High school cheerleaders as government spooks hide in plain site behind their sparkles and designer bags. Sounds juicy, right? It's a real page turner; I went through it in about 24 hours. I totally recommend it to a teen, tween, or fellow adult young adult literature aficionado, and I'm requesting the 2nd installment (Killer Spirit) from NYPL as I type.
And Then They Were Nuns is different from other lesbian separatist utopia novels because the utopia is a monastery, and the lesbians are nuns--except for the one who serves as the priest. I'm sorry; it's hard not to tease such a set-up. And Then They Were Nuns actually is more or less like other lesbian separatist utopia novels, not that that's a bad thing.
Witch Rachel learns to
embrace her inner demon
maybe even elves.
A biracial Manhattan School of the Arts comics geek does the Metamorphosis thing, and in the body of a fly gets an eyeful in the boys' locker room. Sounds great, right? Which is why it's a little disappointing--high expectations. It's a smart romance novel, and ends on an activist note, so what am I complaining about?
I've mostly indulged my love of celebrity autobiographies without guilt, but this one made me feel just a teeny bit dirty. It is a lot dishier than the others, for one thing. Melissa Gilbert knows everyone, and was a bit of a strumpet in her day. Did you know she was once engaged to Rob Lowe? She's also a sober alcoholic, so good for her. She strikes me as a doer (she was president of SAG) and a perfectionist, so writing a book isn't out of the realm of what one might expect, but even so, I wouldn't be surprised if she wrote it at least partially for the money. How is it that so many celebrities seem to feel as cash-strapped as the rest of us? More so, really. I don't feel poor at all, and I doubt any movie star could make it a month on my yearly salary, much less could they survive a week in my one-bedroom rental apartment!
Apparently life in North Korea is pretty grim. Most people don't even have electricity for more than a few hours a day, as you can see from this image that opens Nothing to Envy.
You'd think that would lead to a lot of teenage pregnancy, but according to the North Korean defectors Demick interviewed in South Korea, there's not a lot of premarital sex in the dark nation. Two of her subjects dated from their teens through early twenties without doing more than kissing, and it took them nine years to get to that point. It's just as well that the culture is so straight-laced, since the country can't feed the citizens it has. According to Demick, "Even in the best of times North Korea can produce only about 60 percent of the food needed for its population, and it currently cannot afford to import the rest." And these are not the best of times for North Korea.
The second installment of Briggs's Mercy Thompson series is as compelling as the first. Or maybe it isn't, because it's not new. And the multiple love interests are starting to show themselves. Not only is Mercy about to find herself caught between a werewolf and a vampire (yawn!), she's also torn between two werewolves. The other thing I found a little annoying this time around is the introduction of one of Mercy's other skills: talking to ghosts. It seems totally inorganic, both to the plot and to the universe Briggs has created.
It's weird to me that Carrie Pilby seems to be marketed as a romance novel. Check out the Harlequin Teen edition cover. Although there is some dating, Carrie Pilby is not boy crazy. What she is, is crazy crazy, and seeing a shrink. A 19-year-old Harvard grad, Carrie is a little socially maladjusted, probably from skipping three grades. Her brilliant mind is inflexible, and she really can't make small talk. When we meet her, motherless Carrie has no friends and a frequently-traveling father. Her therapist gives her a to-do list and through completing the tasks on it (e.g., join something, go on a date, do things you love, etc.), she gets over some of her rigidity, superiority, and loneliness. It's surprisingly believable.
America is what's supposed to be a step from heaven for the Park family, when they emigrate there from Korea. Young Ju's family makes its way to the US when she is about four, if I remember correctly. The early parts of the novel, which chronicles her life until just before she leaves for college, are impressionistic, conveying how one's memory of childhood comes in flashes, not narratives. The telling remains episodic, though of course it gets clearer as Young Ju matures. Sometimes I don't like that kind of writing, but in A Step from Heaven it's just how she tells a sometimes painful story. Even the reader needs a little literary distance from Young Ju's abusive father, and from seeing the abuse turn Young Ju's American-born brother Joon Ho into a monster, as well.
I delighted at the idea of this book, recommended to me by fellow Library Underground denizen Amy Mullin. I mean, who doesn't love a juicy tv child star memoir? What I didn't realize is that while Prairie Bitch, written by the actor who played the bad guy on Little House on the Prairie, does have some salacious details (What was up with Melissa Sue Anderson?!?), it's also a moving and funny account of the AIDS activist and incest survivor's life. Plus, she's huge in France.
