Here is what you folks who may be reading this here blog should know about Scarlett Fever: It is the second installment of a series of novels about a 15-year-old girl (named Scarlett, natch) whose family owns a rundown NYC hotel. In the first book (Suite Scarlett), our heroine got a job working for a crazy lady (crazy awesome, that is) named Amy Amberson. Mrs. Amberson is very wealthy, very eccentric, and — I almost hate to admit this — very cool. She’s also a former actress who has just started her own talent agency, and in this second novel she has Scarlett running around town trying to keep the talent happy.

Meanwhile, our protagonist is starting a new school year, hoping maybe things will get back to normal now that her family’s hotel is no longer home to an off-Broadway production of Hamlet. But … the Martins don’t do normal. Their hotel is empty, and it’s looking more neglected with each passing day. Elder sister Lola and elder brother Spencer are both feeling poor and unsuccessful, which means they both do absolutely idiotic things to improve their lives. Younger sister and cancer survivor Marlene is being oddly nice; if you’ve read the first book you know that Marlene doesn’t do nice any more than the Martin family does normal. To top it all off, Scarlett’s BFF Dakota has had to resort to threats to keep our heroine from spending all her time looking at pictures and videos of her summer crush.

Maureen’s series is like The Hotel New Hampshire (a great novel by John Irving, which spawned a not-great movie with Jodie Foster and Rob Lowe) minus the death and sex. It’s like MoJo channeled Helen Fielding (Bridget Jones’s Diary), Nora Ephron (When Harry Met Sally) and John Irving all at once. In other words, it’s wonderful.

So what are you waiting for? Go! Get your read on. And when you’re all done, come back and tell me about your favorite part of MoJo’s latest. I personally am in love with the rat-dog known as Murray, but I won’t say more, because I don’t want to spoil anything for the uninitiated.

Much love,
brina

It’s a freakin’ oasis. And a place not unlike Amoeba — on Telegraph Avenue in Berkeley — is where we meet The Vinyl Princess. Her real name is Allie. Actually, her real name is Alberta. But that’s a long story.

Okay, so here’s the story: Allie loves vinyl. She loves records. She detests MP3s. And so, in the break between her junior and senior years of high school, she starts her very own blog, The Vinyl Princess.

The book itself is a love story, of sorts. There are guys in bands, hot guys who drop by the record store, guys Allie’s mom dates, guys Allies’ best friend dates … it’s just a big ol’ barrel of boys, this book.

Some of them, of course, are jerks. I’ll leave you to figure that part out on your own.

What’s really outstanding about Prinz’s novel, though, is the music. You need to be a music lover to enjoy The Vinyl Princess, but don’t even try to be as knowledgeable as our heroine. She knows it all, and Prinz’s entire book could serve as a sort of top 10,000 list.

I’ve been meaning to post this review for ages, ever since I had the honor of meeting Yvonne in August. I also have a (partial) interview with her that I intend to post ASAP (i.e. before the world ends). For now, please go read and enjoy Yvonne’s latest, and I’ll be back with more … eventually.

Much love,
brina

The thing is, Libba is one of the world’s funniest people (see her blog, Maureen Johnson’s vlogs with her, etc.), but that didn’t fully shine through in her Gemma Doyle trilogy, which was big on the drama but not quite as big on the absurd.

Bovine is a good old-fashioned road trip story in which the hero must save the world in order to save himself; what makes it unique is that it’s completely insane and will have you snort-laughing for hours. See, this book is about a kid with mad cow disease who meets punk rock angels and giants made of fire and who becomes friends with the world’s most bizarre sidekick — a Hispanic hypochondriac dwarf — not to mention a Norse god disguised as a yard gnome. Oh, and he visits a place called the Church of Everlasting Satisfaction and Snack And Bowl.

Suffice it to say, I have now read Going Bovine twice, and I still think it’s the funniest, smartest, most interesting thing I’ve seen this year. Not to mention the weirdest. If Roald Dahl, Lewis Carroll and Douglas Adams had all collaborated, they still wouldn’t have been able to top Libba’s masterpiece. Go read it now, please.

If you need more convincing, please watch the trailer, in which Libba wears a cow costume and describes her latest work as “the feel-good mad cow disease string theory book of September 2009.”

And no, I honestly don’t think I’m giving much away by revealing that Hannah, the first book in the Daughters of the Sea series, is about mermaids.

I mean, look at that picture. Mermaid alert!

Having said all that, this particular tome is an interesting read. Hannah is an orphan who, at the tender age of fourteen, is turned loose from a Boston orphanage to find her own way in the world. Unfortunately, her own way takes her to Kansas, where she becomes terribly ill.

Because mermaids aren’t supposed to go so far from the sea.

Although, of course, she doesn’t know yet that she is a mermaid. We know it, because of the cover and the fact that normal people don’t shed salt wherever they go. But Hannah doesn’t.

Anyway, she is promptly sent back to Boston, where she becomes a scullery maid for one of the city’s wealthiest families. The situation makes for an interesting plot, mermaid or no. I found myself thinking of Sara Crewe several times while reading the novel: a little princess, reduced to a mere scullery maid.

But it is through Hannah’s work that she’s able to discover certain things about herself. Like her natural ability to play the harp. Or to swim. Or to draw the attentions of a particularly attractive gentleman.

After reading Hannah, I’m quite eager to see what’s in store for us next. My only concern is that the book seems a bit young (perhaps because of the humongous print?), but by young I mean Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, not Golden Books. In other words, Lasky’s work is definitely within the YA realm.

Next time you’re browsing at your local bookshop, do take a peek at Hannah. If you’re like me, you’ll read the entire thing in about forty-five minutes. And then you can come tell us what you think, aye?

PS. No, really. Mermaids. They are the now thing. Agree? Disagree? I want to hear your opinions.

I was jealous because, about a million years ago, Emily Wing went to the prom with my boyfriend. That was before he was my boyfriend, of course, back when the two of them were growing up in Bountiful and West Bountiful, Utah. It is a town that is so Mormon that the students get a break during public high school to go attend seminary, which is the Mormon version of … intensive Sunday school, I guess. Or, if you’re Jewish, it’s probably more like Hebrew school. ‘Cos you only go to Sunday school on Sundays.

Adam just got home from a trip out west to see his family. He brought Emily’s book back with him, and I’m so glad he did. In addition to being a fantastic read, The Way He Lived gave me an inside look into the suburb where Adam and Emily both grew up.

Also, there’s a character in the book named Adam who (a) wears sweatpants all the time and (b) takes public transit. You should know that in suburban Utah, very few people take public transit. But Adam — the real life Adam — did take public transit. And he wore sweatpants.

Emily, if you should read this, I want you to know that Adam has upgraded to nice-fitting jeans (dark wash), American Apparel T-shirts, and good old-fashioned Chuck Taylors. Oh, and his scraggly goatee? Is now a full-on, awesome beard.

But her book isn’t really about Adam. She just slipped him in as one of the characters she seems to remember fondly from her walks down memory lane.

Instead the novel — I would call it a novel, though it resembles a collection of short stories — is about how seven different teenagers cope with the death of their friend/lover/brother, Joel. Emily’s writing is fantastic, and she deals with all sorts of complex issues: suicide (not that Joel’s death was one; I’m really not giving anything away here), homosexuality, mental illness. It’s the part about mental illness that really sucked me in, because you can tell that Emily wrote truth, which is the best kind of writing there is.

It’s a good book. A great book. Blurbed by Sara Zarr and Carrie Jones. And worth reading. A little jealousy might be natural, too, if only because Emily is so very talented. But it’s the good kind of jealousy, the kind that propels the reader along his or her own road, instead of the kind of jealousy that makes a person fester.

So. Go forth and read. Look here for an interview with Emily’s high school friend, Adam, who probably has many more insights than I do. And who also can’t escape his impending interview. I know where he lives. (Insert evil cackle here.)

Unfortunately, I can never read my copy again, because I used it to kill a house centipede. That’s why I’m going to give this one away and buy a new one. Also because it’s good, and it deserves to be read again.

Heaven, it would seem, is a phone bank. In Tonya’s first book we met Charlotte Usher, the girl who died on the first day of school by choking on a gummy bear. I have to say, I didn’t love Charlotte at first. She seemed selfish and clueless. But she proves herself in this second installment that involves three girls at the brink of death, with Charlotte working Heaven’s phone bank (or not working, as the case may be).

Anyway, it’s an absurd and absorbing read, in addition to being one of the prettier books I’ve ever read. I really wish I hadn’t used it to kill a house centipede. Indeed, if I hadn’t, I’d quote bits of it to you.

Instead, I’ll let you go buy your own copy. You can’t miss it.

Problem: I just picked it up and it seems that it’s died a tragic death. I mean, it’s no longer in readable condition. At all. Which, to be honest, is a good indicator that I liked it a lot.

Gentlemen is Michael Northrop’s debut YA novel, and it’s so awesome that it actually made me consider reading Crime and Punishment, that great opus by Fyodor Dostoevsky. And I’ve never been big on … you know. Hard-to-read classic literature.

No one but no one can make me read Dostoevsky. Except maybe Michael Northrop, it would seem.

Right. So about this book, already. Our protag, Mike, is one of the dunces of his class. This is sort of refreshing. We don’t generally get books about boys at all. Boys who are dunces, maybe even kind of unsavory? Inconceivable.

Mike and his friends are reading Crime and Punishment in their English class when suddenly they begin to suspect that their teacher has … well … lived out the scenario in the novel they’re studying. This gets Mike to actually read Crime and Punishment, but it also gets him and his friends into a heap of trouble. With crime, you know. And punishment.

Honestly? Michael’s book is refreshing. It’s different. Granted, it’s yet another (another!) bit of YA fiction that encourages us to tackle the big bad scary books. But it does it so well that I can’t help forgiving Michael. Also? I think maybe it’s time I went out and bought some Dostoevsky.

And I should probably clean up that pile of books next to my tub.

PS. Who are we kidding? That pile of books will never shrink.

But I did finish reading Hunger.

A few quick words of advice for those of you out there who have yet to read Michael Grant’s newest novel: Don’t eat and read at the same time.

A few quick links before I continue: Hunger is a Gone novel, which was reviewed here back when it debuted. I also interviewed Michael back in the day.

He blogs at Stupid Blog Name. He’s invited me to blog there, although I must admit I’m a bit intimidated by the idea. Michael also has a website for this series at The FAYZ. (FAYZ stands for Fallout Alley Youth Zone.)

Do not attempt to read Hunger without first reading Gone. If you’re up for it, try to re-read the first novel before delving into the second: there’s a lot to remember.

Now, on to the actual review: Hunger, like Gone, is one of those big summer blockbuster kinds of books. It’s 592 pages long, which means you can drag it around with you for ages if you like. On a plane. To the beach. Or, if you’re like me, you can swallow it down whole in a day.

Short plot summary: Fifteen-year-old Sam Temple was elected mayor of Perdido Beach and the FAYZ after the adults all disappeared one day. Three months have passed, and now kids are starving. People who were friends are turning on one another. There’s no rewards system for working, so lots of kids just don’t show up. Apathy has taken over, and anger, and everyone is splitting up into factions. The monster at the bottom of the mine shaft is hungry, too, and it’s calling people to it.

So, right. Big summer blockbuster. A novel that is at once a book, an action movie, a horror flick, a bit sci fi, and a nice civics lesson.

What’s most interesting about Hunger is that Michael uses the story to explore various forms of government. A republic, of sorts. Capitalism. Dictatorship. So, those of you going into your junior year should be well-prepared for AP American History and/or Government after you’ve read Hunger. Seriously.

But it’s also a good story, considering Michael is one of those insanely prolific master storytellers. It’s interesting enough that you’ll have a hard time putting it down — even if you are trying to eat.

Hunger isn’t my usual cup of tea, I must admit. I tend to go for the girlier stuff, books about falling in love. Or faeries. Vampires, even. Anything that lets me escape from the real world for however long it take to read.

You don’t want to escape into the FAYZ. That terrible place where adults have popped out is just … total mayhem. It’s not a fun place. I wouldn’t want to live there. I wouldn’t want to visit.

And yet. And yet the novel sucked me in. In spite of the fact that I’m a squeamish sort, the kind of girl who doesn’t particularly like to imagine worms with teeth, or people with whips for hands.

::shudder::

All in all, I cannot in good conscience let you go through this summer without reading Michael Grant’s latest. Even if it gave me the heebie-jeebies. Even if I’m sure it will give you the heebie-jeebies. It’s worth.

Now get to work. You’ve got a lot of reading to do.

That’s what finally gets him booted. After almost eighteen years, Liam’s CEO dad has had enough and announces he’s being shipped off to his grandparents’ house in Nevada.

Liam doesn’t like his grandparents, and they don’t like him. So his mother arranges for him to stay with his aunt Pete. Actually, scratch that. Pete is his uncle, his dad’s brother, but Liam thinks of him as “Aunt Pete” because of the time he showed up for dinner in a red dress. The time his dad lost it and then stopped speaking to Pete.

Right. So popular, cool Liam Geller moves into Pete’s trailer and antics ensue as Liam attempts to become unpopular. Uncool. Smart. He even puts pens into his shirt pocket, but nothing seems to work. He is cursed with the gift of popularity.

K.L. Going’s most recent book is a masterpiece: funny, smart, moving. It’s the kind of book you can relate to even if you, like me, were never a popular boy.

I previewed this book several months ago, and when I re-read it yesterday I remembered that it was something that deserved a review right away. So if you haven’t read it already, go check it out.

PS. Going, like so many other YA authors, makes us think about classic literature a we read teen lit. Maybe we’re trying to escape from reading, say, Hamlet, but Going won’t let us get away with that. So when you go out and pick up King of the Screwups, get yourself a copy of Hamlet to go along with it. Just in case.

Gorgeous continues following the Avery family, starting from about the same place Lucky started but from the perspective of middle sister Allison, who wants more than anything to be … beautiful.

And the first sentence is a doozy. Guaranteed to suck you right in. Takes the whole Avery saga in a very strange direction. Makes you think, “You did what to whom???”

I won’t hold out on you. Here ’tis:

“I sold my cell phone to the devil.”

YES! We need more books involving people selling stuff to the devil. There have been a few good ones. (Soul Enchilada by David McGinnis Gill, for starters.) But we need more. And I’m glad Rachel is contributing to the genre.

Really, though, Gorgeous is not some bizzarro foray into the realm of religious fantasy. The whole “sold my cell phone to the devil” thing is a vehicle for exploring Allison Avery’s struggle with regular teen stuff: beauty, popularity, boys, and of course wealth.

I won’t tell you too much for fear of spoiling the plot, but the gist is this: Allison makes her deal with the devil. People find her more attractive. And then she accidentally finds herself sought out by the modeling industry.

Back when I reviewed Lucky I wrote that it was really refreshing for an author to tackle the subject of wealth in such a direct way. What I love about Rachel’s sequel is that she’s continuing to embroider the story of the Avery sisters (and their financial struggles), and she’s not sticking to a boilerplate to do it.

So. Great book. Twenty-seven gold stars, fifteen green stars, nine hundred blue stars and seventy-nine red stars.

If you haven’t already read Lucky, start there. Then check out Gorgeous while eagerly awaiting the final book in this trilogy, Brilliant.

And look out for an interview with Rachel here on the site some time soon.