Are You Listening, God? It's me, Kiriel.

Repossessed by A.M. Jenkins
5Q 3P J*/S (Technically, VOYA's J is grades 7-9. I think this one will be more popular with high school students.)


Kiriel is a fallen angel who has decided to take a vacation from his job (reflecting regret and guilt). Just as Shaun is about to be hit by a car, Kiriel steps into his body. Shaun's soul leaves, but his body lives on, with Kiriel animating it. Kiriel wants to experience what living is all about, and for those who like this kind of thing, it's quite fascinating to watch him get so caught up in and thrilled by the tiny details of life that we don't even notice (wind on your face, what it feels like to touch and smell even the most mundane things, like a dirty t-shirt). Ultimately, he decides there are three things he wants to accomplish: help Jason, Shaun's younger brother, to find at least a little happiness (Jason is a very angry and unhappy boy); convince at least one human being to stop the kind of behavior that will find him in Hell later as one of Kiriel's charges; and to have sex. How he goes about these things and what he learns about himself is the plot of this deceptively quick read. But it is also takes on what our role is in the world and whether God knows and cares that we exist. Yes, even fallen angels wonder about these things. I guess that gives us something in common.

I said I wasn't going to quote, but I am, briefly, because these few quotes really hit me:

This is one I should be taking to heart right now.

There was a white scar on his forehead that he'd received from falling off a swing when he was a child. I'd never heard him say why he chose to wear his hair on his face, but I wondered if he was trying to hide the scar. I rather liked it. How wonderful, to bear evidence of an event that must have been packed with emotion! How satisfying, to always have a physical token of something you'd experienced.

If you don't like passages like this, this might not be the book for you:

After I finished the shower, I filled the tub and took a bath. I filled it as high as it would go. I liked this water; I liked the feeling of it. It was warm and floaty. I slapped the surface to make little waves that disappeared quickly, and then I slid Shaun's whole body back and forth to make big waves that slopped over the side of the tub. When the water got cold, I filled the tub again, with even hotter water that turned Shaun's skin red. I watched his fingers and toes prune up. I lay back so his ears were under the surface, and I listened to his skin squeak as I rubbed his legs and bottom along the porcelain. Then I knocked on the side of the tub and listened to the echoing clunk. Cool.

It's always good to be reminded that everyone, whether its ourselves or someone else, matters and is somehow connected to someone else. I also like this because of what it means to Kiriel.

I had assumed that a human was bound by its activities and habits, its way of acting and speaking. But now it seemed that there were other threads that wound around someone like Shaun, connecting him to other beings - threads of affection and trust. Shaun was gone, but his place hadn't been quite empty. No matter how I tried to act as he would have, the threads he'd been associated with would always hold his shape. Well. It looked as though I had just learned something.

Even fallen angels have their doubts.

Shaun was lucky. He, at least, would be missed. Shaun Simmons had made a specific mark on the world, simply by being. A discontent rose in me. I thought, This must be Envy. It didn't feel particularly good or particularly bad. The only thing about it that seemed even slightly sinful was the way it clung and gnawed, as if it could easily take on a life of its own. Shaun's pillow cradled my head. I'd stolen a boy's body and the Creator didn't even care! If mankind was of such great import in the overall scheme of things, shouldn't He Himself have shown up to take care of that? But he hadn't. He hadn't even sent anybody. It was as if nobody was running the universe...Maybe the reason that no one cares about my absence, I thought, is that I don't have to be there..."

Passages like the last one make me think this would be a great book discussion group choice. This is a 2008 Printz Honor Book, and I like the choice.

Tamar: Appearance vs Reality

Tamar by Mal Peet
4Q 2P    S


I usually try to do an overview of a book and then write about my impressions. But 1) I read this book several weeks ago and details are starting to fade, 2) what I started to write was dull, and 3) cutting to the chase (well, as much as I ever do!) feels right.

When I finally got my hands on Tamar, I only had three days to read it and Dreamquake, because I was trying to finish them in time to cast a vote for the JHunt Award. They're both over 400 pages, and I wondered how I could possibly do it. But Tamar was compulsively readable. How could I not get wrapped up in the story of two young men working with the Dutch Resistance in service to the British Army? How could I not get invested in a love triangle between those two men and the Dutch woman they both secretly love? How could my stomach not tie up in knots at the danger these three faced? The tension of these situations kept me riveted as I read.

Tamar's assignment is to gather the various factions of the Dutch Resistance and get them to work together under one leader with one common goal. Dart is his radio man. Tamar has the advantage of living in a farmhouse with his lover and her grandmother. Dart has a less cozy cover story, posing as a doctor in a local psychiatric hospital. Peet is a master of building and relieving tension. While it's obvious that anyone working in the Resistance must have led a life of constant stress and fear, I had no idea how nerve wracking it was to be a radioman in particular, or about how many of them became dependent on pharmaceuticals as a result of having to deal with long stretches of tedium interrupted by minutes of sheer terror. Just reading about Dart's first attempt to get past the Nazi soldiers guarding the gates into town had my heart racing along with his. My stomach was in knots later in the story when the moment he's feared for so long actually arrives. By comparison, Tamar seems to have it good. Networking and diplomacy aren't the beacons for the Nazis that turning on a radio signal is, so although he must be careful, his chances of being caught by the Nazis while doing his job are not as high as they are for Dart. And he has Marijke, his lover, to turn to. So when the story turns to them, we get a different view of Resistance work. We see the methodical, longterm planning and experience the frustration of trying to bind together people who don't want to be melded into one. We also see more of the privations that people in occupied territories faced. But we also get a love story. This is an adult love affair, told from an adult perspective. Having been separated once before, Tamar and Marijke cherish each other all the more. But they must be circumspect about their love. To the outside world, Tamar must appear to be no more than a laborer for the family. Tamar also fears that their partnership would be weakened if Dart learns about his love for Marijke. So this is one more secret for him to hide on top of all the others they must keep.

The secrets and the stress that we witness in the WWII sequences come home with a vengeance almost fifty years later, starting with Tamar's suicide. Before he jumps naked from his balcony, he leaves something behind for his granddaughter, also named Tamar. It is a box, one that she refuses to open for months afterward. When she finally does open it, it turns out to be a Pandora's box of sorts - all sorts of secrets come out as a result.

I've heard some complaints that the 1995 sections of the book are less compelling than those that take place during the war, and I can't disagree. They are slower, and the romance angle of it didn't work for me. But I also felt that they gave the book more context and more richness. This is a story that demands that some insight into how actions and decisions of the past impact the future.

Tamar is very much about what seems to be isn't always what is, so it shouldn't be all that surprising that there's even debate about who this book is written for and who it will appeal to. Tamar tells two stories. The one that is most compelling and which takes up the majority of the book does not feature a teenage character. Because YA literature by most definitions must feature a teenage character in an integral role, some are questioning whether this is adult fiction or YA fiction. Good question. I think this is a book that has appeal for both adults and teens, and I think it would be very interesting to hear the discussion if a group of adults and teens read the book and got together to share their thoughts on it. But it's also fair to say that this is probably not a book that is going to be widely and hugely popular among teens. It's a niche book. Teens who like to read books about other teens and don't like historical fiction may not be able to relate to Tamar-the-younger enough to find this book appealing. But teens who like war and espionage stories, romance intertwined with danger, and stories that take their time in the telling are going to relish the time they spend with it.

An Absolutely Truly Good Book

I was going to combine two books into one post again, but I went on so long on this one, I need to split the posts up. But both books are about boys coming of age. And because both authors well remember what it was like to be a teenage boy, both books have passages that may raise an eyebrow or two in some teacher/parental circles. Boys, on the other hand, won't bat an eye and will eat these books up. And both are also those rarest of things: books for older teenage boys that will make them laugh. Out loud, even. We don't get very many of those. (I don't know if they'll admit this, but they'll probably shed a tear or two, too. At the very least, they'll want to.)

The Absolutely True Story of a Part-Time Indian by Sherman Alexie
4Q 4P    J/S (recommended for 8th grade and up)

Let me introduce you to Arnold Spirit, otherwise known as Junior. He's a teenager growing up on the Spokane Indian reservation with an alcoholic father, a fantastically intelligent mother who gave up her college dreams, a wise grandmother, and a sister who spends her life in the basement dreaming (or giving up on her dreams) of being a writer. They are, like so many on the rez, very poor - in everything but love. That, they have plenty of. Junior is not a fine physical specimen. He has fluid on the brain, too many teeth, bad eyes, a stutter, a lisp, and seizures. He enjoys drawing cartoons, reading, basketball, and masturbating (he's upfront about that, so I might as well be, too). He is also very intelligent. The day he walks into his new geometry class and discovers that the textbook he is using was his mother's - which means it's at least thirty years old - is the day he decides he wants something more out of life than this. More than that, he deserves something more. The only way he can get it is by leaving the reservation and going to Reardon, the all-white school twenty miles away. His parents are supportive, but nobody else is. Even his only friend, Rowdy, is angry at him for betraying his tribe. When he gets to his new school, he's even more of an outsider than he is at home. Nobody knows what to make of this odd looking Indian boy. But slowly - very slowly - Junior begins to find a place in this new school. He's befriended by a boy who is even geekier than he is (he gets off - really gets off - on visiting the school library), he joins the basketball team, and he even gets a (lily white) girlfriend. But when he travels with his new team to play his old team on the rez, he realizes that some people will never forgive him for having dreams. But nothing they or life can throw at him will stop him from working to make those dreams come true.

This book is exactly what the title says it is: Sherman Alexie's slightly fictionalized version of his own life. There's a great deal of sadness and violence in it, which comes with the territory when you're writing about a life where everyone is poor, many are alcoholics, and most have given up their dreams. But there is also a tremendous sense of humor and hope.

A few random quotes:

[Rowdy] likes to pretend that he lives inside the comic books. I guess a fake life inside a cartoon is a lot better than his real life. So I draw cartoons to make him happy, to give him other worlds to live inside. I draw his dreams.

Prelude to a fight:

It was lunchtime and I was standing outside by the weird sculpture that was supposed to be an Indian. I was studying the sky like I was an astronomer, except it was daytime and I didn't have a telescope, so I was just an idiot. Roger the Giant and his gang of giants strutted over to me...I stared at Roger and tried to look tough. I read once that you can scare away a charging bear if you wave your arms and look big. But I figured I'd just look like a terrified idiot having an arm seizure.

Conversations with Gordy (his geeky new Reardon friend):

"Don't you hate PCs? They are sickly and fragile and vulnerable to viruses. PCs are like French people living during the bubonic plague." Wow, and people thought I was a freak.

"I draw cartoons," I said. "What's your point?" Gordy asked. "I take them seriously. I use them to understand the world. I use them to make fun of the world. To make fun of people. And sometimes I draw people because they're my friends and family. And I want to honor them." "So you take your cartoons as seriously as you take books?" "Yeah, I do, I said. "That's kind of pathetic, isn't it?" "No, not at all," Gordy said. "If you're good at it, and you love it, and it helps you navigate the river of the world, then it can't be wrong." Wow, this dude was a poet. My cartoons weren't just good for giggles; they were also good for poetry. Funny poetry, but poetry nonetheless. It was seriously funny stuff.

I was trying to keep this short, and it's not. So I'll stop here and just add one more comment. This book has gotten a huge amount of attention, including winning the 2007 National Book Award in the Young People's Literature category. I predict it will win the Printz Award on January 14, 2008 (if it doesn't, it will certainly be an Honor book). I liked this book a lot, but I'm not really convinced that it's the best book of the year written for teens. There's a lot to like about it, and the characters, particular Junior, are unforgettable. I've been rereading it as I tried to write this up and look for appropriate quotes, and I got involved in the story all over again. There are parts that are screamingly funny and parts that are achingly sad. But still, there's a bit of a disconnect for me. I think something I read elsewhere pinpointed what it is: something about the writing style makes it seems as though it's aimed at a younger audience. Don't be fooled. This is definitely a novel for high school teens (adults, too).

Billie Standish (the book and the girl) Needs Some Love

Billie Standish Was Here by Nancy Crocker
5Q 3P J/S (mature subject matter, including a rape, makes this a book for older/mature readers)


This is an absolutely beautifully written book that I suspect will not get the attention it deserves. At this point, it's on my shortlist of the best YA books of the year. I would not hesitate to recommend it to adult readers as well as teens. However, it's a book that will be best appreciated by readers who enjoy characterization and setting, rather than those who prefer fast-moving action. I don't think what I say here truly spoils the book. It all happens in the first fifty or so pages. The book is about the journey, not the individual stops made along the way. But you may disagree, so please be forewarned that this review reveals two major events. If you prefer to read something that is more circumspect, check this review/interview from Seven Impossible Things Before Breakfast. (This review, from Big A, little a, is the one that got me interested in reading the book. But be aware that this review also gives away those two plot points.)


Billie Standish knows exactly where she stands in her parents' lives. It's pretty clear when your name is William Marie Standish that a girl wasn't what they hoping for. The fact that they rarely talk to her and leave her alone for hours at a time just reinforces their lack of interest. But the morning that eleven-year-old Billie wakes up to find the town deserted really hammers it home. It's not until the old lady who lives across the street tells her that the levee is expected to break and flood the town that she has any idea of the danger she's in. Miss Lydia explains that the only people left are Billie and her parents and Miss Lydia and her son. And her parents never gave her even as much as a warning of what to do if trouble came. Miss Lydia takes pity on Billie and invites her to come to lunch. As Billie says, she'd rather have gone to church in shoes two sizes too small. She's no good at chitchat in the first place, but having to make conversation with someone who could remember when God was a boy? Oh, no.

But Miss Lydia insists, and Billie gives in. It's not long before Billie is over at Miss Lydia's most of every day, doing chores for her and in exchange learning about cooking and crochet and the old days of Miss Lydia's youth. She basks in the feeling of being welcomed and liked. As the weeks pass, Billie realizes she's made her first friend.

The one fly in the ointment is Miss Lydia's son, Curtis. Curtis gives Billie the creeps. She doesn't like the way he treats his mother and she doesn't like the way he looks at her. She knows Curtis's reputation, and she knows that he once killed a girl in a drunk driving accident. But she doesn't know just how bad he can be until the day he brutally rapes her. One horror follows another when Miss Lydia discovers what has happened and takes the law into her own hands. She has seen her son destroy one girl's life. She's damned if she's going to allow him to destroy another.

It is 1968, and rape is a shameful secret that is never discussed. And, of course, neither of them can ever tell what Miss Lydia did. As close as they had been, their secrets draw them even closer together. It is Miss Lydia who helps her deal with the aftermath, sharing her own equally traumatic experiences and assuring her that in time, she will be able to trust, and even love, again. The only person she can bear to be near is Miss Lydia. But when fifth grade starts in the fall, Billie has to go. School has never been her favorite place. The teachers are bad, the girls are clique-y, and she has always been the odd person out. But here, too, Billie finds an unexpected friend. Harlan knows as soon as she enters the room that something bad happened to her over the summer, though he never asks what. He is just there for her in his own quiet way. And soon the twosome becomes a threesome.

Billie Standish Was Here covers years in Billie's life. It is not a book about rape. It is a book about forgiveness and understanding, but most of all, it is a book about the healing power of love and the saving power of friendship. This is a book to be savored and reread often.

Musings:

I loved this book for many reasons, but I fell in love with its voice and humor. Here are some quotes chosen because they tell as much about Billie as they do about the person she's describing:

For a long time I was mostly invisible. That was okay, though. Once you've figured out you can't do anything right it's just good sense not to call undue notice your way. Why step out of the shadows and get yelled at for blocking somebody's light?

Nothing much bigger than a silent fart can get past the neighbors in a town this size, though, so I suppose I was looked after in a way.

About her mother:

I could see her with my eyes closed, slicing the air with her hip bones and elbows as she crossed me off the list in her head and moved on. Another chore taken care of.

Describing Curtis:

...his manners were neat almost to the point of finicky. Outside of TV, I had never seen anyone raise their pinky as they lifted their glass and I never could have imagined it with a dirty fingernail...For some reason, I remembered the wolf in "Little Red Riding Hood," who put on clothes and talked and was a good enough imitator to pass for a human being.

Describing her teacher:

There just doesn't seem to be enough of a person there to account for half of a couple.

Discovering love:

I don't believe in love at first sight. It might make for an easy shortcut if somebody's writing a movie, but in real life I think it's nothing more than hormones performing a parlor trick. I have come to believe that real love is like learning to read, one letter at a time, sounding things out until it all comes together. It takes time to build, step after step. And I know that was the exact moment Harlan climbed up that first step for me.

About Miss Lydia:

She left me knowing who I am without looking into anyone's mirror.

Printz Committee, are you listening?

Hooray for the Cybils Awards, which selected Billie Standish as one of the finalists in the YA Fiction category.

I have also posted a booktalk for this book. If you like it and use it, I'd love to know how it went over with your group.

(This post was edited slightly on 5/1/08 to reflect the Cybil Award nomination.)

Who's My Truest Love of All?

Keturah and Lord Death by Martine Leavitt
4Q 3?P J/S

National Book Awards Honor Book in 2006

Sometimes the best stories are the ones you tell about yourself. Keturah is quite the storyteller, and has she ever got a story to tell.

"I was sixteen years old the day I was lost in the forest, sixteen the day I met my death."

Keturah is picking peas in the garden when she spies the famed great hart eating lettuce in that very same garden. Hunters from all around, especially Lord Temsland, have been trying to capture the hart for years, and he has always eluded them. Keturah can barely tear her eyes away from him, so when he leaves the garden and reenters the forest, she follows. She doesn't mean to follow him far, but before she knows it, she is deep in the heart of the forest and completely lost. Despite all her efforts, she can not find her way home. Three days go by, and soon she realizes she is too cold, too hungry, and too lost to survive. She prepares herself for death, regretting all the dreams she will never see come true: no little cottage, no wee little baby, no one true love. At dusk, death does come to her. He comes in the form of a man. Keturah knows him instantly.

Keturah is not a bold girl, but still, she challenges Death. She tells him that he has come for her before she is ready. There is something she still wants to do. Many people die before they are ready, and they all have something they still want to do, Death replies. Still...he offers her a chance to live. She simply needs to choose who will die in her place. But Keturah will not give him a name. She will die herself rather than allow another to be taken in her stead. Death tells her her courage is for nothing, for her entire village is fated to be devastated by a plague. Keturah pleads with him to let her save her village. But no, Death says, it is not in your power. What is it you want to live for? All she has ever wanted, Keturah replies, is her own little cottage to clean, her own wee baby to hold, and most of all, one true love to be her husband. Death is still unmoved. That is not too much to ask for, but it is not to be. Keturah feels herself slowly slipping away. Desperately, she tries to think of some way to save herself. Into her mind come the memories of people who have been close to death but somehow miraculously survived.

"Sir, you are not easy to entreat."
"I am not entreated at all."
"But I hear you are sometimes cheated...Good Sir Death, I would tell you a story - a story of love, a love that could not be conquered even by you."

And Keturah begins to spin Death a tale, as only Keturah can spin a tale. The tale involves a beautiful young village girl, her true love, and Death. As she weaves the tale, Death is intrigued in spite of himself. But Keturah refuses to finish the tale. "The end of the tale I cannot tell...Will not tell - until tomorrow. Let me live, sir, and I will tell you the ending tomorrow."

Death must know the ending to the tale. He agrees to let her live for one more day. But then..."I have decided that when I take you tomorrow, I will indeed make you my bride."

"No, sir..I will not marry you. I will live and breathe and dance and tell my children stories. I will marry for love."

And there's the crux of it. It is the first time Keturah and Death speak, but it is not the last. Like Sherezade, Keturah uses her stories to convince Death to give her more time to live, until finally he tells her that she has three days to find her one true love, or she will be his bride.

When Keturah emerges from the forest, there is great rejoicing -- at first. But soon, there are rumblings. The villagers, who have always loved Keturah for her sweet nature and wonderful stories, are now suspicious of the girl who disappeared into the forest for three days and returned alive. The fairies must have bewitched her. Keturah's warnings of plague are heeded by Lord Temson's son, John, but the villagers are reluctant to follow his orders, since Keturah is the messenger. Time is growing short, both for Keturah and for her village.

If she can only find her one true love in time, all will be well. Who could it be? The tailor? The choirmaster? The man who would marry the best pastry maker in the village? Is he rich or is he poor? Does he even exist at all? She doesn't know, and even the enchanted eyeball in her pocket can not see the man. But sometimes the things you can not see are the things that have been right in front of you all along.

This is the book for you if you enjoy fairy tales and quiet romances. Leavitt has created a fantasy that takes its place alongside the best of the classic fairy tales. It is not a book for those who like rousing adventure and a fast-moving tale. It is a quiet book that depends on characters to create its magic. Read it curled up with a hot cup of tea, a warm afghan, and a picture of your own one true love nearby.