The joke's on you, reader.

So there are basically two main elements to the book:
1) Where the heck are they and how do they get out alive?
2) What's with this guy who's an admiral but clearly not an admiral?

The first is handled with classic suspense/escape sensibilities - they come up with a plan, nearly succeed, plan fails and they're marginally worse off than before. Lather rinse repeat. This part holds together fine, it's a standard sci-fi model.

The second annoyed me tremendously. Within a few chapters, one of the underlings has figured out who the 'admiral' is, but they don't tell us. They drop hints like we know a darn thing about the worlds they come from. It's a series of inside jokes and the reader is on the outside. Throughout the whole book, exactly one paid off at all for me, and it was way too little after way too long. All the answers come in the final chapter, when two characters sit down and conveniently explain everything to the reader in a simple dialogue that no two human beings would ever have.

Will i read the next in the series? I don't know. It will depend a lot on whether it's building on these characters, or just the world they live in.

(I received a free ARC of this book from the Amazon Vine program.)

"The Rest of Us Just Live Here" will ruin YA SF/F for you, in a good way

"But what about everyone else?"

This is what Ness asks in the introduction (though i guess i'm not sure it'll appear in the published version, one can never be sure when reading an ARC). It seems like every YA book these days features, as he notes, "a Chosen One, who has secret abilities he's never known about or an incredible inner strength that she doubted was there. They're the only ones who can defeat the Big Bad, topple the government, free the people."

Of the hundreds of kids who line up in District 12, only Katniss and Peeta are sent to the Hunger Games. There are plenty of Divergents, but only Tris is divergent enough to do what needs to be done. Harry's just one wizard in a school full of wizards. What about Katniss's second cousin, George, who lives on the other side of town? What about Lisa, an abnegation/erudite just keeping her head down and hoping for the best while handing clothes out to the factionless? What about Jill, the quiet girl in Ravenclaw who would be the best in her year except that Hermione is always better? They have lives, too, you know.

Ness offers up what would be a pretty generic coming-of-age story, a gaggle of kids finishing their senior year of high school, with all the checkboxes ticked: unrequited love (or is it?!), The Gay Friend, The New Kid, distant parents, college angst, etc. But each chapter leads with a plot summary of the equivalent chapter in a Generic YA Book, with all the tropes and cliches and whatnot. While The Chose One is saving the world, Mikey is wondering if he'll ever kiss his dream girl, if he'll stay friends with his bestie when they go off to school.

And the thing is, i hate Coming Of Age stories. 17-year-olds wangsting about the same thing everyone else around them is also going through just makes me snippy. But the juxtoposition made the story. By comparing Mikey and his friends to some unlikely teens out saving the world, it makes the mundanity of getting ready for prom into something much more potent.

Of course, there's also the humor - these are a bunch of normal kids leading normal lives in a world just like ours except that, every few years, Something Goes Horribly Wrong and a Chosen One has to fix it. Casual references to what is, for them, everyday life, are just absurd when they involve the Undead Army interrupting final exams.

(I received a free ARC of this book from the Amazon Vine program.)

The Sandwich Test

I'm not sure how i came up with the Sandwich Test. I suspect the idea started with one of Yahtzee Croshaw's critical video game reviews, wherein he often compares disappointing characters to various inanimate objects. However, the Sandwich Test is now my primary metric for judging novels. It goes like this:

Would the story be meaningfully different if you replaced the main character with a sandwich?

In too many of the YA novels i've been reading lately, main characters might as well be sandwiches. They don't do anything, they just are. People do things for them, or about them, or around them. People move them from one location to another. These characters, and every one that leaps to mind is, alas, female, might as well be a sandwich for all it matters to the story.

And why a sandwich, you ask? Why not a pebble or a manequin or a sock? Well, two reasons. First, it's funnier, and keeps me sane when, for some reason, i decide to stick it out in a book that already failed the test. Second, there are actually a variety of sandwiches out there, and that allows other characters to interact with the sandwich in ways they wouldn't necessarily interact with a pebble. Cribbing from one of my own reviews, in which i compare a character to a pastrami sandwich:

But of course, people have strong feelings about her. Some are repulsed (perhaps they're vegetarians?), some want her but know to stay clear (on a diet, maybe?), whereas others want to possess her (pastrami connoisseurs, in this example).

It's been a while since i read the Hunger Games trilogy, so i can only use it for general examples, but here goes:

In book 1, Katniss is a person. She's struggling to keep her family alive, hunting and trading and dodging the cops. When Prim is selected, Katniss leaps forward to volunteer herself in her sister's place. In the games, she makes alliances, she attacks and defends, she even stands up to the Powers That Be at the conclusion of the games.

By book 3, she's a Sandwich, being handed around by various factions. She does what people tell her, and if no one has anything for her to do, she sits there. By the end, she's not even a good sandwich, she's a day-old soggy cold cut sandwich.

So, readers, next time you're frustrated with a character who doesn't DO anything, use your spare time deciding exactly what kind of sandwich they are. BLT? Club? Hummus wrap?

And authors, please, don't write any more sandwiches.

Let he who has done his own fact-checking cast the first stone

So You've Been Publicly Shamed, by Jon Ronson
Published by Riverhead Hardcover (March 31, 2015)

 I think Ronson's arguments about the actual psychological and social damage of shame are powerful and important. However, several times during reading, i laughed. Out loud. And not at anything that was supposed to be funny.

For example, in a book about shaming, the author attributes the efficacy of those signs on the side of the road that tell you your speed to... feedback loops. He thinks the value is in showing you your speed, not in showing everyone around you. It's a shaming device, at least in part. And that's ignored.

Another one: after chapters and chapters and chapters of Jonah Lehrer observing that if he'd only fact-checked his book, he'd have saved himself a lot of trouble, Ronson gets Godwin's Law wrong. He cites a corollary of it as if it were the law itself. 15 seconds on wikipedia would have been enough to get that one right.

So... valuable insight, oddly shoddy writing and editing. Certainly very readable, and probably worthwhile, but it only escaped being thrown at the wall because i was reading it in a public place with innocent bystanders nearby.

(I received a free Advance Reader's Copy of this book through Amazon Vine.)

Does a book have to be good to be enjoyable? Red Queen as a case study.

Several of our contributors have recently read Victoria Aveyard's Red Queen, a new and heavily hyped YA novel.

As a group, we were wary, as most of us have also read (and loved) Pierce Brown's Red Rising. The commonalities in the plot are hard to miss. Both feature a society with a color-based class system, with Reds at the bottom and Golds or Silvers at the top. Both feature a plucky young Red who, through no particular plan of their own, infiltrates the most elite circle of the upper class, and if their true nature is exposed they risk death. Both intend to upend the rigid social heirarchy by working from the inside.

Oh, and did i mention one's named Darrow, and one is named Mare Barrow?

Either putting our concerns aside, or holding them tight and making a bowl of popcorn first, we read Red Queen. And a funny thing happened: some of us liked it, and some of us didn't, but we all agree it wasn't very good.

When we disagree on a book, it's often the case that what the low-star camp cites as plot holes, inconsistencies, or just nonsense are details the high-star camp can explain, justify, or otherwise believe. For example, when we disagreed wildly about Winner's Curse, it was the exact same elements that made or broke the book for each group.

However, in this case, both the pro-Red Queen and anti-Red Queen camp agreed: this story is full of plot holes, character inconsistencies, flawed worldbuilding, and, frankly, nonsense. We got together and had a lovely time listing out all the things that Just Plain Didn't Make Sense. It's not a short list. This is not a plot that can withstand even casual scrutiny.

But while some readers refer to The List to justify why they didn't like the book, others acknowledged the list and insist the book is worth reading anyway.

One is reminded, in a way, of Summer Blockbuster Movies, which are often more about spectacle than content. While you can sit down and make a (very long) list of the problems with, say, Die Hard, most people will still agree that it's a fun movie worth watching. So why is it different with a book?

I was one of the readers who, despite my misgivings, ended up enjoying the book. I think the reason i liked it has to do with the fact that it is, in several ways, a Superhero Story. Mare is a bit like an X-Men mutant, and i spent a fair deal of my youth watching the X-Men animated series, collecting the cards, and blowing my allowance on the comic books. Any comic book fan has to have a habit of overlooking the kind of errors that plague Red Queen, otherwise they probably wouldn't enjoy comic books in the first place.

Reading is always going to be a subjective experience. One person's Favorite Book Ever is a stack of pages that another reader couldn't even finish. But it's rare to find a book like this, that everyone seems to agree is deeply flawed while disagreeing about its merit. I invite my fellow bloggers to add their own comments about why they liked or disliked this book.

Disclosure: most, if not all, of us who red Red Queen got the Advance Readers Copy for free through the Amazon Vine program. 

Parallel Books in Parallel Universes - The Duplexity

I really hoped i'd like this book, as both the plot and the meta-plot (two books, each tracing one side of the universe-swap) appeal to me.

I didn't just like it. I loved it. Even the minute bits like a girl-scientist, a platonic hetero-friendship, a boy-artist, all the stuff that never seems to make its way into YA fiction felt very natural here. And yes, there was an unlikely romance that developed quickly, but it wasn't just gazing into each other's eyes and knowing instantly that they were soul mates; they actually had to get to know each other first. And the icing on the cake: no forced love triangle! In fact, no love triangle at all!

The mystery of what the heck happened to Danny weaves into Eevee's own personal renaissance to make a story that just has a life of its own. Real world obligations prevented me from reading it all in one sitting, but i totally could have. And when the sequel comes out, i'll call in sick if i have to.

Because if there's one thing wrong with this story, it's that the whole time i wished i was reading Part 2. Dystopia Danny coming to a reality that seems a lot like ours was riveting, but i'm twice as excited to read about Slacker Danny landing in dystopia.


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Now That You're Here (Duplexity Part 1) 
Author: Amy Nichols
Publisher: Knopf Books for Young Readers (December 9, 2014) 
Received free of charge from the Amazon Vine program