The Last Olympian

400 pages

Disney Hyperion Books for Children

Summary: In the final installment of the Percy Jackson and the Olympians, our favorite son of the sea god faces off against his old enemy Luke, confronts his feelings for Annabeth, and chooses to meet his fate head-on in an epic battle that ranges across modern Manhattan.

Review: Riordan’s bestselling series is based on a fantastic premise: the Greek gods are still around (they are immortal, after all) and still up to their old tricks, namely having children with mortals.  These demi-gods are trained as warriors at Camp Half-Blood, the kind of summer camp that every kid secretly wants to go to.  Percy is a smart aleck and a troublemaker, but he’s also loyal and noble, and over the course of the series we see him grow into a fine young man.

This book was a satisfying conclusion to a stellar series; it was a little battle-heavy, but Riordan did an excellent job of keeping the reader invested in the action by raising the stakes considerably since the last book.  There were times when I was tempted to flip to the end, just to reassure myself that my favorite characters would be all  right.  Like the final books of the Harry Potter series, The Last Olympian emphasizes the idea that in war there will be loss and sacrifice, making this the most serious and somber of the five books.

It’s not all doom-and-gloom; Riordan spends some time exploring the love triangle between Percy, Annabeth, and Rachel Dare.  The conclusion of the book may be a little too happy-happy, but after enduring 200-odd pages of battles, I needed the palate cleanser of a cheerful ending.  Riordan also wedges the door wide open for a “next generation” series with the younger campers, and I would not be surprised to hear that a new book set at Camp Half-Blood is forthcoming.

Overall, this series is a great treat for readers who enjoy action and adventure in the classical vein.  Riordan’s pantheon of characters include many that are familiar from Greek Mythology, and he does an excellent job of balancing ancient myths with modern heroes.  My one complaint: Grover didn’t get nearly enough page time.  Percy’s satyr buddy has always been by his side throughout the adventures, and I was sorry to see so little of their friendship in this outing.

Dandelion Fire

480 pages

Random House Books for Young Readers (February 2009)

I considered writing a summary for this book, but realized that it would be impossible without either completely spoiling the plot, or else being so vague as to be completely useless.  ND Wilson’s sprawling sequel to the superb 100 Cupboards begins with a deadline: Henry has two weeks until his adoptive parents will arrive and take him back into their (insanely overprotective) custody.  Henry wants nothing more than to stay with his aunt and uncle and continue to explore the mysterious cupboards that line his attic bedroom, and perhaps discover the secrets of his own heritage.

ND Wilson is a dizzyingly smart writer, and his books are filled with tantalizing allusions and glimmers of enchantment and mystery.  A thread of Arthurian legend runs through the books, though it would be impossible to neatly align the mythology of 100 Cupboards with King Arthur, despite references to Geoffry of Monmouth and Badon Hill.  Though this book is a bit heavier and more oblique than its predecessor, I think the breathless pace of the adventure, thrilling battle scenes, and wondrous descriptions will hold any reader’s attention.

The title of this sequel, Dandelion Fire, is especially appropriate since Wilson’s work shares many similarities to Ray Bradbury, author of Dandelion Wine. Both have the knack for creating whole and believable worlds without burdening the reader with too much exposition.  In Wilson’s writing, the dusty streets of a small Kansas town are as strange and magical as the worlds beyond the attic doors.

I am eagerly awaiting the final installment in this series, The Chestnut King, which is due out in January of 2010.  In the meantime, I will no doubt be picking up 100 Cupboards and Dandelion Fire again.

Flora’s Dare

Harcourt Children’s Book, September 2008

528 Pages

In the sequel to Flora Segunda, Wilce picks up three months after Flora’s catorcena (aka her fourteenth birthday), and not much has changed except, inexplicably, Wilce’s style.  For the first few chapters of the book, the modern world seems to creep in, peppering the text with words like “hipster” and “goth.”  They felt out of place, jarring me from the seemingly self-contained fantasy world in which the books are set.  After a few chapters, however, the tone and diction settle down into something more familiar, and the plot picks up.  The twists and turns of the narrative are not entirely surprising, partly due to Wilce’s skillful foreshadowing, and partly due to the storytelling conventions that have become so familiar to readers.

Hormones run rampant through Flora’s Dare, causing all kinds of mayhem.  Romance is, of course, brewing between Flora and her fashion-plate best friend Udo.  Udo, meanwhile, has developed a fondness for dangerous shoes and the Warlord’s granddaughter, and his changing behavior leaves Flora feeling bewildered and angry.  Flora is also developing tingly feelings for the mysterious Lord Axacaya, the powerful adept (who also happens to be her family’s mortal enemy, married to the Warlord’s daughter, and about 40 years Flora’s senior).  An unexpected consequence of her father’s new-found sobriety is her mother’s pregnancy, and, sticking with that theme, a pregnant sea monster threatens to destroy the city.

The plot is a bit of a muddle–one of the unfortunate consequences of using time travel as a central device; see Artemis Fowl and the Time Paradox or Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban–and it suffers from Middle Book Syndrome.  There is no real beginning or end to the story, sandwiched as it is between Flora Segunda and a supposed third installment in Flora’s saga.  This isn’t to say that it is not worth reading; on the contrary, I did enjoy it, but it left me feeling unsatisfied.  It seems that no one can publish a stand-alone book for teenagers these days, and though I’m often delighted to read about the continuing adventures of beloved characters, I worry that stories are either being stretched thin or needlessly cluttered with fluff and junk in an effort to make them last over more pages than they would ordinarily have done.

Harcourt Children’s Books, 2007

448 Pages

I’m rereading this book in anticipation of devouring the sequel, Flora’s Dare, which is waiting for me on my coffee table at home.  Wilce’s first novel is what I imagine the result would be if Gabriel Garcia Marquez and Lewis Carroll went on a mescalin bender together across the California desert.  In short, it’s 100 Years of Fear and Loathing in Wonderland, and it is glorious.

As far as I can tell, the setting is an alternate-history California, which exists in an uneasy truce with the Aztec-like Huiztil Empire to the south.  Flora’s mother is commander of Califa’s armies, and she is expected to follow in her family’s glorious, bloody footsteps on her 14th birthday.  Flora, however, is more interested in magic and espionage, like her hero, the Ranger Nini Mo, and has no intention of becoming a good little soldier.

Wilce does not give the reader a map, or much in the way of exposition, and that’s not necessarily a bad thing.  Instead, we are plunged head first into Flora’s distinctive narration, a blend of bizarre patois, creative curses, and something that sounds almost like Newspeak, but less sinister.  Flora is a free-willed, rambunctious, and quietly mutinous girl.  She is not at ease with her baroque family history–her father was driven mad by guilt over the death of Flora the First–and she resents her role as caretaker of her family’s crumbling mansion of a 1000 rooms.  In this, despite the fantastical setting, Flora is no different from many 13-year-old girls.  Her relatability as a character helps ground a story which constantly threatens to fly off the rails.

The threads of the plot are many, and often tangled, I won’t attempt to describe them here.  I do worry that some readers might be intimidated by the density and sophistication of the prose, but there is enough danger, magic, and adventure to keep readers hooked despite the linguistic flourishes and curlicues.  Wilce does not water down her writing in effort to make it more accessible (read: dumbed down), and I think Flora Segunda is all the better for it.

Skullduggery Pleasant

Bowen Press, 2007

400 Pages

If the young H.P. Lovecraft had spent a few weeks watching screwball comedies like Bringing up Baby and It Happened One Night, he might have been inspired to write something like Derek Landy’s bizarre and enjoyable debut novel.  There’s real horror to be found in the story of Stephanie Edgely, the Irish girl who finds herself plunged into a world of magic and danger after the death of her uncle Gordon.  She teams up with Gordon’s friend Skullduggery Pleasant–a centuries-old walking, talking, fireball-hurling skeleton–to discover who murdered her uncle, and, along the way, prevent an evil megalomanic from destroying the world.

The formula–hero saves world from destruction at the hands of a madman–is looking  a  little worn around the edges.  The stakes are pushed as far as they can possibly go and have therefore plateaued, and there are only so many times one can read about the world getting saved before it gets blase.  Landy, however, infuses what might otherwise be a forgettable story about magic and mayhem with his blistering sense of humor and spot-on banter between Stephanie and Skullduggery.  The main characters act like they’re in a Hammer Horror film, but talk like they’re in a George Cukor comedy.  In Skullduggery’s case, his wit is literally deadpan.

The best part of the book is watching Stephanie Edgely develop into her alter-ego, Valkyrie Cain.  All the characters who inhabit the world of magic choose names for themselves (to prevent other magicians to use their real names against them, of course), and Landy created an amazing roster.  Beyond Skullduggery, Valkyrie, and Tanith, we also meet Ghastly Bespoke, Nafarian Serpine, and the beautiful China Sorrows.  Stephanie goes from being a fairly average girl to a black-clad magical detective over the course of the story.  A willing suspension of disbelief is essential to enjoying Skullduggery Pleasant–it is sometimes hard to believe that an eleven-year-old could perform some of the stunts that Stephanie pulls off–but this remains one my favorites.

Graceling

Harcourt Children’s Books (October 2008)

480 Pages

Summary: In Katsa’s world, being born with mismatched eyes marks you out as “graced” with an unusual ability like dancing or storytelling.  Katsa, however, seems to have been born with the gift of killing, and her talent is put to use by her ruthless uncle.  In an effort to balance some of the wrongs she has committed in her uncle’s name, Katsa forms a secret society to protect her people against those who believe that might equals right.

Review: Once a month or so, I remember to support my local independent book store, and go forth to actually buy a book at full list price.  On my most recent visit, I picked up Graceling, Kristin Cashore’s debut novel.  I do tend to judge books by their covers, or at least allow myself to be drawn to certain books because their cover art appeals to me, and the juxtaposition of dagger and delicate florals seemed to promise an interesting story.

Cashore’s book lived up to the promise of its cover, describing startling violence in graceful, elegant prose.  Katsa, the neice of a petty and vengeful king, has been “graced,” or given special powers beyond those of ordinary people.  Her grace is killing, and her uncle uses her as his red right hand, sending her to intimidate, and if necessary, assassinate.  Katsa’s developing conscience led her to form an underground resistance, undermining the power of the squabbling kings in an effort to better the lives of their subjects.  While on a mission for the resistance, Katsa encounters a beautiful young man with mismatched eyes like hers, indicating that he too is graced.  What follows is a rather long and occassionally tedious trek across the various kingdoms in search of the mastermind behind a series of sinister deeds.  I don’t think I give too much away by saying that, along the way, Katsa and Po fall in love.

If Cashore’s story falters, it is only when she becomes bogged down in geography.  Like Lord of the Rings, there is a tremendous amount of walking and horseback riding, and at times it seems that the characters’ travels take the place of any advancement of the actual plot.  On the whole, however, Graceling is a satifying read, though perhaps not a potential Perennial Favorite.  It does seem to be a self-contained story, with all the threads of the plot resolved by the final page–a rare thing in the current market–but I hope that Cashore will give her readers something new in the near future.

Little, Brown Young Readers (2005)

544 pages

The curious thing about Twilight is that, despite its success and legions of rabid teenage (and middle-aged) fans, the books are poorly written, badly paced, and feature a difficult-to-like heroine and a stalkerish hero.  And yet I, like so many others, couldn’t put it down.

My goodwill does not extend to the other books in the series, which get increasingly more violent and more moralizing (how’s that for a contradiction?), but Twilight manages to make a teen girl’s obsession over a cute guy into something compelling and almost hypnotic.  The fugue-like passages on Edward’s perfection or Bella’s insecurities wash over the reader like waves, and the dreamlike setting of perpetually twilit Forks amplifies this effect.

The fact that Edward is a vampire is almost incidental to the story, as is the so-called plot in which Bella attracts the attention of a vicious tracker intent on killing her.  Looking back at the story, one only recalls Bella’s infatuation with Edward, and the powerful, almost electric longing between the two.  Though the lovers barely even kiss, their interaction is charged with erotic energy, and it’s little wonder that 14-year-old girls everywhere couldn’t get enough of of this macabre romance.  The number of grown women who feel the same way is slightly more surprising.

In Twilight, as in almost all vampire stories, vampirism operates as a metaphor for sex.  With teenagers, in particular, the conflation of sex and death, and the confusion over the conflict between their desires and societal taboos, makes for an interesting backdrop in this vampire love story.  After all, in Meyer’s book, the exchange of bodily fluids is directly associated with the loss of one’s soul.  Edward, the old-fashioned gentleman vampire, refuses to engage in anything beyond light petting with Bella, and he also flatly refuses to make her into a vampire for fear that she’ll become a soulless monster like him.

The exploration of the vampire’s faith is fascinating, and Bella’s unapologetic sexual attraction is refreshing.  Or rather, it was, until the story becomes bogged down in Meyer’s proselytizing.  The books are steeped in her conservative personal convictions, and it is never possible to forget that Meyer is a Mormon housewife.  Unfortunately, my belief in freedom of speech extends to all people, not just those whose beliefs resemble mine, and I can’t in good conscience prevent Meyer from pushing her agenda on her readership.  I just with that there were more alternative voices with equal popularity.

336 pages

Puffin Razorbill, 2007

Summary: Lissa and Rose are just trying to lead a normal life, or as normal a life as a psychic vampire princess and her overprotective bodyguard can have.  They’ve been on the run since breaking out of St. Vladimir’s Academy, an all-vampire prep school, two years previously, but are forced to return and face the danger they had tried so desperately to escape.

Review: I resisted picking this book, the first in a series, because of three words: Psychic. Vampire. Princess.  Eventually I decided to give it a shot, and I was pleasantly surprised at how enjoyable and addicting Mead’s Gossip-Girl-With-Fangs stories turned out to be.

Mead bases her mythology in Romani traditions, and the supernatural comes in three distinct flavors. The aristocratic Moroi need to drink blood but can tolerate sunlight, and their connection to the earth lets them use elemental magic.  The Strigoi are fallen Moroi who, through choice or force, have killed someone by drinking their blood.  The Strigoi constantly strive for immortality by draining the blood of the Moroi, and can only be killed by fire, beheading, or a silver stake to the heart.  The half-human, half-vampires known as Dhampir are the ones taking care of beheading and staking duties; their sacred duty is to act as bodyguards for the Moroi.

Rose is a tough, smart-aleck Dhampir who talks a good game (and uses the kind of language that causes some mothers to reach for the soap) but is usually scared out of her mind.  The juxtaposition of her vulnerability with her tough-girl attitude make her fascinating to watch.  Lissa is a good foil for Rose, since she is very fragile—almost ethereal—and needs a great deal of care.

The main plot of the story centers on Lissa’s unique powers and her bond with Rose, and there’s a nice element of mystery and suspense that sustains the narrative through a great deal of exposition.  The really juicy part of the book, however, is the forbidden attraction between Rose and Dmitri Belikov, the stoic older Dhampir who acts as Rose’s mentor.  Their relationship evolves over the subsequent books, the most recent of which ended with a shocking reveal that left me very anxious for Blood Promises, due out in August.

Lirael (720 Pages, 2001)

Abhorsen (528 Pages, 2003)

Written by Garth Nix and Published by HarperCollins

Summary: The Old Kingdom and Ancelstierre are two radically different worlds separated by a wall.  Ancelstierre resembles England in the 1920s–all omnibuses, cricket, and beauraucracy.  The Old Kingdom is dominated by dark and reckless magic–a dangerous place where the dead don’t always stay dead.  Most of the time the two nations keep the themselves, queitly pretending that the other does not exist, but when worlds’ collide it is up to the scions of the magical bloodlines–the necromantic Abhorsen, the psyhic Clayr, and the mysterious Wallmakers–to prevent great evil from wreaking havoc on both sides of the wall.

Review: These books do not summarize well.  They are epic in scope–Zombies! True Love! Swordfights! Talking Cats!–and richly imagined by Garth Nix, whose world-building skills are both original and impressive.  The first book in the series follows the adventures of Sabriel, daughter of the Abhorsen, who has lived most her life in Ancelstierre.  Aided by Mogget, a cynical talking cat, and the mad prince Touchstone (who used to be trapped as a ship’s figurehead…did I mention these don’t summarize well?), they must prevent  her family’s old enemy Kerrigor from escaping the realm of the dead.

The Abhorsens, along with the more sinister Free Magic necromancers, have the ability to walk in death.  With the aid of the bells they wear, the Abhorsens lay the dead to rest.  Nix’s considerable imagination gives us a vision of death unlike any other–nine watery precincts filled with tricky currents, waterfalls, and the mangled, shadowy apparitions of dead souls.

In the second and third books, set nearly 20 years after the conclusion of Sabriel, Nix expands the mythology of the world to include the Clayr, a psychic sisterhood who live in a hollowed-out glacier, watching for visions in the ice.  I may be a little biased towards Lirael as my favorite, since the title character is a librarian, but Abhorsen ably picks up where the middle volume left off and offers readers an ending filled with triumph and tears. 

Some of Nix’s other work tends to get a little too wrapped up in its own mythology–His Keys to the Kingdom series, which started out so promisingly, is nearly unreadable now because it’s so damn baroque–but these books manage to create a breathtakingly different world without actually alienating readers.  One negative thing I feel compelled to mention: Nix’s metaphors are among the worst that I’ve ever read.  His writing style tends to be a little formal, almost stilted, but when he reaches for a metaphor he really reaches.

Despite its flaws this trilogy–which will be a pentalogy by 2012; Nix has a as-yet-untitled sequel and a prequel entitled Clariel in the works–remains one of my favorite series.

320 Pages

Puffin, July 2008

Summary: Kim suffers from a depression so profound that she can barely function, let alone create the vibrant, emotional artwork she used to love.  Jaimie has never been away from the commune where her family lives–and practices magic.  When the two girls are randomly matched as roommates for their freshman year, they team up to help each other conquer the challenges of college and find the cause behind Kim’s crippling sadness.

Review: This curious little book, a sequel of sorts to The Thread That Binds the Bones, is a worthwhile read for fans of Charles DeLint.  The narration bounces back and forth between Kim and Jaimie between each short chapter, and Hoffman does a good job of portraying each girl’s anxieties and concerns as they begin their college experience.  As they grow to trust each other, their friendship acts as an anchor in the over-populated narrative.

For such a short book, there are a lot of characters to keep track of, and because some of them have appeared in Hoffman’s other “Chapel Hollow” stories, she doesn’t always waste words on exposition.  Jaimie’s profusion of relatives can be confusing, and the friends that they make at school tend to blur together.

The plot follows the (many) characters’ search to find the root of the sadness attacks experienced by Kim, but in some ways the plot is secondary to Hoffman’s exploration of themes like artistic expression, depression, and nature.  Her descriptions of Kim’s art are beautiful, and she skillfully manages to convey the synesthesia (experiencing one sense as another; here Kim “sees” her emotions as colors and shapes) without overwhelming the reader.  Though the conclusion of the book is not wholly satisfying–and though the cynic in me wants to tell Hoffman to go put some shoes on, you damn hippie–I enjoyed Spirits That Walk in Shadow and will probably seek out more of Hoffman’s work.