#juliareviews

Beautiful Creatures is one of the more refreshing takes on the barrage of vampire/supernatural romance novels that saturated the market in the 2010′s. What sets it apart is its mixture of the vampire love story genre with a strong southern gothic. Reading this when I was younger, I remember it having a much stronger effect on me than most of the other vampire novels I had read because of its lush descriptions and complex characters.

The novel follows Ethan, a mortal, normal boy who lives in Gatlin, South Carolina. He keeps seeing a girl in his dreams, he meets said girl, her name is Lena, they fall in love, they can’t be together because of magical witch angst. It’s better than I’m selling it as, I promise. The best thing about Lena and Ethan’s relationship is that, in the moments they get to just be two normal teenagers, they seem genuinely happy and functional, and it does give the impression they would have been happy together if circumstances had been different. 

My favorite character is Ridley. She’s Lena’s cousin who was taken to the dark side, but as the novel progresses it becomes clearer she regrets her choices, which is very interesting. The whole narrative of Lena’s family falling to the dark side actually plays very well into the setting- the world that’s been built is so lush and grand that these concepts of large-scale feel right at home within them. That, to me, is a hallmark of strong writing and world building. Overall, the world and lore is one of the strongest components of the novel.

I would recommend this book to anybody who likes their supernatural romance novels with a little extra spice. I truly do think this stands apart from other novels cut from a similar cloth, especially with the rich developments that happen in later novels in the series. This novel really is a fantastic escape, with strong characters, rich settings, and a compelling story that genuinely feels surprising and fresh.

Mass tragedies can be difficult to talk about. It requires a lot of tact, care, and sensitivity. Taika Waititi’s brilliant film, Jojo Rabbit, manages to speak on the Holocaust extremely adeptly, and is a remarkable piece of media. The novel it comes from, Caging Skies, is relatively dissimilar to its movie counterpart. It has a far darker tone, much different endgames, and a much different way of delivering the film’s message of the toxicity of hatred and old ideologies. 

The story follow Johannes, a ten-year-old boy growing up at the height of the Third Reich’s popularity in Nazi Germany. He is a fanatic, caught up in the promised glory of Nazi ideology of the time. This all catches up to him, though, when he finds out his mother is hiding a Jewish girl in their walls. Suddenly, his ideologies and blind loyalty are called into question when he meets a flesh-and-blood enemy. Does Johannes turn her in in the name of glory, or does his humanity and compassion get the best of him?

My hands-down favorite part of the novel was just how much strength Elsa, the Jewish girl, is given in the novel. She so completely holds her own and is so compelling to read about. Elsa is absolutely fantastic representation, both as a woman and as a Jewish character, in her simple and quiet strength. Every single time Johannes tries to tear her down with Nazi propaganda, she finds a way to rise above and refuses to be subordinate to anybody, especially not a Nazi. On the other end, Johannes is not nearly as likable as in the film. We get to watch him grow up into a very bitter individual- the halfway point of the novel is the war ending and Johannes lying to Elsa and keeping her in his house for three more years. He serves much more as a symbol in the novel of the danger of holding on to antiquated ideologies, as opposed to his kindness and optimism in the film.

I would probably recommend the film to more people than I would the novel. It’s extremely charming and accessible, and especially in such a tumultuous moment in history, it is a necessary message. To quote the end of the film: “No feeling is final”, and I am inclined to agree, except for the fact that there is one feeling that is final- the feeling of love, sadness, and hope that sticks with you after encountering this story.

Oh John Green. What a man. The man has gotten a lot of criticism for the way he writes his female characters, and some of it is within reason, but some of it feels... unwarranted. Growing up and looking for strong female characters anywhere I could find them, I really enjoyed Looking for Alaska. I did. Looking back, I understand how it’s aged poorly, but I actually really don’t consider this a ‘bad’ book by any stretch of the imagination.

The novel follows Miles, a boy obsessed with last words, who transfers to a prep academy in Alabama. There, he earns the nickname Pudge (because he’s skinny so it’s comedy, get it?), and meets a colorful cast including the titular Alaska Young, a wild and free spirit who Miles becomes instantly transfixed with. Between them all, they begin pulling pranks as Miles falls harder and harder for Alaska. Eventually, they decide to pull off a massive prank, when Alaska gets a phone call and has to leave immediately. We find out later that she’s died, which of course tears Miles apart. The rest of the book is the other characters reacting to/forgiving themselves for Alaska’s death.

The novel, again, is not a bad novel. I do wish that Alaska hadn’t died, perhaps maybe something else, but it served its purpose in terms of story. The thing that irritates me most about her death is that it feels as though it turns her from fleshed-out character to plot device. Alaska has many complexities that it feels like get tossed aside, and I find myself wanting to see her confronting and working past her trauma as opposed to everybody else reacting to how it manifests. I don’t think Miles is a bad character for the way he treats Alaska, either. He’s relatively sheltered, so his reaction to somebody as larger-than-life as Alaska is is pretty warranted. 

I would recommend this book to anybody who wants to give it/John Green a second chance. This book does genuinely say some very profound things, and is definitely worth a read, if you’re willing to look past some less-than-tactful writing of female characters. 

Suzanne Young also wrote The Program, and this novel takes place in that same world, except before The Program is implemented. The story follows Quinn, whose career is being a closer- somebody families can hire to get closure with a dead family member. However, she’s extended her contract as a closer past what’s considered healthy, and it’s beginning to take a toll. She doesn’t feel like she has her own identity or memories due to how long she’s been assuming the personas of the dead. 

This novel is a lot more accessible than The Program, in my opinion. While that novel tends to be pretty straightforward, The Remedy unfolds as a really nice mystery. Quinn’s desire for normalcy is also a lot more of a relatable plight than Sloane’s. She really just wants to be able to have a life, and she also worries about people being able to love her which is, once again, a very normal issue. Her love interest, Deacon, is also more normal than Sloane’s. James, the love interest in The Program gets a bit irritating at times just with his intensity, but Deacon is much more genuinely charming. I really like this novel honestly, and Young’s writing is really good in it. Overall, it’s a very strong novel, and builds on the world nicely.

I would recommend this novel to those who enjoyed The Program but felt it suffered from certain issues. I would also recommend this to lovers of mystery novels, as it’s a uniquely presented mystery. Quinn also has a persona of being able to take care of herself while still having access to emotions, so I would recommend to those who enjoy fleshed-out female characters.

There have been many, many books written about plus-size characters, but they usually are unified by one thing: the protagonist’s ultimate objective to lose weight. The protagonists of these stories are often on a quest that ends with them assimilating into society, often through weight loss. Dumplin’ by Julie Murphy, however, is very much not that kind of book- and is deliciously shameless in this fact.

Our protagonist in this novel is Willowdean Dickson, who is referred to as Will by her friends, and Dumplin’ by her former pageant queen mother. Will does not feel internalized shame about her appearance- in fact, the biggest source of shame she feels is from those around her. Unfortunately, one of her biggest supporters-her Aunt Lucy- has recently passed away. Despite this, though, her presence is very much felt in the novel. The only time the audience sees Will feeling remotely insecure is when her relationship begins with Bo, a handsome boy who works with her at the local after-school hangout spot, Harpy’s. Because of her newfound insecurity, Will decides to push herself out of her very large comfort zone and do one of the most terrifying things she can think of: enter a beauty pageant. 

I very much enjoyed both this film and movie. The movie genuinely stayed pretty faithful to the novel, which is rare. The movie was a bit more toned-down in terms of some of the discussions in the book, but overall it was a faithful adaptation.

One of my favorite part of the story was Will’s unlikely group of friends and the ways in which they really succeed making the pageant their own as well. Another trope often seen in novels with plus-sized protagonists is a sense of isolation from them, with them having very few friends, if any. But Will doesn’t fall victim to that, and we see her not only being social, but being extremely friendly and open-minded & open-hearted toward the people who enter her life & story. She is very accepting, and this comes across beautifully in her relationships with El, Millie, and Hannah.

Overall I would highly recommend this book to many people for many different reasons. It offers a very realistic portrayal of mother-daughter relationships, especially in times of grief. It also offers a refreshing take on a plus-sized characters, which is very important. Finally, it offers a very sweet but honest view of female relationships and friendships. Things are not always easy, and dumb, trivial things get in the way, but friendship is the overarching theme and conquers all of those small things.

Before I Fall belongs not with the beloved dystopian novels of our youth, but with a different category: that weird handful of books that were obsessed with teenagers dying young. This novel and If I Stay were sort of the two big ones. Am I the only one who remembers this? Maybe. Either way, this is objectively a very good novel that does a very effective job of highlighting consequences of actions, especially the ones we tend to think are meaningless in high school.

Our protagonist is Sam Kingston, a formerly-awkward now-popular high school senior who has aligned herself with the three most popular girls in school and is now reaping the rewards. One night, right before Valentine’s, they attend a party. They drive home from the party but, at 12:39 AM, Sam wakes up again in her bed. It is slowly revealed that Sam was killed that night but now has a chance to make up for her actions that night. She repeats her last day multiple times, steadily figuring out the correct decisions to make in order to reach some kind of peace.

The best part of the novel is how little details from each days come back and forth, as well as watching Sam navigate her new circumstances. The variations on the days are also very interesting, as she makes radically different choices as she bounces from day to day. The emotional points of this novel are also very strong, especially Sam’s relationship with her sister. Overall, while a touch predictable, this novel is very strong.

I would recommend this books to anybody who enjoys classic YA, as well as anybody who liked If I Stay or other similar titles. This is a great novel about empathy, kindness, and the long-lasting effects of choices, both good and bad, on everybody involved.

Penny from Heaven by Jennifer Holm is the charming story of Penny growing up in the summer of 1953. She is twelve, and is being prohibited from fun due to her family’s intense fears of polio, being considered spies, and everything in between. This novel is a slightly autobiographical period piece from Holm and is a delight through and through.

While I, myself, did not grow up Italian, this novel provides a plethora of cultural context, enough so that I did not feel like I was missing anything by not having this background. The dinners Penny describes and little eccentricities made the characters feel so human, and really made me feel like a part of the family. The larger cultural conversations that the novel opens up about Italian discrimination around this time were fascinating as well. It is revealed that Penny’s father was imprisoned for nothing more than owning a radio Italians were not allowed to own. It’s interesting to see the intense fear of the time period through a twelve-year-old girl’s eyes.

My favorite part of the novel is the fluidity of the story. It’s easy for realistic fiction pieces to come across as jerky, narrative-wise, but this one progresses very smoothly and gives very descriptive images as well. Penny also has an energy of being wise beyond her years, which sometimes gets on my nerves, but in this novel it genuinely feels earned.

I would recommend this book to a large demographic. I would definitely  most recommend it to anybody who grew up in any kind of eccentric family, especially an Italian-American one. But really, I do believe this is a book for anybody.

Kate Bornstein is somewhat of a controversial figure in the LGBTQIA+ community. It must be admitted that she was one of the first visibly out trans people in the American consciousness, and her story is one that can largely be considered inspiring. On the other end, though, she uses slurs that she considers herself to be reclaiming but that make other members of the community uncomfortable, and has some perspectives that have widely been considered negative. Regardless of all the controversy, she wrote a darn good memoir.

A Queer and Pleasant Danger is Bornstein’s first memoir. The rest of her books have been about gender/queer theory, but this is her first truly personal writing. It follows her truly from childhood to her current status. It is a remarkably vulnerable piece, giving extremely personal accounts of her relationships, some of her initial encounters outside of the gender binary, and even some formative sexual experiences. It takes a lot of nerve to write about these subjects, especially with this level of transparency, but she does it marvelously.

Some of the most memorable imagery from this book are the images Bornstein describes about the things she did to her body in an effort to force herself to think a certain way. During the time where she had to conform rigidly to a masculine appearance, she described keeping herself hairy and overweight so she would be unable to see herself as anything except a man, which is a narrative she absolutely had to adhere to. The many, many roads and trails Bornstein explored within the gender binary were fascinating to read about.

I would recommend this book to anybody interested in queer theory, or who would maybe like to shift their perspective if they’ve been socialized extremely straight with little personal experience with queer spaces and ideas. I would also recommend it to any members of the queer community, as it offers some extremely valuable perspectives.