YA New York

When I got Lizabeth Zindel’s two books from Viking, I thought I’d dig in with the first one first. Silly girl that I am, I thought maybe the second was a sequel.

But it seems that, at least for right now, Girl of the Moment is a standalone. And I have to say, I’m disappointed, because the minute I finished the book I opened her next one, still thinking it was a sequel. Alas, though The Secret Rites of Social Butterflies looks lovely, it is most definitely not a sequel.

Which is to say: Lizabeth, get to work. Write me a sequel to Girl of the Moment. Preferably now. Please?

I will be reviewing her second book in a few days, or as soon as I can. But her first was just so delicious, I don’t know if her second can meet up with my expectations.

Plot: Lily Miles gets a summer internship with a sixteen-year-old movie star (starlet, the actress insists), and suffers through a whole summer of being treated like a weird combination of servant and best friend. I was hooked immediately because the starlet’s fake name is Sabrina Snow, and my name is also Sabrina. But alas! This Sabrina was so not like me. First of all, she’s gorgeous. Second of all, she’s rich. Third, she has a dog. And fourth, she’s a total … witch. Well, not all of the time, but most of the time.

In fact, we don’t really get to explore Sabrina’s inner life enough. And we don’t get a chance to see Lily form a real relationship with her that doesn’t consist of being sent to stores to pick up diet pills, or answer fan mail with form letters.

It’s a really great read, but like so many great reads, it leaves you wanting more. In my case, demanding more.

That’s why I’m really, really hoping Lizabeth will be doing a sequel. Which I’ll definitely be asking her at some point in the (hopefully) near future. For now, I’m off to read this book about social butterflies …

Buy Girl of the Moment from Amazon.com.

This is a book review of a non-YA book. Yes, yes it is. And yes, this site is called “YA New York,” not “Not YA New York.” But I can’t help myself.

Because Meg Cabot, High Priestess of YA, or as my friend Jami calls her, “the Yoda of YA,” has penned yet another fantabulous book. Her list of wonders grows ever longer, my friends.

I love that woman so much it’s sick. But here’s the thing: Meg write lots of books. Some are YA, like the super-awesome Princess Diaries series and my personal favorite, Jinx. Some are not, like Queen of Babble Gets Hitched.

When this tome arrived in the arms of The Boyfriend last night, in an envelope with a Key West postmark, I ripped into it faster than I have with any other book any publisher has ever sent me.

This is because I have been waiting for this completion of the Queen of Babble series for quite some time. The first book of the series was sent to me by a very kind publicist in manuscript form. I still have that manuscript, even though it’s totally waterlogged from having been read in the bathtub. The second book, Queen of Babble in the Big City, I might have actually bought. Indeed, I know I did. In hardcover, too. And then I was super-annoyed when it had a cliffhanger ending. I was like, “Meg! What are you doing to me? Do you really think I can wait months, years even, to find out what happens to our heroine, Lizzie Nichols?”

So this final installment is one I’ve been itching to get my hands on for … well, forever. And I’m so glad I did, because it is the best of the series.

Look, here. When I was a teenager, there weren’t a lot of books for me to read. Not books written expressly for kids my age. You know, when you’re sixteen you’re too old for Sweet Valley High. Heck, you’re too old for that stuff by the time you turn thirteen.

And so by the time I was thirteen I was buying books that had Fabio on the cover. Books filled with words like “turgid.” Yes, that’s right. I was a trashy romance addict. Because books were never censored in my house, I got away with it. As long as Fabio was only like, peeking out from underneath a cover that seemed more chaste than it actually was.

Meg’s books are not trashy romance, though they are chick lit for grownups. So here is what I have to say to you: Decide for yourself. If you’re older than, say, fourteen, I’m sure you can handle Meg’s adult books. But be warned: They’re about grownups who have sex and get married and stuff. So, you know, it’s definitely not like reading about Mia Thermopolis.

Back to my point here: I know these books are written for an adult audience, but I trust teens to read whatever they want, and I’m not going to tell you to forsake one of your favorite YA authors just because her newest book is for a different demographic. Also, there is nothing nasty in any of Meg’s books — they are all as wholesome as she is, though you may find the occasional curse word in her adult fiction.

If, on the other hand, you are twelve … well, you might wait a year or two or three. But I honestly don’t think any of you out there are twelve, from the spying I’ve been doing on my statistic logs. And that’s all good, because occasionally I use a naughty word myself, you know. As do most YA writers, I’ve discovered.

Point here: Meg Cabot proves, once again, that she is the goddess of all things YA and chick lit and YA chick lit and adult chick lit, and Queen of Babble Gets Hitched is absolutely worth every penny, whether you’re sixteen or sixty. Which is why I broke my own rule about this being a land of YA and YA alone. Because, I have to admit, every once in awhile there is a good, teen-friendly book that doesn’t feature a teen protagonist.

Buy Queen of Babble Gets Hitched from Amazon.com.

Usually when I get a sequel in the mail, I’ll either (a) ignore it, (b) write the publicist and ask for any previous books, or (c) look longingly at it and think, “If only I had read the earlier books …”

But Cupcake was a little different. I wasn’t absolutely positive it was a sequel. Who knows, maybe Rachel Cohn just likes naming her books after food products. And also, who would want a sandwich made of Gingerbread, Shrimp and a Cupcake? The Boyfriend claims it sounds like something you could order at Starbucks, a Gingerbread-Shrimp-Cupcake latte. But if I were going for something, you know, appetizing, I’d leave out the shrimp.

Anyway, I decided to throw caution to the wind and jump right into Cupcake. And even for a Rachel Cohn virgin like myself, it was a blast to read. It turned out my earlier instincts had been right: it is indeed the third book in a series. But Rachel does a good job of welcoming the newbie and making sure the reader gets caught up on details, even if she has failed to read the previous two novels.

In fact, Cupcake just makes me want to go to the bookstore and buy the earlier books. Because it just … rocks.

Okay, short synopsis time: Cyd Charisse, named after the real Cyd Charisse but in actuality better known as CC, has moved to New York after high school, ostensibly to go to culinary school while sharing an apartment with her half-brother. Only things don’t go quite as planned. CC breaks a leg almost immediately upon arrival, and it takes awhile for her to get her life going in a direction she likes. But through the whole novel, you have this sense, this idea: “Oh my God, what if CC and her brother Danny did this thing that would be totally awesome? I can totally see it now!” I won’t tell you what that thing is, of course, but you’ll know what it is when you come to it.

Rachel’s just got a style that makes you feel comfy and happy and like you want to lose yourself in her writing forever and ever. And if you already know CC from Rachel’s earlier books, you know she’s a wacky character who will lead you on adventures you’d never have imagined on your own. Which, of course, is why we read novels: because novelists just have these crazy ideas that they write down and turn into a separate reality into which we can escape.

Cupcake is perfect summer escape fiction. It’s the kind of book you can read even while electricians are cutting giant holes in the walls of your apartment, even while plaster dust is landing all over your furniture, even while camping out on your dining room floor because every other room in the joint is covered in dust and debris. It’s the kind of book that can save your sanity when you’re in such a situation, and I say that with firsthand experience.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to go dust and move furniture — our living room and bedroom are finally ready to be re-inhabited. When I wake up tomorrow, I fully intend to go over to my local bookseller and demand copies of Gingerbread and Shrimp.

Buy Cupcake from Amazon.com.

Yes, it’s the fourth of July. Happy Independence Day, folks! Today, I am independent from the contractors who have been plaguing me all month, and who will be plaguing me for at least another week. Which means I’m going to stuff you to the gills with reviews so you don’t starve when my interweb shuts down again, due to a lack of electricity.

Here’s a book with lots of electricity: My Summer on Earth by Tom Lombardi.

Meet Clint Eastwood. That’s not actually his name. It’s supposed to be Stanley Boriswat, which is the name the folks on his home planet told him to use. He said it was “douchey” and decided to call himself Clint Eastwood instead.

Yes, I said home planet. Clint/Stanley is an alien, who has been sent to Los Angeles on a rescue mission of sorts. You’re starting to think, “Oh, no. Sci fi. I don’t like sci fi.” Or you may be starting to think that, except if you are, you’re wrong. Because this is sci fi a la Douglas Adams, a la The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy.

What I mean is, it’s a barrel of teen laughs, and there’s a bit of drama to go with it. I mean, what teenage boy-ish creature comes to earth and doesn’t have some angst? Some issues? Not only does he have to try to blend in, which is hard enough for us earthlings, but he also has to capture a fellow alien and take the dude home. He’s got his hands very, very full. He doesn’t know what the colloquialism “loser” means, let alone how to get a girl to fall madly in love with him or how to capture a fellow alien.

Can I just say that this is the perfect beach read? The perfect fourth of July read? The perfect bathtub read, the perfect eat-while-you-read? I cannot recommend My Summer on Earth more highly. (Warning: Please be careful eating and/or drinking while gobbling down this novel, as you may end up painfully snarfing tuna salad and cola out your nose.)

Buy My Summer on Earth from Amazon.com.

Brian James’s new book, Zombie Blondes, totally shows that the “zombie trend” predicted by fantasy writers at a recent Books of Wonder event is, like, real.

Which, to be honest, is so not my thing. I mean, Brian’s book is good and all … if you like zombies. The problem is if you’re afraid of zombies. In which case you, like me, will have nightmares. Seriously.

What I mean is, Brian’s novel is actually a pretty good work of horror. It keeps you on your toes, uncertain whether to let down your guard. And it builds up suspense. And did I mention it will scare you out of your wits?

Hannah, our heroine/victim-to-be, moves to a new town that seems to have been left back in time somehow. She’s used to moving around, though, used to scoping out the popular kids at new schools, because her father seems to be running from financial troubles everywhere he goes.

Anyway, this time around things are … odd. Of course they are. The book is called Zombie Blondes. ZOMBIE. BLONDES.

Ahem. I won’t tell you much more here, except that if you like a good scare once in awhile, you’ll get one from reading this tome. And, if you ask me, you’ll probably get a sequel. Which means twice as much awesome human-eating blood-drinking walking dead! Which means, no offense, that I’ll probably stick to the vampires and witches and wizards and things. They seem so much nicer, like David Boreanaz on Buffy. Such a sweet boy. Until he went all evil, but, you know. Still pretty hot, and he didn’t stay evil.

Right. Back to the book. Three thumbs up if you like scariness, one thumb up if you’re, like, scared by scariness.

Buy Zombie Blondes from Amazon.com.