/paranormal.  The history flavors every page, the plot line is woven with political intrigue, and we have a hero and a heroine who warily circle around each other, uncertain whether they can trust the other.  They worry about betrayal to be certain, but they also struggle against trusting the other with their heart.
At its core, the story is about love and trust.  Our heroine learns much about herself and essentially grows up through the course of this novel, which helps to place it in the YA genre, but truthfully, it would fit quite neatly amidst any number of historical romances on the shelves today.

I don’t think the cover art influenced me either way, nor did the jacket copy because I began reading this story expecting one thing and ended up with something else entirely.  It truly was the story itself that led me to my conclusion.  The jacket copy led me to believe this would be a historical novel embedded with political intrigue.  The cover made me think “kick-ass heroine-assassin” and I was several hundred pages in before I finally clued in to the fact that I was basically reading a historical romance.

I think the beautiful thing about the YA market right now is that it transcends genre.  People who affiliate themselves with one genre (mystery, romance, sci-fi, etc.) end up reading books outside of “their” genre because YA does not really attempt to classify its novels.  You end up with a mish-mash of genres, which in many ways, enriches the stories we read.  I think YA offers writers the opportunity to write those cross-genre novels that they’ve always wanted to write.  That paranormal-mystery-western-romance that’s been plaguing them for years.  Set it up as a YA novel and you have an instant market.

Does genre matter?  I think genre only matters in the mind of the reader.  The industry has created an expectation for what a mystery novel will contain.  It has created that expectation of the happily-ever-after in romance.  What expectation is there in YA?  We certainly expect a great story.  And if there’s a girl on the cover in a long flowing gown, we expect a bit of romance, even if she is carrying a crossbow.

Ultimately though, a well-written story that defies genre may go further in the YA market than in the adult one.  It’s what I love about YA.

Unwinding Unwind

I ended the novel Unwind by Neal Shusterman with only one certainty - that despite my compulsion to finish the book, I would not be recommending it to ANYONE.  Trying to figure out why has been a struggle.  Why, if it was such a compelling read, do I not also feel compelled to recommend it to others?

(WARNING - MAJOR SPOILERS AHEAD)

In the end, I think it came down to the underlying main idea or theme of the novel, which in my opinion centered on the value and nature of both life and death.  For much of the novel, the reader understands that unwinding is death.  Proponents of unwinding couch it in politically correct terms, claiming that those unwound will continue to live in an altered state.  We as the readers, however, understand that this is simple posturing, a justification that has no basis in reality or fact.  We are rooting for the children of this novel, whether that child is a tithe, a ward of the state or a bully, because we understand that at their core, each child is a potential victim.

Although the author poses a number of questions and seems not to provide any answers, the reader is guided by the narrative toward an understanding that those who support unwinding are either misguided or self-serving or evil.  The concept of storking on the surface may seem acceptable, but once we have been exposed to its dark side, we understand it is yet another corrupt facet of this society.  We understand, perhaps even more clearly than the protagonists of this novel, that children are being killed in this world - not unwound - but murdered for their parts.  We understand that the harvesting of organs, tissue and body parts is clearly big business, just as we understand that those who have been unwound are no longer alive, in any sense of the word.

As a result, the themes of this novel completely break down for me in the culminating scene with Embry and the admiral.  When I am suddenly witness to a scene with hundreds of people acting as one body, providing the admiral and his wife with one final moment with their son, my entire understanding of life and death, at least as they occur within this society, have been turned around.  I am left with a foul taste in my mouth as I wonder - has the author just proven the enemy’s point?
I am complete aghast that I am now witness to the “altered state” proponents of unwinding have been spouting all along.  The fact that each body part somehow retains the memory of its original owner does nothing to alleviate the horror of the unwinding process.  However, I am still undeniably disturbed that the counselor’s final words to Roland were somehow true ones:  “You’re not dying — you’ll still be alive, just in a different way.”

I honestly believe that this novel was attempting to accomplish too much.  First, we are treated to a society that has gone to extremes when dealing with issues like abortion.  There are convoluted (and at times completely unrealistic) laws regarding storking, tithing and unwinding.  Questions regarding the soul and life after death are raised.  And no real answers are ever given.  Perhaps this is the strength of the novel, though for me, it is its ultimate weakness.  All kinds of questions are raised and we think we have our answers, at least in light of the unwinding and what it is truly accomplishing (spare parts for the wealthy and death for those unwound) and then we are slammed with the truth - Wow.  The unwinds really are still alive in an altered state.

In the end, I am left wondering what will happen to Embry after his unwind’s brithday celebration - will he get to go back to being Embry?  Even worse, I am left with the disturbing image of Conor with Roland’s zombie-arm (after all, if it still retains a part of Roland’s consciousness, even if it’s only skin-deep, what else can it be but a zombie?)

The result is that I am convinced that the themes of life and death that are pervasive in this novel have been undermined completely by the author’s unexpected decision to turn this unique concept into yet another zombie story (though I suppose it could be argued that zombie stories are masters at death themes… and yet).

Diarrhea of Books

I have, over the years, taught preschool, elementary school, middle school, high school and adult students.  This has resulted in what can only be described as an illness when it comes to acquiring books for the classroom.  That is to say, I pretend they’re for the classroom, but really, mostly they’re for me.  The sheer, vast number of books that I own has become epic and now that I am no longer in the classroom (as of last Nov., I’m working with teachers more than students in my district) all those books had to find a home inside my (very small) house.  As a result, I declared a moratorium on purchasing picture books, middle grade books, YA books, educational books and anything else that had to do with adolescent literature.  Then, I signed up for a picture books class last semester and a YA lit class this semester.  This ended the moratorium, of course, for I now an excuse to buy some more books - they don’t count because I needed them for class, you see. (The illness is becoming more apparent, isn’t it?)

The truth is, it’s very difficult for me to resist purchasing kids’ books because I love them all.  I particularly love YA literature, though I do think the industry lacks clarity when it comes to what constitutes a YA novel.  This results in a lot of books being marketed to 12 year olds and to 18 year olds, as if they should both be exposed to the same ideas and content.  As a result, I think that authors of kid lit in general, but particularly of YA lit, must be conscientious, not only of the overt messages their books contain, but also of any hidden messages they may not intend, but that readers absorb anyway.

This is the beginning of the semester (my 2nd semester at Seton Hill University in the Writing Popular Fiction program) and my Readings in Genre course this semester is YA literature.  I plan to continue writing my reviews / book journals for the books we read in class as part of this blog.  We’ll see how that goes.  Now I must head off and acquire some of the books we are to read this semester (so excited to add to the plethora of books currently overtaking my household).

A Cat's Toothbrush

Mama Dru loves to play with the various cat toys around the house. She attacks and “captures” her toy, then stalks around the house with it in her mouth, announcing her achievement. She woke me up with her howls of success this morning, leaping onto the bed with her latest capture dangling from her mouth. It was my toothbrush.

My First Anniversary with Skittles

It’s close to a year since Skittles joined my household and I no longer wonder whether I made the right choice in adopting her.  There are those who would say that I should have left her to live her life outside, a feral kitten I once failed to rescue.  That the most I could hope to accomplish for her was providing her with food, water and shelter. 

I couldn't do it though.  Perhaps it was the guilt, that I had rescued her mom and sister, adopting them into my home, but had failed to capture her.  That eight months had passed before I managed to trap her and by then she was fully wild, a teen mom with three kittens to protect.  That I had separated her from her babies, giving them over to The Animal Rescue Alliance.  That T.A.R.A. had found homes for the kittens while Skittles was deemed unadoptable due to her feral nature.  The sweet spot of rescue before eight weeks had long since passed. 

Despite all of this, Skittles was not unadoptable to me.  I had fallen in love with her long before I managed to trap her.

And every day, as she acclimates more to my household, as she finds her courage to allow me to pet her, as she purrs for me and scoots closer to me on the bed each night, I know that I have made the right decision.  Here in this household, she has shelter and food and water, but beyond those basics, she has the peace and safety of a home where she doesn't have to fight each day simply to survive.

Sure, she's still a ball of skittish behavior, but who knows what another year will do for her or for her relationships with me and the rest of the Culey Crew.  I can't wait to find out.

Stealing a Dog

Barbara O’Connor, in a guest lecture for the Readings in Genre course I am taking, identified specific story elements that she tends to focus on in the creation of realistic fiction for children.  For her, these elements are dialogue, characters, family relationships and economic class.  She discusses the character Georgina in How to Steal a Dog, and highlights how Georgina is constantly making the wrong choices in the book How to Steal a Dog.  For me, Georgina’s character is intrinsically tied to the dialogue of the work.  Yes, we are treated to spoken dialogue a lot, but the entire book in many ways is a collection of Georgina’s internal dialogue.  From her journal entries to her first person narrative, we are constantly in Georgina’s head, sunk deep into her perspective.

O’Connor also mentions that she constantly struggles with the question, “Is this too real for my intended audience?”  This question is one I imagine that most writers of children’s realistic fiction must struggle with.  It is one I often struggle with in writing young adult fantasy.  At what point, does the portrayed reality or fantasy become too real?  For most of this book, I was fine with the reality portrayed.  Though they probably do not realize the reasons why, most students today have been exposed to that child – the one who comes to school dirty or in the same clothes as the day before, who smells or whose hair is unwashed.  Reading a story from the perspective of such a child can help foster understanding and acceptance. As O’Connor puts it, careful depiction of reality can help “open eyes, and thus, the door to tolerance and empathy.”

I consider How to Steal a Dog to be, at its heart, a conscience tale.  From start to finish, Georgina is struggling with her conscience.  She wants to escape her terrible circumstances and has come up with a plan to do so.  Though she knows this plan is wrong, she cannot bear to back down.  She is desperate for a solution.  I loved the use of the journal as a method for recording her thought processes.  This was a perfect device for the reader to really experience Georgina’s planning and plotting, and to ultimately experience her dilemma, her struggle to do the right thing.  Georgina captures the focus of the story perfectly when she writes, “THAT is the decision you will have to make.”  This is the story we have read and the theme we have internalized – the choices we make determine the people we become.

WARNING - SPOILERS AHEAD

For Georgina, the person who stole a dog is not the person she ultimately decides to become.  There is power in this decision because the reader is aware of how hard she struggled to make it.  Ultimately, although I enjoyed reading this book, I was unhappy with the ending.  I think, as a child, this is the kind of book I would not have enjoyed reading.  Even as a child, I was not much for realistic fiction.  Bridge to Terabithia left me sobbing my eyes out and depressed for days.  I was angry at the author of the book and mad at myself for reading it.  I was the child who needed that happily ever after, who wanted things wrapped up neatly at the end of my books.  I wanted to know that everything made sense and that everything was okay with all of my characters.  Too much reality and I was unsatisfied. 

How to Steal a Dog was just that for me – an overdose of reality, which is unfortunate because I enjoyed much about the book.  I thought Georgina’s struggle with her conscience was very well done and I loved her journaling through that struggle.  However, at the end, what I was left with was the powerlessness of Georgina.  All that she could control was her own decisions and her own actions.  Everything else was not hers to control.  Children already know this.  They feel this lack of control viscerally.  To have it painted so thoroughly in a book was depressing for me.  Georgina was a pawn of the adults around her, homeless and then not homeless, not because of anything she did, but because of life and fate moving her family to its own rhythms. 

For me, this was entirely too much reality.  Too much like real life, not enough of a happy ending.  The fact that they had a place to stay at the end was not enough of a happy ending for me.  In fact, in some ways, this turn of events made everything worse.  All of the effort that Georgina had gone through, that entire struggle with her conscience, and in the end, their homelessness was ended much as it began, through no control of her own, through the vagaries of fate. 

I wanted the ending that would make things neat and connected for me.  I wanted Georgina to make peace with Mookie, not for him to simply disappear from their lives, much as her father had.  While I think the scene with Carmella was well-done (she did not make excuses for Georgina’s actions, but held her accountable to them, and in the end, forgave her), I was still left wanting more.  I wanted an acknowledgement of all that Georgina had been dealing with, that homelessness was nothing a child should ever have to endure.  I wanted lonely Carmella to offer Georgina’s family a home and for all of them to find forgiveness and peace together.  And I wanted Mookie to know where they were and to come back to visit every now and then. I wanted a happy ending that would de-emphasize the powerlessness that Georgina felt.  Instead, for me, the ending simply highlighted it.