Those who read Selznicks's The Invention of Hugo Cabret--an illustrated novel describing a young boy's secret life living in a train station--have been eagerly awaiting the release of Wonderstruck. After reading it, I can't see any of these folks being disappointed, and I suspect those who start with this book will go back and read the earlier release. Like tIoHC, Wonderstruck integrates full pages of text with full pages of drawing--hence the illustrated-novel versus graphic-novel designation. In this book, however, there is even more illustration, adding to the richness of the reading experience. Even more interestingly, though, the book starts by alternating text pages of one story with illustrated pages of another story. The two seem completely separate and unconnected at first, but over the course of the novel the two story lines merge interestingly.
The book is enchanting and unusual, and I thoroughly enjoyed it. However, after finishing, I began reflecting on the underlying premise of both books. In Hugo, a 12-year-old orphaned boy lives in a Paris train station after the death of his father (mother already deceased); in Wonderstruck, a similarly-aged boy runs aways from home after the death of his mother (father already absent/unknown), traveling from rural Minnesota to hide out in NYC's Museum of Natural History. Both successfully manage to feed themselves, remain safe, and meet other people. I can't help but wonder about this, as it's hard to imagine such success stories. I know this is fiction and allows room for fantasy--and many Tween/Teen books rely on a premise of absent parents and independence--but it's a bit scary too. Of course, I'm not in any way suggesting this book should be kept from young kids, and I don't believe it would cause them to run away, but I certainly think there are some conversations that could be held around the premise. After all, there's a difference between this type of "fantasy" world and one that you find through a secret door in the back of a wardrobe: it is accessible. And, there are no talking animals to offer guidance.
[Also visit my friend/colleague Stephanie Vanderslice's blog Wordamour for some more conversation on this concept of real world fantasy.]
This is the second Donnelly book I read, and it was as good or better than the first. A troubled American teenager travels to Paris with her father and discovers a journal that takes her back centuries in time--in both a figurative and, eventually, literal sense. It's a great coming-of-age story combining history and fantasy in an engaging manner. There's lots to be learned here, and teen girls will love the romance and angst as well.
In college, my roommate loved it when our digital clock read 11:11--whether morning or night. It's only one of many small details of this graphic novel that make me enjoy it, but it's a good example of the mundane things that end up being more significant as Revolver continues. In this instance, 11:11 is the time when Sam crosses back and forth from his typical life--a boring job, a girlfriend he adores, and furniture shopping--to another, parallel life--featuring a post apocalyptic version of the same people and places. Or does he? With an intelligent story line, weird coincidences, and modern psychobabble, it's hard to know which of Sam's lives is real. Or if either is.
In volume one, three teen boys and three teen girls enter Morning Glory Academy, a prestigious prep school with a sinister subplot and faculty. Alternately fighting for their lives and with each other, the characters are further developed in volume 2, which consists of an "origins" story for each of the six main players. While the stories do little to make the teens more appealing, they do deepen the evil nature of the school and lead the reader to fear the possible mission these kids could be sent on. It's dark horror dressed up in short skirts and prep ties--a delight for anyone who understands the malignancy of the teen years.
I picked up Tan's wordless 2007 picture book entitled The Arrival at a California Association of Teachers of English conference a few years ago. Beautifully illustrated with collage and multimedia art, Tan does a remarkable job showing the experience of immigration in a manner appealing to its targeted 7th-grade-and-up audience. When I cam across this collection of 3 shorter pieces, I impulsively bought it and read the entire thing while waiting for a meeting. Like Tan's earlier works, Lost & Found is a beautiful book: each page contains collage-style artwork with an infinite number of details. Like earlier work, this too is identified as being for ages nine and up. I was actually a bit surprised by the low age listing, to be quite honest: the stories share tales of depression, otherness, and conquest/colonization. Then I realized that the art aspect of the book--words included this time--allows for multiple levels of knowing and feeling. In all, it's big, beautiful, and very thought-provoking for all ages.
After I read Neuromancer (published in 1984) in the early 90s, I quickly devoured everything Gibson had written, and I have since kept up with his releases. I was attracted to the tech themes of his early cyber-punk books and I continue to admire the way he investigates the concept of "reality" and how it is created or influenced. In this novel he returns to some of the characters of Spook Country, which was described by the media as a "post-9/11 thriller." As best I can tell, thrillers of this genre focus on edgy characters that are either bored or fighting for their lives, depending on the moment. Quite frequently, the thing they are fighting for don't seem particularly important (fashion, in this instance) and the bad guys and good guys are hard to discern. At times I found myself wondering why I was reading the book at all, but I was compelled to continue. There's always the feeling that the answer--not only to the current story, but to life itself--will appear on the next page of a Gibson novel. I keep turning them.
I keep coming across fantasy books by Nix, so I decided to try this Tween book to see what I thought of his work. As things go in books for this age group, Troubletwisters (yes, all one word, which bugged me immensely) was a relatively gripping read, fraught with the usual missing parents (work), visit to strange relative (grandmother), and oncoming powers (control of weather conditions). The main characters are Jaide and Jack--twins who don't necessarily conform to gender roles (Jaide is faster, Jack more thoughtful)--and there are enough evil characters, talking animals, and bugs to make kids this age happy. I'll take a look at another Nix book to see what I think, and I'll keep my eyes open for Troubletwisters Book 2, as promised by the this volume's title.
I enjoyed the Thursday Next series Fforde started a number of years back, although I lapsed and haven't read the most recent volumes. When I came across this in the Borders 50% off sale, though, I decided to give it a try. In this novel, Fforde's zany humor is evident, as is his love of words and vivid language. Here, however, we also have the added excitement of a whole new dystopic world called Chromatacia--one based on color and the ability of humans to perceive the colors around them--an ability which defines their class status within the Colortocracy, the jobs they can hold, and even who they can love or marry. This is Fforde at his best, and I'm inspired to catch up on the Thursday Next series as well!
A comic written about a flight attendant with a fear of heights is a winning premise to begin with, but throw in an exotic boyfriend, a country that doesn't exist but can still be visited, and historic figures like Amelia Earheart, and this comic makes a pretty winning combination. The plot occasionally drags and the main character can be a bit of a sap, but overall I'll add this to the comic series I follow.
