28. Reservations

The book:  Under the Never Sky (Under the Never Sky #1)
The author:  Veronica Rossi
The rating:  4 stars

Like Cinder and Legend before it, Under the Never Sky was one of those books that I'd been cognisant of for a long time but that I'd always passed up whenever I came across it at the bookstore.  It had a pretty cover, a dystopian premise, and a whimsical title that appealed to the girly romantic in me, but the blurb always made me wary.  Girl-from-dystopian-society meets savage-boy-from-the wilds and falls in love... it's not the kind of summary that instills the necessary confidence that it won't just be the sort of hackneyed dystopian-romance cash-in I know and loathe.  However, after the debacle that was the Delirium series, I picked it up at the library, comforted by the fact that no matter what, it wouldn't be the worst book I read this summer.

Despite my low expectations, the first few chapters of Under the Never Sky didn't impress me much. Genetically-engineered perfect!girl with a cringeworthy name à la preteen fan-fiction, handwave-y future!tech, a futurified version of a topical societal issue to give the impression of being 'meaningful literature'... coupled with the fact that Rossi does not even have the advantage of Lauren Oliver's strangely-melodic prose, for a time I feared that I had been tempting fate with that whole 'it wouldn't be the worst book I read this summer' thought.

However, as I continued with the novel, I began to find that Under the Never Sky's dust jacket synopsis hadn't truly done the novel justice; the story was more than the Twilight-esque 'I-love-him-but-he's-dangerous' shtick that I had feared it might amount to be.  The romance had surprising depth, realism, and humour; the fantasy elements gave the novel a unique twist; Rossi managed to continuously steer the novel away from the plot pitfalls into which I'd initially thought it would sink.

Overall, Under the Never Sky was by no means fantastic, but it was a solidly enjoyable start to what has the potential to be a solidly enjoyable series.  I'll definitely be checking out Through the Ever Night at some point in the near future, though first on my list:  the wildly successful A Song of Ice and Fire series.  That might take me a while.

27. Third Strike

The book:  Requiem (Delirium #3)
The author:  Lauren Oliver
The rating:  2 stars

I've been struggling to write a review for this book, procrastinating in a way that is normally reserved only for term papers and phone calls to relatives, and for a while I couldn't understand why.  I've always enjoyed writing these reviews (it's not as if I'm being paid to tell the Internet my opinions, after all), but for some reason my subconscious seemed to be avoiding writing this review at all costs.  By this point, I've already read another book that needs reviewing, so I've been forced to ret-con this review into existence lest not count Requiem towards my challenge total entirely. But now, struggling to think of something to say about the final, trite book in what I've found to be an entirely trite series, I've realized that the problem is that I simply didn't care one iota about Requiem.

Confession time:  today is actually August 15th, not the 3rd, so I finished this book about two weeks ago, and I still don't have anything to say about it except to rehash everything I've said about Delirium and Pandemonium.  It was boring; nothing stands out two weeks later except for the fact that the ending was positively horrendous.  Utterly unexplored character deaths, arbitrary endpoints, and overall no semblance of closure for pretty much all of the major plot points of the trilogy.  If I was actually emotionally invested in the series, I would probably have been thoroughly disappointed.

And, yeah, that's about it for this review.  If you're thinking 'Wait, what?  This review is over already?  She hasn't even said anything yet!', then congratulations!  That's the exact feeling you'll get when you turn the last page of Requiem.  Now that you've got that experience out of the way, you can leave the Delirium series on the shelf and save yourself a handful of hours of your hard-earned free time.

26. C'est Pareil

The book:  Pandemonium (Delirium #2)

The author:  Lauren Oliver

The rating:  3 stars

I don't know if I'd go so far as to say that Pandemonium was even worse than Delirium, but it certainly wasn't any better.  All the failings of the original were back in full force, coupled with a few new transgressions.

The twists still were dull and predictable, although Oliver does not have Lena figure things out until chapters after it has become blatantly obvious to the reader.  This contributes to Lena's downward spiral into a completely grating, intolerable heroine, although her slowness does not hold a candle to the awful romantic plot of Pandemonium.  I mentioned in my review of Delirium that the Lena/Alex romance was painfully instantaneous—her entire view of the world, morality, and herself is utterly transformed in just a few days with a cute boy?  Really?—but having suspended my incredulity over this unlikely instalove and accepted the fact that Lena and Alex simply had some sort of deep, pure, unfathomable love that seventeen-year-old, never-been-kissed me cannot even begin to contemplate, I found the new romance between Julian and Lena to be completely nonsensical.  It hasn't been years and she is finally healing and moving on—it has been six months, for goodness sake!  Unless Oliver is trying to make a commentary on the shallowness of teenage love (which is doubtful, considering how heavily her novels are leaning on the whole true-love-romance shtick), I cannot comprehend the rationale behind Julian's inclusion in the narrative other than to force our 'completely ordinary' heroine into a love triangle with two incredibly kind, funny, attractive guys.  Oh, how will she ever cope?

My second gripe about the novel is that it seems to have caught the 'overly convenient' bug.  Our heroes are able to guess four-digit, numeric passcodes (twice!) using rather implausible logic; on multiple occasions Lena happens to overhear exactly the piece of information she needs at exactly the right time, like when a guard just happens to mention Julian's hospital while she's eavesdropping.  No mundane, unhelpful chitchat about Joe's new cocker spaniel or how Ann traded Larry for the night shift; the only thing she overhears is exactly what she needs to know.  I understand the need to trim the fat and conserve plot details, but really?  It all oozes of contrived.

I suppose we have time for one final complaint:  Oliver's stock purple prose.  If I have to read one more teen novel where the heroine describes her male love interest as smelling of 'boy,' I am going to puke.  Seriously, was this descriptor in some writing seminar I missed?  Is Chapter ten of Writing Teen Romance for Dummies titled Male Olfactory Attractiveness?  I am finding it just a bit strangely specific.

Despite my general dislike of everything to do with this series, I've already downloaded the trilogy's final installment onto my eReader.  I'm not optimistic enough to chalk Pandemonium up to Middle Novel Syndrome; I'm almost certain that my opinion of this saga won't be saved by reading Requiem, but at least there's something cathartic about a surefire chance to complain. 

25. Tedium

The book:  Delirium (Delirium #1)
The author:  Lauren Oliver
The rating:  3 stars

This book was a dystopia, that's for sure.  An unimaginative, derivative dystopia, whose main 'twist' (love being forbidden) isn't really a twist at all; it's a frequent feature of dystopian literature.  I'd say about half of the dystopian novels I've read also have people paired up in assigned couple units:  The Giver, Matched... even Brave New World's hypersexual society portrays love as something alien and wrong.

Nevertheless, I'm a huge dystopia fan; there are worse things in the genre than cookie-cutter worlds, and so that alone wouldn't ruin the book for me.  However, Oliver does not find redemption on any other front.  The romance between Lena and Alex is one of paper-thin instalove.  Sorry, best-friend-since-childhood, I won't shift my world view one iota based on your pleas.  Oh, hello boy-I-just-met-and-who-I've-been-raised-to-wholeheartedly-believe-is-dangerous, a few days with you and my entire personality has been overhauled!  Secondary characters seem pulled out of cliches:  evil-stepfamily (and, just like in Cinder, the youngest stepsister is the exception);* stone-hearted policemen; so-much-better-than-me best friend (to prove just how 'ordinary' our heroine is)...

The plot twists are equally trite.  Oh, the future dystopian world is enclosed by a fence, outside of which there is no civilization?  I wonder where I've seen that before... (for the benefit of the hypothetical reader who has never, ever read a single dystopian novel in their entire life, the answer to that seemingly-rhetorical question is, of course, everywhere.)  Coupled with the old 'if you don't see the body' law of fiction, nothing Delirium threw at me came as any sort of surprise.

While there is nothing special about Delirium, I don't mean to suggest that it is an entirely terrible novel.  Oliver's prose is rather enjoyable to read, even if her subject matter isn't the most stimulating.  I also found the epigraphs at the start of each chapter to be a nice touch; they allow the reader to become a bit more immersed in the culture of Oliver's world, something that is otherwise too scarcely referenced.

Despite my reservations, I have already picked up the second book in the series, Pandemonium.  Perhaps some of the more problematic areas of Delirium will be rectified in this second installment, although I certainly won't be holding my breath.

*Yes, technically Lena's adopted family are her cousins, not her stepsisters, but the point still stands.

23. Agency

The book:  Fractured (Slated #2)
The author:  Teri Terry
The rating:  3 stars

Simply put, Fractured pales in comparison to the first novel in the series.  The wonderful, immersive, and thrilling story is replaced by a slew of cheap twists and turns, coming at the reader at the bizarre pace of nothing at all, and then all at once.  There's the twist where that character you knew was a bad guy all along reveals that they were a bad guy all along (to be honest, there's quite a few of these).  There's the twist where that character you knew was going to die dies.  There's the twist where that character you knew was a good guy all along reveals that they were a good guy all along.  And it's not just double agents; its triple and quadruple and pseudo-agents that are all thrown at you at such a rapid-fire pace that you couldn't give two hoots about any of them.

Furthermore, I stopped caring about Kyla.  As she gained literal freedom, losing her Levo and regaining some of her past, her character bizarrely lost agency, tossed between one group and another, constantly manipulated and with no discernible spirit of her own other than an ever-present, grating whine for her instalove, Ben.  The other characters were just as drab.  The interesting cast of the first book was mostly sidelined, their roles marginalized to mere plot devices:  Amy, Kyla's mum, Ben, even Dr. Lysander, to a point.  Their pagetime is given away to an irritating cast of terrorists from Kyla's past life as Rain; Nico in particular was grating to read.  Just as the intriguing characters were replaced by a flat ensemble with obvious fates, the thought-provoking questions of memory and identity were pushed aside to make room for a lackluster exploration of whether killing is ever justified.  The side supporting violence is designed to be soulless and extreme, making this exploration fairly unsatisfying; the reader is never forced to deal with a moral quandary, as it is always obvious that the AGT is just as bad as the Lorders.

However, Fractured is also the opposite of Slated in another regard:  while fantastic-novel Slated had a weak ending, Fractured's final chapters are perhaps the best part of the novel.  If the tone set at the end of Fractured carries over into its sequel like Slated's did, Shattered may well redeem the series for all this middle novel's wrongs.  I'm eager to finally learn more about Lucy and move far, far, away from Rain, easily the most intolerable of Kyla's threefold identities.  Shattered may not be next on my reading list, but Fractured hasn't quashed my spirit enough to stop me from coming back entirely.

22. Clean Slate

The book:  Slated (Slated #1)
The author:  Teri Terry
The rating:  4.5 stars

Lucy isn't okay; she is as good as dead.  She doesn't exist anymore.  She's been Slated.

There are a lot of works which have been described as "riveting psychological thrillers" and are anything but.  Slated, on the other hand, is well-deserving of the epithet.  The suspense Terry creates from the very first page is palpable and unnerving, a combination of the Chasing Yesterday series by Robin Wasserman, the Dollhouse tv-show, and The Unbecoming of Mara Dyer (before the latter lost all suspense and became just another trite paranormal romance).  This suspense comes in part from Terry's voice and the way in which she describes the world, but also from the characters.  Again, unnerving is the best descriptor for many of the chilling cast, their smiles and murky motivations leaving the reader, like protagonist Kyla, unsure of who to trust.  Characters introduced in a negative light gradually shift to be perceived as friends; characters that initially appear allied to Kyla take on darker meanings.  There's no certainties on which to cling, nobody who is incontestably on Kyla's side, not even Kyla herself, devoid of her memories and her past, but with instincts and talents that remain as vestiges of the girl she must have been before.

Another aspect which contributes to the suspense is Terry's worldbuilding, something with which I seem to be fixated as of late, but I still attest that it is extremely significant to a good futuristic story.  Worldbuilding is well-integrated into Slated, a trait that stands out when info-dumps seem to be the norm in YA dystopian fiction.  Terry has mastered the 'show not tell' method of building her world, and accomplishes this feat without ever causing the reader to feel utterly confused and lost, unable to follow the story due to thick jargon or oblique historical references.  Furthermore, this future-UK is not farfetched or completely unbelievable.  There is no outrageous future-tech or unlikely historic events, just a restrained inclusion of a few important developments:  peaceful student protests that began to escalate; right versus left political tension that resulted in society toeing centre; new medical treatments coming out of autism research.  Heck, the way Kyla and Ben interact with their Levos is reminiscent of diabetics checking their blood sugar.  Unlike stories involving Space Amish, I can clearly imagine how society went from life as we know it today to Slated's future world; Terry uses past events to mould an undeniably plausible future, and this plausibility further increases the atmosphere of tension and suspense.

Aside from the suspense, another of Slated's virtues is the novel's intriguing premise.  Growing up, there were three types of novels that really enthralled me:  paranormal tales about witches or fae, vampires or psychics; stories about futuristic societies where danger lurked behind an idyllic surface; and finally, exciting thrillers about lost memories, amnesia, and forgotten identities.  As a kid, I could find amazing books in all three of my favourite genres if I looked, but after Twilight hit it big, paranormal stories exploded.  Nowadays, hundreds of paranormal romance clones flood the market, and I avoid them like the plague; while there's likely still ones out there as good as those I'd always loved, more often than not I'll just end up disappointed by a shoddy love triangle when I pick up an urban fantasy or paranormal adventure.  The second of my favourites also rose to prominence in the form of the dystopian genre, fueled by The Hunger Games and others like it.  Dystopia is also beginning to suffer from an oversaturation of poor copycat novels, trying to cash in on the successful trend, but evidently I haven't given up hope on that one yet.  While this book is also a dystopia, the final genre fits Slated like a glove:  stories that explore identity and memory.  Unlike the previous two types, this kind of novel has yet to rise in popularity, and so while there are a number of books that fall into the category, it enjoys a much greater sense of originality.  There are new ideas to explore here, and Slated explores them with insight and finesse.  If all our memories are taken from us, is the person we were "as good as dead?"  Are our memories all that make us who we are?

However, I did have a few quibbles with the novel that prevent me from awarding it the elusive five stars.  For one, I found that Kyla occasionally slipped into the role of a Mary Sue superstar:  she's an exceptional, one-of-a-kind artist; she's the fastest runner in the school, faster than all the other girls and also the top male athlete, even though she joined cross country on a whim and had been in a hospital for nine months or more; she's a bit of a brainiac, finding the school entry test a breeze and able to slide immediately into regular classes.  Most of the time, it's not an overwhelming aura of Mary Sue, and perhaps Kyla's special talents may be better explained in the sequel after her history is more greatly uncovered, but nonetheless, just how "special" she was left a slightly tinny taste in my mouth after an otherwise exquisite meal.

The only other problem I had was the ending, establishing the hook that will lead into the second novel in the series, Fractured.  After an original, thought-provoking and well-paced plot, the last chapter seemed to be an info-dump, clumsily setting up what may be the type of undesirable vanilla rebel plot I have mentioned in previous reviews.  This wrong-note ending caused the tinny taste to remain even after the delicious flavours of the novel had begun to recede, something which has me slightly worried for what Fractured has in store.  However, one bad chapter doesn't necessarily spoil the whole bunch; a bit of trepidation won't temper my need to find out what happens to Kyla next, and Fractured still sits square on top of my reading list.

21. Royal Fluff

The book:  The One (The Selection #3)
The author:  Kiera Cass
The rating:  4 stars

I'm sure everyone has those guilty pleasure books, the kind that they'd never imagine buying in any format other than eReader, the kind with no redeemable qualities whatsoever, yet the kind that simply cannot be put down and that is devoured within twenty-four hours of purchase.  This book is one of those.  I'm typically a big proponent of YA literature, vehemently opposed to those who deem it to be pointless drivel.  Just like any other type of novel, YA can be profound and meaningful explorations of character and theme, investigating slithers of teenage reality through intriguing and imaginative narratives.  On the other hand, The One is pure, unadulterated fluff.

From a standpoint of literary quality, The One fares poorly.  It has an overbearing love triangle, a caste-based dystopian world that is uncannily reminiscent of every single other caste-based dystopian world ever written, a vanilla rebel plotline, and following in the tradition of current popular dystopias, a ridiculously high body count, something that feels completely unnecessary in a novel which is essentially a futuristic The Bachelor.  Other faults include the novel introducing characters and having them disappear with no warning, not even a cursory mention in the epilogue (I'm looking at you, Paige), subscribing to the YA fad-du-jour of the male lead having a physically abusive father, and the fact that Cass seems dedicated to giving everyone positively horrendous names:  Maxon; Amberly; America; Aspen; Clarkson; the list goes on and on.  Furthermore, America is your cliche teen heroine, full of romantic angst, horrible communication skills (90% of the plot relies on every single conversation causing more problems than it solves), and a fierce streak of independence... absolutely nothing at all like Collins' Katniss, or Condie's Cassia, or Roth's Tris.  Not one bit. Nuh-uh.

All that taken into consideration, I loved The One.  Despite being away on vacation, my eyes were glued to my eReader all day, stylus tapping through pages during dinner at an Italian restaurant or underneath the covers of my hotel room bed, the downy comforter not doing enough to prevent my Kobo's telling glow from keeping the others awake.  The story is fluff, but sometimes a little fluff is a good thing.  The One is entertaining, readable, and addicting; it takes only a few chapters to become hooked on Cass' comfortable prose.  Somehow, it is so incredibly inviting, deliciously engrossing even in its banality.  Cass writes in a way that makes you want to keep reading, in a way that makes all else seem irrelevant.

I hate love triangles, I hate reality television, yet for all its flaws, I did not hate The One and The Selection series.  The worldbuilding was cliche; the characters flat; the plot trite, yet I still hung on every word.  Overall, I'm incredibly eager to see what Kiera Cass will write next; if she can write such a captivating novel with everything stacked against it, I can't wait to find out what she can do when her words have a good plot, world, and characters to back them.

18. Fire and Ice

The book:  Frozen (Heart of Dread #1)
The author:  Melissa de la Cruz & Michael Johnston
The rating:  4 stars

It's been a while since my last review, and IB exams have been to blame.  In any case, I am now a high school graduate, and I've got a lengthy summer reading list to help get me back on track for my 100-book goal.  Now, without further ado, Frozen (no relation to the Disney musical): 

Frozen and I didn't start off on the best foot.  I found it difficult to immerse myself in the authors' prose... sentences were uniform and choppy, and action seemed to begin and end so rapidly that there was no time to build up suspense.  This might seem to be an odd criticism to levy against a book, but it truly felt as if I was only reading about events; they weren't actually occurring.  A good novel needs immersion, needs to pull its reader out of the real world and into theirs, and for a good while, Frozen failed to deliver.  While that aspect did improve over the course of the novel, problems with pacing continued to plague Frozen from cover to cover.

Betrayals, character deaths (and resurrections), various tribulations and crises... none lasted long enough for me to truly become emotionally invested.  When an important character dies, for example, my default position is a solid belief that they're not really dead.  Give it a couple chapters, though, and I'll begin to doubt... maybe the author did kill off little Susie Soandso for real.  For a twist to work, the author needs to instill that doubt, or else the fake-out death will have no impact on the reader; he or she never had the chance to become invested in the implications of the death.  That's where Frozen's pacing really acts as a drag:  each crisis is resolved, each emotional trauma assuaged before it can truly impact the reader, and a tale will often veer into the realm of bland when it is unable to pull on the reader's heartstrings.

However, Frozen did have some saving graces.  For one, it's not your classic YA dystopian cookie-cutter.  In fact, it is an incredibly unique fusion of different genres.  It bridges science fiction and fantasy in a way that Whispers in Autumn tried and failed, it has the military charm, intrigue, and romance of the Legend trilogy (without that series' over-the-top thematic statements), it's full of the swashbuckling, sea-faring escapades of Pirates of the Caribbean along with a hearty helping of Graceling-style adventure and fantasy.  Fans of Graceling (a 2008 novel by Kristin Cashore) will actually find a great number of similarities:  individuals who are gifted with magic have strangely-coloured eyes, they're societal pariahs, our heroine has a murderous gift that makes her a monster...  while these similarities may serve to undermine my claims of Frozen's uniqueness, these elements are just one small part of a wonderful genre mismatch that creates a surprisingly complementary, well-seasoned dish.

The result of these genres are the setting and the adventure, the two respects in which Frozen truly shines.  The tale takes place in a fantastical, futuristic Las Vegas, redefined after a frozen apocalypse and full of magic à la urban fantasy.  This fusion of old and new creates a setting that is at once familiar and rife for exploration, something that is extremely significant to story that, at its essence, follows a traditional quest plot structure.  New Vegas, Garbage Country, the deadly, trash-filled Pacific... each segment of the journey is vividly imagined and subtly insightful, creating an unspoken commentary on present-day consumer culture with a finesse that would seemingly go over the head of Legend writer Marie Lu.  Despite its fantastical elements, Frozen's future is an undeniable reflection of the present day, and the way in which the authors integrate this vision into their story is admirable.

As previously mentioned, the adventure itself is a classic quest, and there's something so readable about this type of storyline.  Unlike many of its YA fellows, Frozen's plot does not get bogged down by teenage angst or love triangles.  Admittedly, Nat is a fairly angsty protagonist, but her fears of being a monster are fairly substantiated, and the romance between her and Wes is rather tolerable.  Significantly, the romance runs congruently with getting our heroes to their destination, not oppositely, and therefore instead of dragging on the plot, their 'will they/won't they' serves to push the action along.

All in all, Frozen is a solid, immensely-readable tale, even if the writing itself sometimes gets in the way of the story.  (As a side note, a special mention must be made to the novel's epigraphs, all of which were particularly well-chosen.)  I'll definitely be giving the novel's sequel, Stolen, a look once it comes out later this year, but for now I'll keep my expectations for the rest of the series as a blank slate.

13. Class and Classics

The book:  Landry Park (Landry Park #1)
The author:  Bethany Hagen
The rating:  4 stars

Landry Park left me with mismatched thoughts.  Overall, the novel was enjoyable.  I was definitely enthralled by its Austen-like premise, but I had a love/hate relationship with protagonist Madeline, and if it makes any sense at all, I felt put off by the world building while simultaneously loving the atmosphere.

As I mentioned back in my review of Legend, I've noticed that an outrageous number of dystopias build the same world... there must be a subconscious undercurrent of today's society that is certain we're gearing up for a war between China and the United States, because that's the story all these authors weave.  Hagen does the same in Landry Park, and after reading down this road countless times before, I was less than impressed with the encroachment of the Eastern Empire onto the American west coast.  I mean, Hagen slates some of these events to begin as early as 2022... for anyone who has taken an international history or international affairs class in the last decade or so, the proposed future!history is a bit difficult to swallow.

In creating a society of futuristic gentry, there's a number of plot holes.  Why is everyone smoking again?  Sure, they didn't know any better in Austen's time, the time period Landry Park is trying to emulate, but what part of a war with China and an energy revolution got rid of the toxic effects of cigarettes?  How did class becoming 'the most important delineator in society' bring whist back from obscurity?  Landry Park is clearly a period piece set in the future, and although the rationale for why some things have reverted to their 18th/19th century form isn't always clear, I immensely enjoyed the atmosphere it created.  Fancy dresses, aristocracy, family intrigue, balls and romance... there's something so incredibly readable about a period piece, and Landry Park uses this atmosphere to its fullest potential.

Now, Madeline.  There were times when I was rather found of her.  The wallflower debutante, the girl who would prefer reading about King Arthur to engaging in frivolous ballroom chatter, the one with dreams of getting an education and being something more than just an heiress... the one with a conscience.  Despite the promise she showed, in the end, I was rather ambivalent.  I was never really convinced of her love for David; their first dozen interactions seemed little more than her being an aloof jerk, almost as if she was a student at the Edward Cullen school of romance, and he returned the favour by being the king of mixed messages.  She lacked agency, and while that lack was an important part of her character and the conflict she had to overcome, it pushed her into the position of being an annoying drag to the plot, rarely concerned with the issues with which the reader was, therefore spinning the narrative in pointless loops away from the parts of the story that were truly interesting.

When it comes to dystopic versions of period pieces, Diana Peterfreund's For Darkness Shows the Stars will always take the cake, but Landry Park is an admirable addition to the genre.  Despite its flaws, the novel truly captures the spirit of such fiction, imbued with the je ne sais quoi that makes readers love Pride and Prejudice and all those other classic tales of romance, marriage, and estates.  In terms of dystopias, Landry Park's world may leave something to be desired, but the other half of its coin makes it a novel well worth reading, and definitely a series opener to keep an eye on.

8. Identity Crisis

The book:  The Lost Girl
The author:  Sangu Mandanna
The rating:  4 stars

"Come on," I say, "let's go be star-crossed lovers and court disaster."

Premise, setting, characters.  These are the three things I loved about The Lost Girl, a book that is refreshingly unique in all three ways.  Mandanna's writing is very tongue-in-cheek, poking fun at the cliches of the genre (the phrase 'make like a tortured vampire' is used), while spinning a thoughtful, intriguing world.  Mandanna's Weavers, Loom, and echoes strongly reminded me of Joss Whedon's Dollhouse, and like that series, The Lost Girl is a fascinating exploration of what makes someone human and the meaning of identity.

A sense of adventure stirs in my chest.  I imagine sailing into open seas, seizing my fate in both hands.  I imagine swashbuckling battles, swords and cutlasses and battle scars.  I imagine desire, the raw passion of falling into bed after a long reckless day and kissing somebody.

The Lost Girl is split between two settings:  small-town England and big-city India.  For a reader like me, following Eva on her journey from a world on the opposite side of the Atlantic ocean, both of the settings are filled with a novelty and colour that most American-set novels of the genre lack.  I've never been to India (or England, for that matter), so I can't say how accurate The Lost Girl is in its depictions, but the same adventure was stirred in me as was stirred in Eva.  Tastes, sights, smells...  the description in The Lost Girl is glorious, creating a world that seems almost fantastical.

He can see what move I'm planning to make in chess and counters before I can do it.  He always knows who the killer is in a detective story.  I think he could make a career out of detecting, but he wants to write plays for theater.  Maybe he could be a Shakespeare instead of a Sherlock.  He could be anything.  Anything he wants to be.

That description pretty much sums up Sean, Eva's principal love interest.  Suffice to say, I was head over heels by chapter three.  Agency in novels is a balancing act, and their relationship had the perfect balance; neither was ever a puppet on a string, bowing meekly to the whims of the plot, despite the restraints and expectations of the lives they lead.  I think I've made my views on love triangles abundantly clear in the past, and The Lost Girl did not disappoint in that regard.  There is a second boy in the picture, Ray, but it's not what you'd think; he was Amarra's boyfriend, the girl that Eva was born to replace, and the choice he represents is not whether he is the one Eva loves more.  Rather, he is symbolic of identity, duty, free will... the central themes of the novel.  It is always clear that Sean is the one Eva loves, and this makes Ray's presence not tawdry, but poignant.

"I am not kind.  Handsome, certainly.  And undoubtedly brilliant.  But not kind."

A good novel needs good antagonists, and The Lost Girl has the Weavers.  Again, their presence sets the novel a cut above most stories you see in this genre.  Their evilness is ambiguous; the Loom seems dark and twisted, particular as we follow the story from Eva's perspective.  A sinister underground organization... corrupt people with the power over life and death.  But the Loom is more than your typical Evil Inc., and that depth kept me interested, what with the juxtaposition of Ophelia's loving viewpoint, Elsa's gentleness, the flashes of the green nursery...  With regards to the above quote in particular, Matthew very much reminded me of the BBC version of Sherlock Holmes.  Throughout the novel, I was constantly struck by the thought that the Weavers could be the antihero of another story (a la Dollhouse), and given that authors tend to force the reader into the myopic perspective of their hero or heroine, I found this presentation to be quite enjoyable.  Frankenstein is a constant motif, and its pertinence is relayed through the antagonists as well:  what makes a monster, and what makes a monster maker?

"I'll give in gracefully when the time's right.  But until then, I'm not going gently into any good night, thank you very much."

And finally, Eva.  Our protagonist.  In terms of characters, I would actually dub her the weak link.  She's your typical "doesn't-play-by-the-rules" protagonist, the one with the temper, the sharp tongue, and the tendency to start whining.  She's not exactly the sharpest tool in the shed, making some really jarring blunders in service to the plot.  She's the type that sends her friends away at the climax to face the Big Bad alone so that she doesn't hurt the ones she loves, but ends up doing so anyway...  in a book that bucks cliches, she is a surprisingly textbook archetype.  I didn't exactly hate her, but I can't say I was particularly fond of the girl (other than her impeccable taste in poetry and prose).

Overall, I'd have to say The Lost Girl was a pretty solid book.  It was intriguing; it was thrilling; it made me think and it made me feel.  Still, it's not the kind of book that pulls you in and doesn't let you go until the last page has been flipped.  The Lost Girl is more of a reflective type of novel, the kind best suited for reading a chapter or two on a train or waiting at the dentist's office.  It also makes for a wonderful stand-alone story; I have the utmost respect for authors who can tell a tale from start to finish in one tome without the need to stretch it out over a trilogy or a saga.  Whenever Mandanna pens her next novel, I will without a doubt be eager to delve into whatever new world or new idea she has concocted.

7. Fighting 'Til the End

The book:  Champion (Legend #3)
The author:  Marie Lu
The rating:  3.5 stars

"Billions of people will come and go in this world," he says softly, "but there will never be another like you."

So, here we are.  The end of an era, the conclusion of a trilogy, the final page in the story of Day and June.  I chose that epigraph with a touch of irony; as has been the problem for the entire series, my biggest issue with Champion is that there will always be plenty more like it.  It's not that I'm expecting the Earth and the stars, but in every novel, I hope to find something fresh.  A unique idea.  A unique voice.  A twist.  A spark.  Champion and the Legend series as a whole are everything you expect from the dystopian genre; they follow all the steps, but they're missing the breath of life to take them from cookie-cutter story to true adventure.

More so than either of its predecessors, Champion feels like it is just going through the motions.  I was constantly struck by how little had happened in such a large number of pages; the premise may be the invasion of the Republic, but aside from that frame, there is little-to-no plot.  We get to visit another country in Lu's futuristic world, Antarctic, itself replete with a ridiculous government system heavy-handedly engineered to give readers their daily dose of Diet Theme.  We see the continuation of Day's soap-opera storyline, and...  I'm at a loss to list much else that happened until we reach the 3/4 mark.  June goes to a senate meeting.  We spend copious amounts of time in a hospital setting.  There's a sex scene.  I'm actually kind of impressed by how much space Lu manages to fill with so little.  The plot coasts off the events of the previous two books; there's no wild adventures, no intriguing ideas, no exciting premises.  Lu's just killing time until we get to the conclusion.

The conclusion.  Based upon what I've written thus far, it seems a bit weird for me to be giving the novel a higher rating than Prodigy.  I'm still not entirely sure how I feel about the conclusion, but it's Champion's saving grace.  It's fresh.  It's well-written.  More happens in the epilogue than in the novel's entirety.  For once, Lu brings something fresh to the table, something beyond the cliched happy ever after or textbook bittersweet ending.  Upon inspection, the ending did have some considerable flaws:  I'm not a neuroscientist, but I don't think people work that way; that relocation seems to go against our daily theme injection; does the future-Internet magically disappear or something?  These sort of flaws don't bother me much, though.  This may seem hard to believe, especially considering the ratings I've been doling out, but I'm not really a harsh critic.  If a book's enjoyable, so what if there are a few plot holes along the way?  It's a story, an adventure; if you're too caught up in the hard science of it, you're not going to enjoy the ride.

While Champion was not all that it could have been, the ending was.  It was distinct, mature... it had that sense of both realism and magic that had enchanted me in Legend but had been missing from the series since.  Plus, Day gets a haircut; it's everything I'd wanted all along.  I'm not sure if I'll be willing to pick up any of Lu's future efforts, but all in all I'm glad to have taken the chance on the Legend series.

6. Heart and Soul

The book:  Infinite (Newsoul #3)
The author:  Jodi Meadows
The rating:  4 stars

Infinite marks the conclusion to the Newsoul trilogy, bringing the adventures of Ana and Sam that began in Incarnate and Asunder to a perhaps rocky conclusion, but we'll get to that later.  I don't typically spend much of my reviews going over plot summary (that's why they put a blurb on the back, isn't it?) but considering that Infinite is a series conclusion, it seems wise to make an exception to that rule.

The land of Range is plagued by all sorts of mythical beasts:  dragons roam the north, spewing acid and wreaking havoc; sylphs dance in the shadows, their lightest touch a burn; rocs dive from the skies; centaurs roam the forests; trolls lumber along ragged paths; phoenixes reincarnate, shedding their past selves in rebirth.  And in this wild, mystical land, there is a glistening, white-stone city of a million human souls:  Heart.  For five millennia, the people of Heart have reincarnated like phoenixes; when they die, their souls are soon born again and they continue their lives' adventures.  Sometimes they're tall, sometimes short, sometimes dark, sometimes fair, sometimes female, sometimes male, but there's always another life.  Everything is constant.  That is, until Ana.  The citizens of Heart had been expecting Ciana's rebirth, but instead of their old friend, their soul scanners fail to find a match.  The baby is a newsoul, or, as many call her, a nosoul.

Throughout Incarnate and Asunder, we follow the newsoul, Ana, in her coming-of-age story, unraveling the mysteries that led to her birth.  She is hated by many, considered a precursor to more nosouls replacing oldsouls; fear of ending up like Ciana leads Ana to be shunned by society, raised by Li, an abusive, vitriolic mother in the countryside surrounding Range, banned from ever entering the glistening city of Heart.  At the beginning of Incarnate, Li gives Ana a faulty compass and sends her off on her quest to find her way in the world, hoping she'll become hopelessly lost and die.  However, after a run-in with wild sylph that ends with Ana almost drowning in a lake, she is rescued by a boy named Sam, someone who, over the course of the series, manages to convince Ana that she is not a nosoul, but a newsoul.

Two paragraphs of plot summary already, and I don't think I'm even out of chapter four of the first novel... see, there's a reason why I don't do this often.  Throughout the series, Ana struggles to find answers to the mystery surrounding her birth - why was she born instead of Ciana?  Will she reincarnate?  As her mystery begins to unravel, we discover that reincarnation is caused by a being called Janan, someone who many consider to be a god, but who actually is tied to the truth of what really happened five millennia ago.  I don't want to get too into the overall plot so as not to spoil the series; truly, the premise is the most delightful part, and I would hate to ruin it for a prospective reader.

Now, onto my views of Infinite.  As I mentioned, the premise of this series is one of my all-time favourites.  The writing can be a bit threadbare at times, but Meadows' unique and well-executed concept more than compensates; the world of Range is terrifying, magical... filled with echoes of ideas all dreamers must have dreamed about.  I know they're thoughts I've had before, at least.  Would it be ethical to be immortal, seeing as immortality would only be practical if nobody else could be born?  It's this type of lofty question that Infinite addresses, but in nowhere near the clunky way with which novels like Prodigy handle their themes.  Meadows takes an intriguing question and builds a remarkable, breathtaking world around it; her message is intrinsically tied to the horrible splendour of her world, never tacked on.  Furthermore, her view is never forced down the reader's throat; both the bad and the good are explored, as are the bad and good in human nature, ultimately leaving the reader to decide their own verdict.  There are some potential readings of the work that might suggest Meadows is making a more forceful societal commentary... some choice lines in particular might allude to the novel taking a stance on the abortion debate, but the door of ambiguity is left open for the reader to interpret the author's true intentions.

Adding to the wonderful world and plot is the mystery with which the tale is imbued.  The reader is unraveling the terrible secrets of the ancient past along with Ana and her oldsoul friends, and that mystique definitely keeps the pacing steady and the reader engaged.  The romance is a little less enthralling... Ana and Sam make a wonderful, musical couple, but when the pacing falters, it's the romantic side of Infinite that is usually to blame.

I did promise to get back to my comment about the trilogy's rocky conclusion, and I suppose I'm running out of time to do so.  I immensely enjoyed the first 70% or so of Infinite, but by the time our supporting characters start dropping like flies and we reach what is supposedly the climax, Infinite seems to stumble a bit, losing its polished, pensive sheen.  Obviously everything can't go according to plan (since when in fiction has the big plan ever gone off without a hitch?) but the last minute mood shift screamed Deus Ex Machina, coupled with a second twist I think it's safe to say every reader would have seen coming (as soon as we're told Deborl has sent warriors away to find something, there was only one thing it could have been).  The end of the end perked back up, though... hopefully it's not too much of a spoiler to say that amongst all the Pyrrhic victories in fiction today, it's nice to get a truly happy ending.

5. The Legend Continues

The book:  Prodigy (Legend #2)
The author:  Marie Lu
The rating:  3 stars

Well, it's New England that gets flooded, not Canada, so I guess I'll give Lu points for originality.

Prodigy was a bit of a disappointment for me.  As I mentioned oh-so-long-ago in my review of Legend, I had high hopes for the world-building, but those hopes fell flat.  Social commentaries are great, or any kind of commentary - too frequently YA writers neglect to have these deeper messages in their works, as if teens can't handle interpreting profound themes - but I didn't find that Lu integrated hers well into the novel.  Prodigy definitely seems as if it has something to say about classism and class culture, but instead of really doing anything meaningful with those ideas, it ends up culminating in a second-rate Romeo & Juliet star-crossed lovers shtick.  Similarly, the Colonies appear as if they were intended to be an emphatically exaggerated version of today's American consumer culture, but this allegory came across clunky and without finesse.  It's almost as if Prodigy is Diet Theme (TM) -- tastes pretty much like actual Theme, but with zero calories of brainpower required.

Another thing I had loved about Legend was the strong supporting characters, but Prodigy completely disregards this strength.  Aside from Day and June, the cast is all either killed off, sent away from the plot, or they are simply boring cardboard cut-outs, without the depth that I had loved about Legend's characters.  Throw in some artificial-tasting love triangles (yes, plural, although I guess that might just make it a love square?) and a completely cliche 'twist' ending that seems more at home on a daytime soap than in an adventure-dystopia novel, and you've got a recipe for a disappointing sequel.

With these reservations aside, the overall plot was enjoyable enough; I'd go as far as to say Prodigy was stronger than the original in the plot department.  Instead of relying on old dystopian cliches, Prodigy had its own flavour and twists.  Some worked and some did not, but they did succeed in making an entertaining enough story.  Despite this more original plot, I wasn't as enthralled with Prodigy as I was with Legend, but that's mostly attributed to characters and pacing.  We spend a lot of time watching characters sit around, worry, and do nothing; reading about your protagonists wringing their hands and whining for pages on end does neither them nor the pacing any favours.

I'm a strong proponent of the 'Middle Novel Weakness' theory, in which the second novel in a trilogy is typically the poorest; the first has the benefit of originality, the third has the thrilling conclusion, but the second is that awkward middle child that has to bridge the gap, not able to pique interest or present resolution.  Therefore, my hopes for the third book in this trilogy remain unshaken:  Prodigy may have had its rough spots, but perhaps Champion will finally allow the saga to reach its lofty potential.

4. Legend-ary?

The book:  Legend (Legend #1)
The author:  Marie Lu
The rating:  4 stars

"There are dozens of them out there," he snaps.  "You'll never make it."

I just wink at him.

Legend, much like Cinder, is a book that I've walked past at the 'popular' YA section of the bookstore thousands of times, and for some reason never opted to pick up.  Back before I read Cinder this summer, I thought that cyborg-Cinderella story sounded unpromising, despite the many gushing reviews I read or recommendations I received.  However, a university bookstore with a meager supply of YA fiction for sale pushes a girl to her limits, and I soon found Cinder to be one of my favourite reads of this year.  After having misjudged Cinder so grievously, I figured I'd do well to give Legend a shot too.

Now for the title question:  was Legend legend-ary?  No, not really.  It was a good read, though--one that had me shoving my other commitments aside (like studying for a certain chemistry exam) to indulge in Lu's comfortable prose and witty characters.

That was definitely a highlight for me:  both of Lu's protagonists are extremely intelligent and capable, and unlike so many authors, she writes smart characters that have more of a personality than being 'the smart one'.  I'll admit, June irked me for pretty much the entire first half of the book.  Her 'extraordinary' intelligence seemed to amount to nothing more than an ability to perform half-baked Sherlock Holmes-style scans of the situation, but as she began to break out of the whole 'good-little-soldier' mould she grew considerably more tolerable.  That said, the standout for me is definitely Day.  Steetwise and savvy, his intelligence was something that was constantly shown, not told.  Reading from his perspective was always a pleasure; he was someone so tactical, so deliberating, yet with such a strong sense of loyalty at odds with that calculating side of him.  He's your classic loveable rogue, but Lu makes him more than just an archetype; he's truly compelling.  Yes, I may just have a wee literary crush on Daniel Altan Wing, but moving on...

I was also pleasantly surprised by Legend's supporting characters.  Quite often in a trilogy-opener like this everyone except the protagonist and their love interest(s) seem to be underdeveloped, but I found Lu's treatment of her supporting characters to be quite skillful, particularly with Tessa and Kaede.  Sure, Day's family may be used a bit too exclusively as plot devices (don't get me started about John), but all in all I found the character roster to be happily well-rounded.

The world building... has potential.  I wasn't exactly thrilled with how it's been handled so far, but as only the first in a trilogy, I'm optimistic that my opinion on this will improve over the next two installments.  As a connoisseur of dystopian and science fiction, I've formulated a theory.  90% of far-flung futures have one of two histories between our present day and theirs:  1)  There's been a massive conflict between superpowers China and the United States, with varying results (in Firefly they unite; in The Selection, China takes over the US; in Legend, the US apparently has taken over China) or 2)  No country remains in existence except a future-version of the United States (Hunger Games, Whispers in Autumn, etc).  I call this theory the "Americans Believe they are Better than Everyone" Theory; bonus points are awarded if it's mentioned that everywhere north of future-USA is now flooded (authors love flooding Canada), or has been annexed.  This is going on a bit of a tangent, but the point is that I didn't find Lu's worldbuilding to be anything special.  A futuristic class system that is a thinly veiled commentary on today's societal structure; your obligatory 'the government is EVIL' conspiracy that is kind of needed to put the 'dys' in 'dystopia'; the occasional injection of FutureTech; some good old 'Big Brother is Watching You'...  For a dystopian fan, it's an enjoyable enough formula, but nothing that hasn't been done countless times before.

All in all, Legend was more than okay.  Day was everything I look for in a good protagonist and the plot has potential, even if it is your standard government-conspiracy with the heroes on the run.  The book's sequel, Prodigy may have just jumped to the top of my to-read list.

1. 'Tis the Season

The book:  Whispers in Autumn (The Last Year #1)
The author:  Trisha Leigh
The rating:  3.5 stars

I'll admit, I was quite cautious going into Whispers in Autumn, and that may have coloured my perceptions while reading the novel.  The premise sounded fantastic - aliens, the-not-too-distant-future, mind control, dystopia... it seemed just about perfect.  Then I noticed that it was a self-published work.  Now, I'm not trying to say self-published works can't be good, but it made me hesitant.  I write; I could self-publish something if I wished.  However, I don't really want to read a novel published by an amateur like me... publishers are quality control, in a sense.  Some of the writing 'Greats' had their manuscripts refused by publishers many, many times before being published - JK Rowling and Lucy Maud Montogomery are two - but despite that knowledge, I was a bit prejudiced towards Whispers in Autumn in the beginning.  However, it was free to download on Kobo, so I pushed that prejudice aside and waded in.

Let's get those basic fears out of the way to start.  Leigh can write a sentence; I only encountered two grammatical errors in the entire novel, making my worries about professionalism completely unwarranted.  This wasn't the stereotypical self-pub with the painfully photoshopped cover; the artwork adorning the front of Whispers was lovely, and the little autumn leaf at the start of each chapter was a nice touch.

I'm going to change gears for a moment.  When I was very young, my friend and I had this game of pretend where we'd imagine we owned a magical bubblegum machine.  You would put a nickel into the machine, give it a twist, and out would pop a colourful capsule containing some sort of superpower that you now added to your arsenal.  "I can fire lightning bolts!" I'd declare, and she'd say, "Well, I can turn into animals!"  A twist later, I'd retort, "Now I can stop time!"  This book reminded me of that bubblegum game, in a way.  There's time travel!  And aliens!  And mind control!  And elemental powers!  (Those were always one of our favourite picks from the ol' bubblegum machine.)  While the premise was one of the things that intially drew me in, it quickly became simply too much.  The plot felt cluttered with too many gimmicks, too many tropes, and too many cliches; it reminded me of the superfluous superpowers that we came up with as children.  I couldn't just be able to fly.  I had to fly, and turn into inanimate objects, and have a pet unicorn (another of my childhood favourites).  As you grow older, you realize that more isn't necessarily better.  It's like teachers always say when they explain essay writing:  you're better off going into depth on three ideas than touching briefly on thirteen.

The other problem I had was with predictability.  You'd think with all these concepts going on, the plot might be clunky, but unique.  However, there was never any twist that really had the necessary oomph.  The foreshadowing was often layered on thick; when foreshadowing is used sparingly, a novel will make you feel clever for figuring it out before the characters.  When it's used as heavily as it is in Whispers, I grew immensely frustrated with Althea for being so obtuse.  The novel isn't written in the tone required for mystery; it is obvious which character hinted as being a friend will actually be a foe, and who hinted as being an adversary is actually an ally.  After having just read These Broken Stars, a novel written with a particular mastery of suspense, Whispers fell especially flat.

Those were my two big critiques; now for the good!  I quite liked the relationship between Lucas and Althea.  It was light (and heavy), touching, and believable.  So long as Leigh resists the urge to introduce a love triangle in the next books of this saga, I will be one happy reader; the hint of romance and jealousy regarding Lucas's past was just the right amount to strike a chord without going overboard.

Despite its penchant for the predicable, the plot was also engaging.  The season-traveling was a highlight of the novel for me; it gave Whispers a unique flavour.  If Leigh had dropped well-worn tropes like elemental powers and divine parentage, focusing more on that which makes her premise unique, I think the novel would have been better for it.  Ignoring these what ifs, the tale that Leigh spins in Whispers is most definitely not a waste of time.  Hers is a vibrant novel - at times comical, at times poignant - and despite its shortcomings, it is a story well-worth reading (particularly seeing as you can pick up the eBook for free).

The verdict:  I'll definitely be checking out Winter Omens, the next book in Leigh's The Last Year series, at some point, although it probably won't be next on my reading list.  Nevertheless, after I've given myself some time to breathe and seen some other books, I think I'll be eager to catch up with Althea and follow her on the next segment of her exhilerating journey.