When the Stars Go Dark, by Paula McClain: An engaging mystery with depth and atmosphere – the descriptions of coastal northern California towns and redwood forests are captivating. There were three occasions, though, on which I thought “Surely X character would not do Y – oh, here goes X character doing Y” in a way that felt contrived for the plot.
Vladimir, by Julia May Jonas: Fifty pages in, I thought, “Do I hate this? I might hate this.” I definitely squawked several times in the early chapters, was taken aback, was put off. At the same time, it’s trenchant, mordant, and funny. One hundred and fifty pages in, I was somewhat repulsed by nearly every character, and also cognizant that my repulsion might say something about me and that the author might be aware of this and have intended it. By the time I finished, I was both impressed and annoyed. Absurd, madcap, and definitely not boring.
These Silent Woods, by Kimi Cunningham Grant: I recognize that the ending to this was “unrealistic,” but it was satisfying nonetheless. I’ve so frequently and recently read novels with ambiguous, quiet, or unresolved endings that I was craving a neatly packaged ending like salt. Sometimes the voice of the narrator slipped a bit for me, but overall I found this compelling. The voice of the eight-year-old, though, wasn’t difficult to accept, even though she made for a precocious and unusual child.
The Other Side of Perfect, by Mariko Turk: Reading contemporary YA performing arts novels out of nostalgia, but finding that I may simply need to continue revisiting the performing arts fiction from my own childhood to satisfy that nostalgia yearning (I do, in fact, have a book on my shelf called Another Way to Dance, which has a pretty similar ring to it although the two don’t track the same plot). I read a piano-prodigy-novel a few years back called The Lucy Variations that I wanted to be as good as my childhood favorite The Mozart Season, and I had the same basic experience. Which is perfectly logical; these were not written for me! And favorites from growing up get preserved in amber (and also have the benefit of speaking the way you spoke, having the same technology you had, being set in the same world…). Maybe I should do a test with YA fiction from my generation that I never read growing up – see if it’s that I’m too old or that it’s the era that matters. In the meantime, I wouldn’t mind more literature for adults set in ballet companies! **On revisiting this train of thought after finishing the book (which, I confess, grew on me as I read), I realize I’ve read recent fiction that’s billed as YA (We Are Okay by Nina LaCour, for ex) that has been thoroughly enjoyable, and also that I didn’t wholesale endorse all of the YA I read as a kid (That Summer by Sarah Dessen never did it for me, even when I was 12). The Other Side of Perfect was a bit didactic, but ultimately successful. I think I just wanted something that is still thoroughly behind-the-scenes of performing arts rather than “what comes next.”
A Flicker in the Dark, by Stacy Willingham: I don’t know if there was something subconscious going on when I was reserving these at the library – dark, woods, stars, flicker – or if all of the recommendations sprang from the same source. This was not especially memorable – I could predict most of the plot points and the writing itself was uninspired.
