This book is a Robin Hood of YA literature – it robs coolness from the rich, the good-looking, and the dim-witted, and gives it all to the overlooked smart, dorky, and somewhat unattractive members of teenager-hood. John Green is another author that truly respects the intellects of adolescents – Looking for Alaska is riddled with unexplained allusions, quick jokes, and bits of fascinating lectures on religion. Yet he also dares to go into deep into the territory of teenage emotions; he doesn’t stop short of sex, drugs, or deep depression as some other YA books do, but boldly explores them all.

Although I suspect that the deep emotions expressed in this book are what have captured it the love of adolescents everywhere, I found its almost ridged structure to be more noteworthy. One doesn’t expect to find a highly structured format in a YA book filled with smoking, drinking and sex – that is reserved for perfectly symmetrical classic works, like Pride and Prejudice. Yet Looking for Alaska’s chapters meticulously measure the time before and after the accident, the novel starts on the first day of the semester and ends on the last, and excerpts from a class on religion are systematically interwoven in order to give the ideas presented in the book a firm foundation. The strict format almost acts as a barrier between the book and the story; a barrier that might protect the reader from intense emotions presented in the book and, perhaps, enable the reader to analyze their own sometimes overpowering emotions.

Keep in mind - if YA literature isn’t your cup of tea, feel free to fill out the reader’s advisory survey here, and I’ll provide a hand-crafted book recommendation, fit to your current mood and reading needs.

Had I not been assigned I am the Cheese, I don’t think I ever would have touched it. Apart from the obvious reasons connected with the edition’s library status (ripped up cover, yellowed pages, and unidentified brown spots), the book is a YA psychological thriller. Even if I were to ever read in the ambiguous genre of ‘psychological thriller’, I would surely never think to do it from the perspective of an adolescent. Now, I am not necessarily saying that you should follow in my footsteps this time, but if you have a propensity to question reality, become paranoid at off comments, or prefer to spend your waking moments in a slight state of unease, you may have found your next read.

A puzzle within a puzzle within a labyrinth, this book is so difficult to find your way out of that I don’t even think our strange, unreliable narrator ever did. Most stories answer a few key questions immediately: who is the main character, where is the main character, and why is this story being told? Not only do we not find out an answer to any of these question until the last few pages, but each question has at least two correct answers. Yet, do not make the mistake of thinking that this is a cold and calculated work; be prepared to have the russian-doll-like revelations pull at your heart strings as you deal with this story of loss. Whatever your tastes in literature, this is a novel that respects the intellect and maturity of its adolescent readers, and for that, it must be labeled worthy.

“The radishes had blossomed with white flowers and gone to seed, the round red radishes grown into long, gnarled roots, coarse and reedy. The leaves were rough and scratchy. Even the onion stems were thick and bulbous, topped with purple flower clusters.” (Seventeenth Summer)

I have always hated hearing books described with the word ‘gem’. It is an understatement to say that the word is overused, and because of that the meaning has been obscured. So, instead of calling Seventeenth Summer a gem, lets experiment with some new phrases: diamond in the rough, for example (or is that too Aladdin?), zork (a word made up by my grandfather that describes the best part of the chicken), or perhaps the cream in the coffee. Whatever you choose to call an unexpectedly delightful and unique thing, this book is it. Written in 1942 by a teenager, Seventeenth Summer launched the now scandalously popular genre of YA literature with this one work. Before Maureen Daly, teenagers transitioned from children’s lit to adult without an intermediary stage to speak of. Now, they live in a world filled with Twilight, Percy Jackson, and the last 3-4 books of Harry Potter. 

More so than other books rooted in a specific time period, this book conjures the feel of 1940′s country life directly into the imagination of the reader. The dialogue is full of ‘fellows’, ‘going steady’s', and ‘Gees’, and the imagery is replete with nature. Daly charmingly describes gardens, fields, and lakes in a way that would seem forced in the hands of a more modern writer. Although difficult to tell whether it has to with the time period or not, reading Daly makes the reader want to be a better person. The main character doesn’t argue with her parents, she patiently does the housework, and she always appears composed and content, even while struggling with undefined emotions. It is a world where peeling potatoes is considered a ‘leisurely activity’, one that gives a person time to think things through. Now, asking a child to peel potatoes would be a good indicator that a war scene is about to ensue. This, combined with the teenage restlessness for an unknown future, makes Seventeenth Summer a book that would remind any adult of the drive to improve one’s self, and to look at the future as a chance to do so.

I have been fortunate enough to have to freedom to choose what I read since the BookLion’s inception almost 2 years ago. For reasons that I’ve forgotten in the aftermath of Judy Blume’s monochromatic sentences and to-the-point moral plotlines, I’ve decided to tie my leisure-reading fate to a YA course at Simmons this semester. While I am still excited to be reading ‘real’ books for class, instead of research articles, Forever made me wish I had spent my morning pouring over the methods section of the driest of papers instead of cringing through its pages.

While I understand that Judy Blume was instrumental in a lot of teenage lives, I personally never had that problem. But it would be too easy to go on making fun of her one-idea-per-sentence book; that is what everyone does.  If I am being truthful with myself, I have to admit that the ending is really what brought on my current bought of disgust. It turned the novel instantly from a romance into a sort of boring ultra-realism novel. Instead of being a book about idyllic love, it turns out that Forever is about how societal expectations (and other external forces) can shape a person’s life and emotions. In that way, it brings an un-charming reality into the reader’s realm of possibility; something that even I have to admit is in line with real-world experience. Yet, even bestowing this book with a potential use and audience (it could be used as a sexual education book, for example), I still feel secure in labeling Blume as the Berenstain Bear of YA literature – no matter what Judy Blume might have to reveal, she still does it with a tool that is too cumbersome and heavy for the job.

Although attaching an exclamation mark to the end of a title might make for some surprising and interesting sentences scattered throughout the book, do not mistake this grammatical mark for one that foretells excitement or happiness. This is not a book that sits easily with a reader or bestows lovely, tingly feelings; the blurb on the cover uses an adjective that is highly appropriate: haunting. I can’t pretend to be an expert on the motivations of modern literature, but if its aim is to imagine new scenes and situations and to compose sentences that have never been uttered or written before – this book succeeds.

Swamplandia! changes from a dreamy magical realism to a sort of realistic horror with terrifying skill and speed. At times it reminded me of “One Hundred Years of Solitude”, at others of the almost disgusting realism I associate with”The Confederacy of Dunces”, and at others of a true crime novel. Its tendency to switch tone, if not genre, must be part of its unsettling nature. The reader, by being immersed in the thoughts of the main character, is lulled into a sense of complacency; just like the other people on the swamp, it is so much easier to believe in the fantasy than to deduce a rational explanation for events. This is a novel that plays with our perception of reality like an easily breakable barbie doll – but it never truly enters the realm of fantasy, it only explores the human desire to explain events by supernatural means and brings the reader into that ongoing discussion. Altogether an unsettling, yet rather interesting read.

I have found over the past few years of Very Serious Reading that certain books stay with me – my mind conjures up scenes and dialogs for no apparent reason for years afterwards. I used to think that these were simply the books that I liked best, but I have recently discovered that there is no uncommon link between One Hundred Years of Solitude, The Magic Mountain, Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell, War and Peace, and now Middlemarch (to name a few). The connection is not just greatness, but a certain strength of language not achieved in other merely lovable books. The scene where the main character in The Magic Mountain metaphorically awakens from his dream life and goes to war has been with me consistently since the moment I read it, and I predict that  Dorothea’s emotional dialogue with Rosemond and the picture of her sadness in Rome will also linger. I like to pretend that I can fling the conventional wisdom of literature lovers to the wayside, and care about plot above language, but the fact is that the structure and phrases of certain books haunt and color your thoughts forever after – something that not even my beloved plot-driven children’s books can do. Middlemarch is a world that I am still partially living in, and will be, to some extent, always dwelling on.

George Eliot has a particular talent for pinning down in minute detail the souls of her characters, which reminds me quite a bit of Gabriel Garcia Marquez. Whenever I read a soul-pinning book like this, British writers in the nineteenth century were particularly fond of it, I try to use the same techniques in my own life. I try to hold onto and specify characters of the people around me; a decidedly difficult task. I think that the concept of a person’s Character was more defined and thought about a couple of centuries ago than it is now. Although George Eliot does admit that a person’s character evolves, the sense of being able to define it at every stage still permeates the whole book. It is as if the authors and thinkers during this period had a sort of shared idea about what an ideal character might be for each type of employment and class and could measure a specific person’s failings based on this unspoken agreement. Perhaps we do not do enough thinking about Character now – it would be so much more interesting to come home from a party, and instead of saying that you liked or didn’t like a person, you could say ‘her character sustains her oddities…’.

A sweet foray into the innocent pleasures of an early 20^th century childhood. Lovelace somehow blends realistic childhood play, such as paper dolls and birthday party games, into the imagination so that you can hardly tell where one stops and another begins. An excellent read for times when you feel like you’re forgetting how much you’d like to ride on a cloud for a while.

2. The BFG by Roald Dahl

 A scrumdiddlyumptious book indeed! As always, Roald Dahl slapped me on the side of the head with his delicious wordplay and elegant story-lines. Although The Witches still remains my favorite to date, how can one not love that the main character here gets to visit the queen of England and dine on a table made of grand pianos?

3. The Wonderful Wizard of OZ by L. Frank Baum

If you would like to take my suggestion and step into your childhood shoes for a while with these books, make sure to get the edition of OZ illustrated by Barry Moser. He has done quite a few of my favorite works, including the Arion press edition of Moby-Dick (also highly recommended), and his stark black and whites almost rival the text for beauty. Having never read the Wizard of OZ before, I found that it is to its movie as the Grim brothers are to their Disney counter parts – that is, be prepared for a little more gore, but a lot more consistency.

 There are many types of characters – those one would love to meet, those one loves reading about, and those whose situations we would love to live in, but I have finally discovered a character that I want to be. Flora Poste has become my new role model in life: determined, elegant, and ladylike she triumphs over passion and disorder with the aid of reason and her delicious book ‘The Higher Common Sense’.

Cold Comfort Farm is essentially about the civilized coming up against the barbaric, passionate, and mad, and triumphing. At the start, the transition between Flora’s steady, light-hearted thoughts and the Starkadder’s insane ramblings can be disconcerting – but it is all part of the fun. You have to experience the ridiculous passion of the farm in order to be on Flora’s side in wanting to reform it. You’ll laugh and smile at this quick read, and at the end look around at your own life and begin to tackle its problems with the ease and aplomb of a 1920’s British Lady. All of a sudden reason and tidiness don’t seem so impossible after all.

Beverage: Some Chinese green tea, bread, and something ladylike, such as jam.

Reminds me of… A particular recommendation for a follow-up to Mansfield Park, for the continuity, and a lovely companion to Lucia. 

I was riding my bike to the library yesterday, and through a roundabout route, I peddled down a residential street labeled ‘Mansfield Park’. I imagined that there lived a young woman with upstanding principles and morals, struggling within a modern society with an illicit love she felt for her cousin. Yet, in the modern age, this Boston romance would not have ended nearly as pleasantly as it did in 19th century Britain. The poor girl living at the modern __ Mansfield Park probably just threw herself into her work and married a Mr. Crawford who never saw her value and cheated on her repeatedly – not a story Jane Austen would care to tell.

Jane Austen somehow managed to write such a complex situation that I found myself seriously doubting how it would end, even having recently watched the movie. I repeatedly grew suspicious that the movie adaptation must have changed something, for I ‘knew’ that Fanny would end up marrying Crawford.  In fact, I suspect that every time I reread this book, I will seriously doubt that the ending will conclude as it did this time. In some two or three years, my unconscious mind remains certain that Mr. Crawford will finally prevail, which is why I don’t mind in the least revealing the ending here – you won’t believe me either. Although Fanny isn’t as cleaver or sassy a character as others Jane Austen has written, such as Elizabeth or Emma, she still is able to draw a reader in and make them live in her world for a while.

Beverage: A strong pot of Earl Grey tea.

Reminds me of… all the other fantastic early 19th century British literature. Sometimes I crave this time period like some desire a whole bar of 75% dark chocolate.

Little Brother by Cory Doctorow

I side with Neil Gaiman (as usual), and his blurb, when I second that this is indeed a very important book. You will be on the look out for your freedom, and perhaps unwilling to enter an airport, after reading this gutsy novel about terrorism. Although the language is rather teenage-boy, it grew on me, and by the end of the novel I felt that nothing else would have worked. Also, an excellent source of understandable information about cryptology, programing, and certain aspects of math.

Fire by Kristin Cashore

I absolutely fell in love with the elegant simplicity of Kristin Cashore’s Graceling, and couldn’t quite see the same qualities in this book. It was fanatically imaginative and unique, but here she encompassed an epic war, which is definitely not conducive to simplicity. Definitely worth reading for Cashore fans, but I do hope that her future books stick to her strengths: answering  a question by a simple plot line with even pacing. Looking forward to Bitterblue, coming out this spring.

The Devil in the White City by Erik Larson

Without a doubt worth reading for the fascinating facts about Chicago’s World Fair, but don’t come to this book expecting a satisfying mystery or Dexter-like insight into the mind of a serial killer. Erik Larson does a good job of weaving together multiple stories, but he stops short of making a true investigation of Dr. Holmes and his motivations. Perhaps it makes the book more accessible to a wider audience, but his lack of courage when confronting the inexplicable was slightly disappointing to me.

The Blood Confession by Alisa Libby

The Blood Confession makes a very interesting counterpoint to the above Erik Larson book. Also investigating the mind of a serial killer, Alisa Libby does not stop short of anything. She most definitely crosses the line into pure horror at some points, and is to be assiduously avoided by anyone who has a weak stomach, difficulty sleeping, or is capable of fainting at the thought of blood. Yet, I could almost have liked the book if it were merely graphic, but Alisa Libby uses a somewhat ineffective writing device at the end by integrating her historical fiction with the fairy tale of Snow White. I know many people who love re-written fairy tales, but I am simply not one of them.