So, so good—I highly recommend the audiobook narration. I found the beginning of this novel to be slow, the main character’s voice a little bizarre. BSo, so good—I highly recommend the audiobook narration. I found the beginning of this novel to be slow, the main character’s voice a little bizarre. But I grew to love her, her growth, and her story. I don’t know that I’d have finished this book had I not been listening to it, so if you’re struggling through the first few chapters of this one, I’d suggest you switch to the audiobook. It’s worth it. ...more
The Names They Gave Us is tied with The Start of Me and You as my favorite novel by Emery Lord. I enjoyed Open Road Summer but When We Collided made mThe Names They Gave Us is tied with The Start of Me and You as my favorite novel by Emery Lord. I enjoyed Open Road Summer but When We Collided made me re-evaluate whether Lord and I had gone our separate ways. We haven't; not yet, at any rate.
Lord's latest follows Lucy, from the night of her junior prom when she finds out that her mother's breast cancer is back after two years, to her boyfriend "pausing" their relationship for the summer, just as Lucy goes off to be a counselor at Camp Daybreak, a far cry from the Camp Holyoke, the Christian camp where she typically spends her summers helping her pastor father. Lucy's voice is so fresh and honest. I couldn't help but be enamored by her from the beginning. Lord always writes characters I'd want to be friends with and Lucy was no exception. Even in the beginning of the novel, when Lucy simply wants to yell at the world--and especially at God--I knew The Names They Gave Us would be a gem.
Lucy's summer isn't easy, but the friendships she makes and the person she grows into are all wonderful. Camp Daybreak is a summer camp for children who have their own griefs to deal with, whether it be parental neglect, a teenage pregnancy, the death of a loved one, or something else entirely and, in that respect, The Names They Gave Us is an emotional novel. It isn't a cancer story, even though Lucy's mother's cancer is such a huge part of the book and especially a large part of Lucy and her mother's evolving relationship, not to mention family dynamic. It also isn't a religious novel, despite the fact that Lucy's father is a pastor.
Lucy has been raised in the Christian faith all her life but now, with the re-emergence of her mother's cancer she begins to doubt everything she knew. And, as someone who didn't grow up in the Christian faith, I can testify that I could still relate with Lucy. Her struggle to reconcile her experiences with her faith is a journey I think a lot of teens can relate to and Lord writes it with aplomb, balancing the religious and self-discovery aspects perfectly. I especially enjoyed that Lucy struggles to fit in because she's the pastor's daughter--people make assumptions about her personality, whether or not she drinks, her sexual limits, etc.--and watching Lucy grow and own who she is is such a rewarding part of this novel.
The Names They Gave Us features a trans best friend, people of color (and a love interest of color, actually!), discussions of privilege and sex, and is just all-round fantastic. It passes the Bechdel Test with flying colors, the friendships in this novel make me wish for the past, and this story made me tear up on more than one occasion. I don't know how Lord manages to write such consistently fantastic YA novels which simply breath life into the genre, but she does. And I sincerely hope she doesn't stop....more
This book had so much packed into it that I honestly just feel like I need to re-read it because I'm concerned I might have missed something. And I doThis book had so much packed into it that I honestly just feel like I need to re-read it because I'm concerned I might have missed something. And I don't want to have missed anything about this debut. It's strange and bizarrely unique but I can't deny that I thoroughly enjoyed it.
The Loose Ends List is about a family whose matriarch is dying of cancer. When she decides that her last wish is for her family to join her on a cruise around the world, they are helpless in the face of her disease. Maddie, our protagonist, loves her Gram and it's difficult for her to not only see her health slowly deteriorate, but it's equally hard for her to come to terms with the fact that the other members of the cruise are also dying. For a novel with such a morbid premise, there is a palpable sense of humor underlying these pages. It isn't bogged down by its subject matter but rather it celebrates the life of its characters and I commend Firestone for walking this fine line with aplomb.
Surprisingly, this book is about traveling and discovering new places and putting yourself out there, no matter how much time you have left. It's about family and holding on and learning to forgive and move on. It's about facing your fears and owning who you are, regardless of your sexuality or relationship status. There isn't a lot of friendship drama, here, but Maddie and her cousin are as close as sisters and their evolving relationship passes the Bechdel test with flying colors. Maddie's family dynamics, not just with her Gram but with her mother and father and brother, are all sources of thoughtful, remarkable characterization. Her romance with Enzo, the son of the cruise company owner, is deep and heart-breaking, but also open, trusting, and full of growth for both of them. Maddie forces Enzo out of his shell and, in turn, Enzo shows Maddie what a relationship built on equality and trust can be like.
But there is so much more that I loved about this novel. I loved its honest, open conversations about sex. I loved its inclusion of an older generation of characters who we often overlook and like to pretend don’t exist in YA. I loved the difficulty with which Maddie makes bonds with those dying on the cruise ship and has to cope with that grief. There is so much grief, in this book, but there is also so much to be thankful for and to celebrate—Firestone really, truly doesn’t make this a tragedy and for that, I loved it most of all. It’s a really different, unique novel and not everyone will love it, but I certainly did. A re-read is in my future, not to mention a close stalking of Firestone’s future releases. You can bet I’ll be pre-ordering them at the first chance I get....more
I’ve struggled to write this review. Is this only the second time I’m re-writing it? It’s hard to tell. The Winner’s Kiss has occupied nearly all of mI’ve struggled to write this review. Is this only the second time I’m re-writing it? It’s hard to tell. The Winner’s Kiss has occupied nearly all of my brain capacity since I picked it up and it hasn’t left me, even now that I’ve set it down. Rutkoski’s world has been bold and brilliant ever since The Winner’s Curse; this I knew. The Winner’s Crime only confirmed that her characters were passionate, vulnerable, and clever—a deadly combination if ever there was one. But The Winner’s Kiss is a seamless blend of romance and politics, infusing the best of this world and its people with a heart-stopping plot that ensures that though this series is truly at an end, its words will live on.
I’ve wanted Rutkoski to challenge her characters and push them beyond their comfort zone ever since first encountering them on the auction block of The Winner’s Curse. While they were intelligent and witty, motivated and brave even back then, I knew that they had the potential to be so much more. Finally, we see the darker underbelly of this world—its ruthlessness both on and off the battlefield. The Kestrel and Arin of The Winner’s Kiss are far different characters from those we have encountered before. In some ways, it’s safe to say that they hardly know themselves, let alone each other. The highlight of this novel, by far, was watching them navigate their memories—the past they thought they knew—and reconciling it with the present before them.
Their relationship has been a slow-start from the beginning and that isn’t an exception in this final installment but, seeing Kestrel and Arin interact in a setting wholly free of society’s shackles was refreshing. We get to finally see these two simply be and that, in and of itself, is a treat. Kestrel’s struggles throughout this novel are intense and painful, but also necessary. I understood her better outside the walls of the palace and I appreciated that Rutkoski didn’t make things easy for the daughter of the general. We see Kestrel become forced to assimilate within an army where she is the only Valorian among Herrani and Dacran alike. We see her face off her complicated emotions towards her father and the life he would have chosen for her—no easy task, especially when this is a relationship that has been complicated and nuanced from the start. With Arin, we experience a different set of challenges—his innate goodness contrasted with his skills on the battlefield; his vulnerability being pushed aside time and time in favor of the cold hard exterior of a leader; his willingness to trust contrasted against his history of mistakes. Neither Kestrel nor Arin are at a perfect place in their lives but watching them come to terms with one another, and themselves, is easily the best part about The Winner’s Kiss.
Roshar, the eastern prince who has allied himself with Arin, is the hidden gem of this series. Unfortunately, we don’t see much of Roshar in the first two installments of this trilogy but, finally, in The Winner’s Kiss we are able to experience him in all of his glory. Roshar is witty, always ready to crack a joke rather than discuss anything serious, but behind his veneer of laziness and nonchalance is a cunning mind whose allegiances are mysterious. What does Roshar hope to gain from helping the Herrani escape their masters? It’s unclear, which makes Roshar a dangerous character. Yet, I challenge you to cast doubt upon him and truly suspect him for more than a page before admiring and adoring him, again. His friendship with Arin is a bromance of the ages and his relationship with Kestrel, though unexpected, is another special aspect of this novel. Moreover, I enjoyed that through Roshar we are able to appreciate the full strength of Rutkoski’s world-building. The East is vastly different from the West but their animals, plants, poisons, customs, and rituals are not only fascinating, but relevant.
I have so much admiration for how Rutkoski uses every detail of her novels in an important way. Whether it be her battle scenes, tactical machinations revealing more about the characters than gritty details of bloodshed, or the political maneuvers made by these characters, every scene is intricately plotted. Truly, I couldn’t have envisioned a more apt way to end this story and the ending is perfection. I haven’t always loved this series and I’ve definitely felt as if the hype was unwarranted, at least once or twice, but The Winner’s Kiss makes it all worth it. Not only is this series achingly romantic, but it’s smart—it features strong characters, a brilliant heroine who embodies her agency in the strength of her mind, and a world whose politics can draw parallels to our own world (if we only looked hard enough). Thank you for this world and its characters, Ms. Rutkoski; they won’t be leaving me anytime soon....more
If you haven't already heard by now, Six of Crows is a heist novel. I've heard it compared to Ocean'Six Reasons Why Six of Crows Is LIFE:
1. A HEIST!
If you haven't already heard by now, Six of Crows is a heist novel. I've heard it compared to Ocean's Eleven, which I haven't seen, but I'd liken it to The Avengers since there's an epic round-up of our team and an utterly satisfying journey as they learn to trust one another and work together, despite the fact that a handful of them are strangers. Moreover, I can promise that Bardugo doesn't disappoint. Not in the details, not in the plot twists, and definitely not in the sucker-punches to the gut (you know, that feeling you get every time you're reminded of how this is an impossible task and the team assembled is guaranteed to fail).
2. Legends
Every one of the six characters who make up our heist team are legends in their own right. There's Kaz Brekker, the criminal mastermind and genius who is unstoppable. There's Inej, the Wraith, who is as silent as a shadow and can travel anywhere, anyhow, without being detected. There's Jesper, whose guns never miss their mark. And so on and so forth. We're introduced to these characters by their legends--the stories that surround them, the rumors that circulate about them--but by the end, we've slowly started to peel back the layers and expose that they, for all their impossible feats, are mere people. I love how Bardugo does this, so gradually, and it works perfectly. It forces us, as the reader, to become invested emotionally and then just keeps twisting the knife in deeper until our hearts are bleeding and our breath is becoming shallow and we can't imagine our lives before we knew about these characters; I am so in love with all six of them, it's desperate.
3. Multiple POVs
Bardugo writes Six of Crows from a third-person perspective, which works perfectly as she alternates between narrators. Each of the six have their turn, time and time again, and though I usually shy away from multiple perspectives, Bardugo perfected it. Not only is it ideal when we're working with a heist, especially one as elaborate as this where the team members need to be split up, but it's also ideal when peeling back the layers of a group of six people who don't trust each other, who don't know where they stand with one another, and who all want money desperately. I never thought the POV shifts were abrupt, unexpected, or unwanted so kudos to Bardugo for walking that fine line flawlessly.
4. Politics, Slavery, and Discrimination
Shadow and Bone revolved mostly around Grisha politics, centered in Ravka and working its way inward through the Second Army and the different ranks of Grisha. With Six of Crows, we've entered a whole new underbelly. Admittedly, some parts are familiar--Grisha, Fabrikators, Heartrenders, etc.--but others are relatively new. Bardugo expands this world so much, including different races of people and different customs, some of which despise the Grisha. I found it interesting to see how these six individuals, each with completely different--and tragic--backgrounds interact with one another despite their prejudices and pre-conceived notions which are, perhaps surprisingly, harder to let go of than we may think. Bardugo never info-dumps this onto us, instead revealing to us bits and pieces in multiple narratives. As a lover of fantasy, and particularly fantastical politics, I ate this all up.
5. Romance
No one can slay me with a romance quite like Bardugo can. Remember how, in Siege and Storm, your heart was breaking page after page because Mal and Alina so desperately wanted to be together and so clearly were destined to be together but their rank and circumstance and past just couldn't allow them to be in the relationship they once dreamed of? And it was so painful because of how unfair it was? Because neither of them could really do anything except give up a part of themselves? And how could we ask them to do that? Well, that's how the romance is in this novel. Except times fifty. So...just get ready for a lot of blood and tears. But it's so, so good. My favorite romance is, obviously, the one that seems utterly doomed and full of strife and peril but, I hold on to the smallest shreds of hope, even as the sexual tension kills me, slowly. There's another romance, too, one which I think is less subtle and I love the depth and complexity that this one has, too. Moreover, I strongly suspect there's yet another romance, hidden deep in small phrases and tiny gestures, so though I may simply be fangirling for no reason, I ship yet another couple in this novel (and I will go down shipping them, so they better become a prominent couple soon, Bardugo)!
6. Villains
Every good novel has a good villain--or two, or three--and this book is teeming with formidable villains. Ones I want to see go down. While the Darkling was more like Draco Malfoy--extremely attractive, to the point where you didn't want to hate him, and not entirely evil--the villains in this novel, much like the main characters, are flawed and without remorse. I love the fine line Bardugo emphasizes between hero and villain because, our crew? None of them are heroes. All of them have lied and stolen and cheated their way to where they are now and though they may have survived out of circumstance, none of them are without guilt or blame. Yet, Bardugo makes us root for them and believe in them, much like real people whose pasts are messy but whose futures still hold hope. We've gotten glimpses of our villains in Six of Crows; strong and potent glimpses. I am sure they will come further into the forefront as the series wears on and I cannot wait to meet them, head-on, with Kaz and his team.
If you need more than six reasons to pick up Six of Crows, I promise I can come up with them for you. This is a novel that features disabled characters, diverse characters, mature characters and if you're searching for a New Adult-esque fantasy novel that explores the ideas of a New Adult novel--finding your place in the world, albeit through mistakes and strange situations--then Six of Crows fits that bill too. It's so many incredible, wonderful, surprising stories and genres in one that I am truly astounded by it. Easily one of the best books of the year, if not the best, this is one I couldn't put down, classes be damned. (Although, Bardugo, I might be begging for more than just the next novel at this point. It would be nice if you could give me my GPA back too...)...more
I often didn't want to read I'll Give You the Sun. Nelson's debut, The Sky is Everywhere, sits pristinely on my shelf despite numerous re-reads as I fI often didn't want to read I'll Give You the Sun. Nelson's debut, The Sky is Everywhere, sits pristinely on my shelf despite numerous re-reads as I flip through my favorite passages, the poems most beloved to my heart, and swoon again and again and again because Joe Fontaine. I couldn't, for the life of me, imagine that I'll Give You the Sun would be able to compare. After all, I couldn't relate to a novel about twins. About art. About grief. A novel told from two different perspectives, two different genders, two different time lines. I'll Give You the Sun arrived on my doorstep as a pre-packaged risk--one I wasn't sure I was ready to take. Until, of course, I cracked open the spine and Nelson rendered me speechless, useless, and nearly heartless. Again.
I'll Give You the Sun is a vastly different novel from The Sky is Everywhere but the atmosphere created by Nelson--the distinct flavor of her--is still present. While Nelson's debut dealt, from the onset, with grief, with moving on, with battling the inner demons and wrestling the outer ones, I'll Give You the Sun is a far more subtle discussion of similar topics. It is told from the perspectives of Noah and Jude, twin brother and sister whose lives have been intertwined from womb to birth and beyond. Noah, at thirteen years old, begins the novel and his narration is a burst of color on the page. Noah is an artist. Not only does he see the world around him in the shades of his paintbrush and the strokes of his hand, but he's constantly cramped over a drawing pad. For Noah, art isn't a lifestyle; it's his life. At thirteen, Noah is shy, quiet, and often alone. Jude, by contrast, is popular. A complete dare-devil, she seems to have inherited the strong, "masculine" traits that their father always pushes Noah to attain. But Noah, thirteen years old, in love with his talent, often bullied, and burdened by the knowledge that he is attracted to the men, is a narrative voice I cannot forget. Once heard, it will stay with me; constantly. Every other chapter we hear Noah speak; first thirteen, then thirteen and a half, slowly pushing fourteen, until fourteen hits. Over the course of a mere year Noah will fall in love, he will destroy his relationship with his sister, he will grow green with envy, he will yearn to achieve his dream of gaining entrance into art school, and he will lose his true love.
Jude, whose narration picks up two years later at sixteen, is a changed individual from the flighty, fun, and flirty teen she used to be through Noah's eyes just three years ago. Now, Jude attends the prestigious art school Noah dreamed of attending. She wears conservative clothes, speaks to the ghost of her dead grandmother, is estranged from Noah, and blames herself for her mother's death. It's a shocking juxtaposition, at first, to read Noah's tender, innocent, and all too child-like perspective where he draws, dreams, and is constantly able to rely on his twin sister and then, suddenly, to be yanked into Jude's head, two years later, where she and Noah barely speak to one another; where she has lost her love for life; where, somehow, she is living her brother's dream while he lives the life of the popular high school jock. What happened? It's the question that plagues us, constantly, as we frantically flip the pages while simultaneously smoothing them down to make the words last longer, the sensations linger deeper, to soak in the full impact of the tale at hand.
I'll Give You the Sun is gut-wrenching, certainly, but only because Nelson makes you feel so deeply for her characters that their grief becomes our grief. It's beautifully written, descriptions of art grazing the pages opposed to the poetry of The Sky is Everywhere but, unsurprisingly, under Nelson's prose it is just as evocative and powerful. Moreover, I love the love stories Nelson creates. Like Gayle Forman and Stephanie Perkins, Nelson writes true love; love forged by fate, intertwined by destiny, and brought together by multiple life paths, not just one. It's the type of romance I simply cannot rip myself away from. I'm a sucker for these love stories, though countless readers likely point out their improbability, and Nelson made me fall hard not just for one or even two of the love stories told, but for all three within these pages. I have absolutely no qualms in admitting that the swoon Nelson writes in I'll Give You the Sun rivals the swoon of The Sky is Everywhere--and then some.
Yet, at its core, I'll Give You the Sun is a story of family. Of truths and deceptions. Of what love truly means. It leaves us thinking, by the end, after all the revelations are through, and the lingering unanswered questions of death remain, as in real life, the most bittersweet remembrances. Perhaps, though, what I love most about it is that the growth within it is not limited to age. Granted, both Jude and Noah grow and change immensely from Noah's perspectives to Jude's, two-three years in the future, but the adults around them are also, constantly, changing and being changed by the circumstances life throws at them. In The Sky is Everywhere the adult presence felt starkly adult; knowledgeable, reliable. A pillar, in other words. In I'll Give You the Sun, that isn't quite the case. Though it seems, to thirteen year old Noah, that his scientist father has it all figured out, to sixteen year old Jude it is evident that her father isn't himself. And though, to sixteen year old Jude, to seemed as though her mother knew it all, had all the right answers now, looking back, for fourteen year old Noah that wasn't the situation at all. For me, the lines blurring between by teenage-hood and adult-hood, these explorations of life, love, and longing at all stages truly spoke to me. Moreover, I loved seeing the beauty of existence shown through multiple generations in a manner only Nelson can possibly achieve.
For me, I'll Give You the Sun is a significantly more complex novel than The Sky is Everywhere. I love it because the intensity of its emotions is not linked solely to grief. I was able to understand, on so many levels, the complexity between Noah and Jude's relationship. From the stage where they fought for each parent's time and approval to the stage where they became jealous of one another and even beyond, so much of it rang true even without the added component of grief--which I, personally, enjoyed. Ultimately, I believe this novel will speak to every reader in some way or the other. It's just one of those novels. Pain demands to be felt; I'll Give You the Sun does too. ...more
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