Guardian of the Dead (book review)

Guardian of the Dead
Karen Healey
Little, Brown and Company
April 2010 $17.99 352 pages

Magic and myth seeps into the ordinary modern world. Ellie Spencer, a new student, feels shy and vulnerable at her boarding school, although she kicks butt enough to have a black belt, and can take care of herself in a fight, thank you very much. There's even a touch of crime, whispers about a gruesome serial killer adding real-world suspense to the overall creepiness of encroaching magic.

I loved this book. So much. It had me within the first few pages, with a latent spookiness underlying a theater production. Ellie was teaching the drama club stage combat. (Something I've always wanted to learn.) And better yet-- they were putting on a production of Midsummer Night's Dream. My favorite Shakespeare play of all time. Ever. (Stir up the right conversational tangent and I will bore you with details of playing Peter Quince in my high school production. Memories of it still make me laugh fondly.) Right. Back to the book.
Magic and menace deepen around Ellie- lingering glances, an odd charm bracelet, an eccentric and imperious redheaded girl... Throughout it all, there's an additional exciting edge of foreignness, from the setting in New Zealand. Even before reality gets seriously skewed and the adventure begins, the glimpse into New Zealand's culture is fascinating. I don't know much about Maori culture, or how modern city life in New Zealand makes its peace with ancient traditions. It made the story even more enticing.
Once touches of magic and the supernatural became harder for Ellie to ignore, I loved the book even more. Odd, magical beings and events set against a college backdrop. It reminded me, in all the best possible ways, of Tam Lin, by Pamela Dean. Tam Lin is one of my all-time favorite novels, wonderful and otherworldly and immersive, even though I've lost track of how many times I've reread it. Guardian of the Dead looks like it's going to be the same kind of book. Whispers of Maori myth, Shakespeare, and the magical possibilities of everyday things, keep lingering at the back of my mind kind of dreamily.

The only frustrating part of this book--- is that I'm reviewing it in a giant YA roundup for the Newark Star-Ledger! And, newspaper budgets being as strict as they are, I have only a few words, a few sentences to spare. Wonder if my editor would let me write:

Read this. It's elegant, spooky modern fantasy. Go. Read this now.

What's the plural of apocalypse?

I don't think there's a viable word for the plural of apocalypse. Certainly not in English, and I would have to look up other languages. It's probably not the kind of word you need to pluralize...

Unless you're reading science fiction.

Over the past several years, I've been quite impressed with the caliber of plotting and writing going on in YA fiction. Particularly on the speculative fiction side. I can't confirm it based on numbers off the top of my head, but I'm almost certain there's more, and a better variety of speculative YA writing than there was when I was in the target demographic. I certainly don't remember a dedicated shelf for it. And, because the writing is consistently good, I find myself browsing that shelf even now.

There's one sub-genre I don't appreciate. The apocalypse, or post-apocalyptic science fiction. Brr! Drop a bomb, have a natural disaster, build a shelter, be the last surviving humans warily building a settlement--- and count me right out of reading it. I get that it makes a good adventure. Sometimes, I even like the adventure parts: a good mad scientist, a mystery, some chasing.

But... yow! Apocalyptic scenarios are scarier to me than almost anything else: murder mysteries; the ghostly or magical supernatural; the medical thrillers that would make me squeamish to watch if they were films.  The supernatural or sci-fi Big Bad threat is just fine. Demons and vampires, sure!

But forget the plagues or natural disasters! Scenes in movies where recognizable landmarks are partially decayed terrify me, completely and viscerally. Why is it always the Statue of Liberty getting exploded or revealed in the futuristic human wreckage?

I feel odd when called upon to review them. Just finished reading one from the YA pile. Epitaph Road, set in 2097, depicts a future when 97 percent of the planet's males have been wiped out by some mysterious virus. Despite my fears and misgivings, I got into it. It's  more of a science and medical thriller, with enough futuristic customs and gadgets to blunt the edges. In contrast, the graphic novel series Y: The Last Man, a favorite of my Dad's--- feels a little too scarily close for comfort.

Off to read something else from the review stash-a nice, comforting thriller about a serial killer,and as far as I can tell, faeries in New Zealand.

Reviewer jargon

Reading Michelle Kerns, Book Examiner, keeps me honest. Or so I tell myself. She's very funny, especially on the subject of book reviewer cliches. And she's so very right.

I am working my way through a pile of YA books... and kicking myself mentally for having sent my book review editor a column Michelle wrote about book reviewer cliches in newspapers.

What was I thinking? Now, more than ever, I'm fretting over the words I use too often. What, other than the word "engrossing" do you use for the fact that you forgot the characters weren't real? When every word counts, as it does in ink and paper journalism these days. In my defense, I haven't used the word luminous yet.

Clichés are leeches. They drain the blood out of everything a reviewer is trying to say, blood that would be better off pumped straight from the writer's carotid artery onto the page (see Book reviewing as a blood sport for more bloody details). Burn those leeches off, baby, and you'll find you're left with something worth saying. Or, perhaps, you'll find you have nothing to say whatsoever. Sometimes, it's a toss-up as as to which scenario is more terrifying.

Drat. I'm learning about food clichés too, in my food journalism class. This week's assignment: write a review. Try not to use the words "tasty" or "delicious." (Or, for beer reviewers- let's try to move beyond "crisp" versus "sweet" maybe? Because hoppy and malty kind of have to stick around.)

With word counts at a premium, how the heck do you say what needs saying without having to use too many words to explain what you uniquely mean? Part of me is worried about writing accurate descriptions of certain taste experiences. I wonder how many times I can claim that some stunningly delicious morsel ricocheted from my taste buds to my spine before some reader or editor recommends that I write my next review from a padded cell. Delicious food is a full-contact experience for me- and I'm equally exuberant about high end sushi, a piece of dark chocolate, good beer, or sometimes even bar food. I wonder if I'm burning reviews out with all that enthusiasm- or making people feel cynical. "Oh there she goes with the exclamation points again."  Books too- I need other ways to say how completely impressed I am by a good story, how fully the outside world goes away and I get involved in the characters.

I need to learn new adjectives. Or dig around til I use new ones. Also, no more reading Michelle til after I file.

Time to go read more engrossing teen novels with fully realized, engaging characters and surprising plot twists.

Summer reading

As usual, I'm writing ahead of the seasons. My editor at the Ledger just sent me a glorious pile of YA fiction to read, to create a summer reading list that goes against the grain of the typical assigned high school books.

I've always been an avid reader. A fairly eclectic reader, too, even in high school. But I remember there was something about assigned summer reading that chafed my spirit. I loved to read of course. I was at the library twice a week for stacks of fiction (science fiction and fantasy, especially in high school.) Traditional fiction and YA fiction, too.

But... some of the assigned books were so awful. I remember kicking myself very hard for accidentally reading the wrong Hemingway, and then having to go read another. (Still not a fan.) I remember that my Uncle Ron, who taught high school English,  read Far From the Madding Crowd in tandem with me. That made it sort of better. I had someone to growl to about the things I disliked. I remember that Member of the Wedding gave me a nightmarish, claustrophobic feeling. Which might have been the point. Wide Sargasso Sea was spooky too-- but, because so much about it was tropical, it made for all right summer reading I think.

Which brings me to my two lovely boxes of YA novels that I get to read and write about and recommend to teenagers who are probably suffering the same books I remember. I'm glad it was hot and summery weather today. Puts me in the right frame of mind.

I feel like a happy bookish teenager myself.

Or-- the cool, slightly nerdy younger aunt to all of New Jersey's teen population. Thus far... no contenders for the Stephenie Meyer award for sparkly vampire insipidity.