Jill Ratzan

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With a contract for her first YA novel in hand, recent high school graduate Darcy Patel puts college on hold and moves to New York City. But living and writing in the city turn out to involve more than just hobnobbing with the publishing community. She also needs to find (and furnish) an apartment, stick to a budget . . . and navigate her first romantic relationship.

Chapters from Darcy’s point of view alternate with those from her book, Afterworlds, in which a near-death experience propels a girl named Lizzie into an alternate world where ghostlike powers—and a hot teenage death god from Indian mythology—await. As Darcy works through issues like the ethics of appropriating cultural icons, the acceptability of borrowing plot ideas from fellow writers and the choice between college and other paths, these ideas begin to appear in Lizzie’s internal story as well.

Afterworlds is a long book—it’s essentially two books in one—and its target audience is unclear. Darcy’s comments about high school being old news won’t ring true to teens who are still students themselves. Author Scott Westerfeld’s descriptions of life as a YA writer, from lonely hours hacking through edits to the excitement of conferences and school visits, are vivid yet somehow empty, as though these aspects of Darcy’s story function mostly as a vehicle for Westerfeld to tell his own. But it’s precisely this adult perspective that allows Westerfeld to pepper his story with writerly inside jokes, including a pet parrot named after a famous YA lit character and the difficulty of competing for attention with a former child star at a major publishing conference. Ultimately, this self-awareness forms the book’s main strength, as Afterworld inspires readers to rethink their assumptions about the distinctions between characters, readers and writers.

 

Jill Ratzan reviews for School Library Journal and works as a school librarian at a small independent school in New Jersey.

With a contract for her first YA novel in hand, recent high school graduate Darcy Patel puts college on hold and moves to New York City. But living and writing in the city turn out to involve more than just hobnobbing with the publishing community. She also needs to find (and furnish) an apartment, stick to a budget . . . and navigate her first romantic relationship.

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The last thing Emily Bird remembers is the party. It should have been just another networking event to connect prep-school students with internships and Ivy League acceptances, especially within the elite Washington, D.C., African-American community. But when Bird wakes up days later in a hospital room, she knows she’s forgotten something important about that night. That feeling is further reinforced when mysterious messages begin hinting that she knows a secret about a deadly terrorist-linked flu virus that’s recently reached pandemic proportions.

With her house quarantined and her high-profile parents vanished, Bird and her friend Marella try to uncover the truth within a network of lies. But a dangerous spy from a secret organization is also on the prowl, hoping to discover Bird’s missing memory before she can use it to unmask what may be a worldwide conspiracy.

Like the best young adult dystopias, a just-futuristic apocalyptic setting perfectly complements the protagonist’s personal identity struggles. Is she the meek and obedient Emily or the independent, powerful Bird? Which of her highly cultivated friendships are just alliances, and which are real? Does she have the courage to break up with Paul, the boy her parents expect her to date, in favor of Coffee, whose passion for organic chemistry extends to making his own designer drugs? How can she navigate a society where her race is constantly working against her? And what’s the point of planning for the future when the world might end at any moment? Love Is the Drug is a suspenseful, empowering and emotionally honest read.

 

Jill Ratzan reviews for School Library Journal and works as a school librarian at a small independent school in New Jersey.

The last thing Emily Bird remembers is the party. It should have been just another networking event to connect prep-school students with internships and Ivy League acceptances, especially within the elite Washington, D.C., African-American community. But when Bird wakes up days later in a hospital room, she knows she’s forgotten something important about that night. That feeling is further reinforced when mysterious messages begin hinting that she knows a secret about a deadly terrorist-linked flu virus that’s recently reached pandemic proportions.

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There’s something about cats. In 2010, Benno and the Night of Broken Glass by Meg Wiviott and Josée Bisaillon showed the Nazi Kristallnacht riots from the point of view of an alley cat. Before that, The Cats in Krasinski Square by Karen Hesse and Wendy Watson told how stray cats distracted Nazi dogs, allowing food to be smuggled into the Warsaw ghetto. And now there’s Clare, a cat who sees the contemporary Israeli/Palestinian conflict from a unique point of view.

Clare wasn’t always a cat: Once she was an American eighth grader, busily avoiding detentions and making fun of her new teacher. After she’s killed in an accident, Clare finds herself transformed into a cat living in occupied territory on Israel’s West Bank. Running from a hissing tom one day, Clare flees to a seemingly abandoned Palestinian house where two Israeli soldiers have set up a temporary spy headquarters. But a scared, possibly autistic boy is hiding in the house . . . and violence outside seems imminent.

Deborah Ellis, author of Breadwinner and other middle grade books set in the world’s most contentious battle zones, alternates between Clare’s current situation and her past reflections. Clare can’t go back and be a better sister and student—or solve the Middle East’s deeply entrenched problems—but maybe she can help fix just one moment.

Don’t be put off by this book’s unusual premise. The Cat at the Wall is a sensitive, deceptively simple tale of war, bullying and tempered hope.

 

Jill Ratzan reviews for School Library Journal and works as a school librarian at a small independent school in New Jersey.

There’s something about cats. In 2010, Benno and the Night of Broken Glass by Meg Wiviott and Josée Bisaillon showed the Nazi Kristallnacht riots from the point of view of an alley cat. Before that, The Cats in Krasinski Square by Karen Hesse and Wendy Watson told how stray cats distracted Nazi dogs, allowing food to be smuggled into the Warsaw ghetto. And now there’s Clare, a cat who sees the contemporary Israeli/Palestinian conflict from a unique point of view.

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Lily Proctor has had enough of the real world. Sure, her hometown of Salem, Massachusetts, might have an interesting history, but she’s tired of her best friend Tristan’s romantic wanderings, her mother’s public outbursts and, most of all, the perpetual fevers and allergic reactions that keep her from having a life. So when an otherworldy voice offers to transport her to a place where she can be powerful and strong, Lily readily agrees.

Soon she finds herself in an alternate Salem, where a ruling coven of witches led by an alternate version of herself is terrorizing an indigenous population, especially those who dare to practice science. In this world Lily’s unexplained fevers are actually a sign of her unparalleled abilities as a Crucible, a witch who can convert raw materials into heat and energy. With the help of an alternate version of Tristan and his two companions, Lily needs to learn to wield her abilities quickly—before warring factions destroy both this world and her own.

Teens who love magic-fueled romances set against a backdrop of courtly politics, with hints of historical fiction and scientific ethics, will finish Trial by Fire eagerly awaiting the remaining books in the Worldwalker trilogy. But slow pacing, poor world-building and heavy borrowing from Philip Pullman’s His Dark Materials books (in the form of daemon-like “willstones”) interfere with the full potential of the intriguing premise. Still, readers looking for an escape from their own real world will find it in this genre-blending YA tale.

 

Jill Ratzan reviews for School Library Journal and works as a school librarian at a small independent school in New Jersey. She learned most of what she knows about YA literature from her terrific graduate students.

Lily Proctor has had enough of the real world. Sure, her hometown of Salem, Massachusetts, might have an interesting history, but she’s tired of her best friend Tristan’s romantic wanderings, her mother’s public outbursts and, most of all, the perpetual fevers and allergic reactions that keep her from having a life. So when an otherworldy voice offers to transport her to a place where she can be powerful and strong, Lily readily agrees.

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Twelve-year-old Candice Phee figures that her life needs fixing. Her father and her uncle need to end their longtime feud, and her mother needs to find a way out of her depression. Also, her pen pal Denille needs to finally write back, and her new friend Douglas needs to return to the real home he claims is in Another Dimension. Candice knows she can solve these problems, big and small, because she’s daring, determined and bursting with creative ideas.

Like Maggie in The Meaning of Maggie, Candice reports on the world exactly as she sees it, even if that’s sometimes different from the perspectives of those around her. (Although she shows some signs of autism, she insists that she’s not autistic. She’s just being herself.) But what stands out about Candice’s unique and well-developed voice is the way she navigates between serious subjects like the death of her baby sister and light topics like Douglas’ pan-universal travel plans. Like the lives of her readers, Candice’s life is sometimes messy, sometimes difficult, sometimes funny, but always hopeful.

 

This article was originally published in the September 2014 issue of BookPage. Download the entire issue for the Kindle or Nook.

Twelve-year-old Candice Phee figures that her life needs fixing. Her father and her uncle need to end their longtime feud, and her mother needs to find a way out of her depression. Also, her pen pal Denille needs to finally write back, and her new friend Douglas needs to return to the real home he claims is in Another Dimension. Candice knows she can solve these problems, big and small, because she’s daring, determined and bursting with creative ideas.
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Art and life are both equally intense for high school junior Addison Stone. When her art teachers arrange for her to leave her small town and spend the summer immersed in the New York City art world, no one expects that the whirlwind of city life will eclipse her senior year . . . or that the following summer, her body will be found in the East River under mysterious circumstances.

Author Adele Griffin, under the guise of Addison’s biographer, tells this story through a pastiche of newspaper articles, “interviews” with important figures in Addison’s life and dozens of images, including both photographs of and artwork (supposedly) by the teenage art superstar. This discontinuous format is the perfect match for Addison’s intense but disjointed personality and work style. Through the voices of friends, boyfriends, parents, teachers and others—and occasionally Addison’s own words via emails and other documents—Griffin presents readers with overlapping perspectives on Addison’s frenetic life of gallery openings, parties and performance art . . . and the doubt and self-destructive tendencies lurking beneath her fierce creativity. References to Snapchat and e-cigarettes ground the story firmly in contemporary times, while issues like living with roommates versus moving in with significant others place it on the border between YA lit and the emerging category of “new adult” fiction.

Multifaceted and thoroughly postmodern, The Unfinished Life of Addison Stone will appeal to teens and 20-somethings who love art, celebrity and forming their own conclusions.

 

Jill Ratzan reviews for School Library Journal and works as a school librarian at a small independent school in New Jersey. She learned most of what she knows about YA literature from her terrific graduate students.

Art and life are both equally intense for high school junior Addison Stone. When her art teachers arrange for her to leave her small town and spend the summer immersed in the New York City art world, no one expects that the whirlwind of city life will eclipse her senior year . . . or that the following summer, her body will be found in the East River under mysterious circumstances.

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Benjamin Epstein loves “sweeping,” or applying to sweepstakes. He’s especially excited about the competition to write a new slogan for Royal-T Bathroom Tissue. Winning the contest would provide enough money for Benjamin and his mother to avoid eviction from their small Philadelphia apartment without giving up on the Grand Plan his father designed before dying of lung cancer: Benjamin’s mother will finish her accounting degree, get a good job, and she and Benjamin will have a better life.

But saving for accounting exam fees is difficult when the rent is due, and the unexpected arrival of Benjamin’s Zeyde (Yiddish for grandfather), who suffers from memory problems, complicates matters further. Benjamin hatches a moneymaking scheme to help his family, but it’ll take all his creativity and energy—along with his best friend Toothpick’s skill at crafting horror movie-style special effects—to keep the Grand Plan on track.

As its title suggests, Death by Toilet Paper balances this serious content with a light tone. Unusual facts about toilet paper open each chapter, and Yiddish words sprinkled throughout the text add interest (although because Yiddish is a declining language, the vocabulary sounds more authentic when spoken by Zeyde and the Epsteins’ elderly neighbor than by seventh-grader Benjamin).

With the contemporary economy placing many families into circumstances like Benjamin and his mother’s, Donna Gephart’s latest middle grade offering provides an important perspective on how love, humor and, most of all, hope can make a difference during tough times.

 

Jill Ratzan reviews for School Library Journal and works as a school librarian at a small independent school in New Jersey.

Benjamin Epstein loves “sweeping,” or applying to sweepstakes. He’s especially excited about the competition to write a new slogan for Royal-T Bathroom Tissue. Winning the contest would provide enough money for Benjamin and his mother to avoid eviction from their small Philadelphia apartment without giving up on the Grand Plan his father designed before dying of lung cancer: Benjamin’s mother will finish her accounting degree, get a good job, and she and Benjamin will have a better life.

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Anyone whose life involves children’s literature has probably encountered the assumption that books for children are all sweetly sentimental tales of selfless trees and fluffy bunnies. In Wild Things! Acts of Mischief in Children’s Literature, librarian-bloggers Betsy Bird, Julie Danielson (also a BookPage reviewer) and their late co-author Peter D. Sieruta thoroughly debunk that notion.

In chapters focusing on book challenges, gender and sexuality, the lasting effect of the Harry Potter phenomenon and other topics on which authors, readers and arbiters of taste have often clashed, the co-authors present a history of the personal stories, sociopolitical debates and subversive details that underlie classic and contemporary books for children and teens. Both longtime fans of children’s lit and relative newcomers will find something to appreciate here, including a risqué image hidden in a Trina Schart Hyman illustration, a discussion of the apparently equally disturbing presence and absence of underwear in books for young readers and varying opinions as to whether or not Nancy Drew will topple civilization.

The chatty, humorous text is broken up by text boxes, “Pushcart Debates” between the authors, rare sketches related to well-known works and, of course, line drawings of mortified-looking fluffy bunnies.

Source notes and an extensive bibliography make the book ideal for university courses, but the audience for Wild Things! is much broader than just students. Anyone who loves children’s books will relish the historical facts, insightful interpretations and wild anecdotes in this highly recommended addition to the literature about children’s literature.

 

This article was originally published in the August 2014 issue of BookPage. Download the entire issue for the Kindle or Nook.

Anyone whose life involves children’s literature has probably encountered the assumption that books for children are all sweetly sentimental tales of selfless trees and fluffy bunnies. In Wild Things! Acts of Mischief in Children’s Literature, librarian-bloggers Betsy Bird, Julie Danielson (also a BookPage reviewer) and their late co-author Peter D. Sieruta thoroughly debunk that notion.
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Senior year is a stressful time, especially at the prestigious St. Joan’s Academy for Girls, outside of Boston. Between prepping for AP History pop quizzes, jostling for class rank and trying not to compete with her friends for top college acceptances, Colleen has enough on her mind even before a mysterious illness suddenly strikes the most popular girls in school. A media frenzy follows as more and more students show strange and varied symptoms. Possible explanations abound, but none seem right to Colleen until she makes an extraordinary connection.

The primary narrative is interrupted by interludes from another voice and time: Ann Putnam Jr., a teen whose accusations helped fuel the witch hunt in Salem, Massachusetts, in 1692. At first the two stories are connected only by Colleen’s research into Arthur Miller’s play The Crucible. But as teenage social pressure, power struggles and unexplained illness combine, the narrative threads begin to intersect in subtle and revealing ways.

Even readers who initially suspect a link between St. Joan’s and Salem are likely to be surprised by Colleen’s conclusion and its reception. With echoes of Revolution by Jennifer Donnelly, Imaginary Girls by Nova Ren Suma and even “Buffy the Vampire Slayer,” Conversion keeps readers guessing until—and even after—the last page.

 

This article was originally published in the July 2014 issue of BookPage. Download the entire issue for the Kindle or Nook.

ALSO IN BOOKPAGE: Read a Q&A with Katherine Howe for Conversion.

Senior year is a stressful time, especially at the prestigious St. Joan’s Academy for Girls, outside of Boston. Between prepping for AP History pop quizzes, jostling for class rank and trying not to compete with her friends for top college acceptances, Colleen has enough on her mind even before a mysterious illness suddenly strikes the most popular girls in school. A media frenzy follows as more and more students show strange and varied symptoms. Possible explanations abound, but none seem right to Colleen until she makes an extraordinary connection.
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Developmentally disabled teens Biddy and Quincy have just graduated from high school. Biddy’s been living with her grandmother, and Quincy with various foster families, but now they need jobs and new living arrangements. A team of counselors arranges for the two graduates to share an apartment above a local widow’s garage. At first, Quincy and Biddy resent each other’s company, and mixed-race Quincy isn’t sure how she feels about interacting with a white landlady. But their strengths and weaknesses complement each other, and soon all three discover a sense of family and belonging that’s long eluded them.

Like other books in the emerging “new adult” category, Girls Like Us tackles issues like transitioning from school to work, paying bills for the first time and negotiating chores and boundaries with roommates. (There’s no consensual sex, although characters grapple with the lasting effects of sexual assault.) In alternating first-person narrations inspired by author Gail Giles’ longtime work with special-education students, Biddy and Quincy talk openly about their feelings, fears and daily struggles and triumphs. Sections are short (sometimes as brief as a paragraph or a single sentence), and the girls’ language is realistically simple.

This highly readable story is a welcome addition to a growing literature about teens with mental and physical challenges. Echoing the characters in John Green’s seminal YA novel The Fault in Our Stars, these two newly independent teens know that their disabilities aren’t their fault—and aren’t the only factors that define who they are.

 

This article was originally published in the June 2014 issue of BookPage. Download the entire issue for the Kindle or Nook.

Jill Ratzan reviews for School Library Journal and works as a school librarian at a small independent school in New Jersey. She learned most of what she knows about YA literature from her terrific graduate students.

Developmentally disabled teens Biddy and Quincy have just graduated from high school. Biddy’s been living with her grandmother, and Quincy with various foster families, but now they need jobs and new living arrangements. A team of counselors arranges for the two graduates to share an apartment above a local widow’s garage. At first, Quincy and Biddy resent each other’s company, and mixed-race Quincy isn’t sure how she feels about interacting with a white landlady.

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Mermaid princess Serafina is nervous. Today’s the day she’ll prove herself a true descendant of her famous ancestor Merrow in the royal family’s traditional Dokimí ceremony. She’ll demonstrate her worthiness to rule through “songcasting” a complex musical spell, and the day will end with her formal betrothal to the handsome but rebellious crown prince Mahdi.

But when a surprise attack interrupts the ceremony, Serafina and her friend Neela must flee the kingdom of Miromara and swim for their lives into unknown waters. Using both magic and their wits to escape their pursuers, they encounter a variety of fantastical sea creatures—some allies and some enemies. They also learn of political plots and secret alliances, and most importantly, they discover that they, along with four other teenage mer, are destined to find a series of hidden talismans to save the world’s oceans from an ancient monster.

Like many tales set in imaginary landscapes, Deep Blue is full of invented words. Author Jennifer Donnelly’s twist is to openly acknowledge the various languages from which these terms derive, especially Latin and Greek (for example, a velo spell confers speed, and a canta magus is a powerful singer). Puns and ocean-based details abound: Teens sneak out at night to go shoaling, and trade initiatives involve the exchange of “currensea.” The action is well paced, and many chapters end with cliffhangers that draw readers further into the story.

The first book in a planned quartet, Deep Blue combines fantasy adventure, court intrigue and even a touch of teenage sarcasm in an accessible, fast-moving narrative that will leave readers eagerly awaiting the next installment of the Waterfire Saga.

 

Jill Ratzan reviews for School Library Journal and works as a school librarian at a small independent school in New Jersey. She learned most of what she knows about YA literature from her terrific graduate students.

This article was originally published in the May 2014 issue of BookPage. Download the entire issue for the Kindle or Nook.

Mermaid princess Serafina is nervous. Today’s the day she’ll prove herself a true descendant of her famous ancestor Merrow in the royal family’s traditional Dokimí ceremony. She’ll demonstrate her worthiness to rule through “songcasting” a complex musical spell, and the day will end with her formal betrothal to the handsome but rebellious crown prince Mahdi.

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If you are—or ever were—a kid who couldn’t wait for school to start in September, get ready to meet Magnolia Jane Mayfield. It’s 1988, and Maggie’s starting sixth grade. She’s thrilled to have a lunch table all to herself, because she can spread out her books better that way. Her mother has a new and glamorous (or at any rate, glamorous-sounding) job; her father tells jokes even while his limbs get increasingly “sleepy”; and a boy named Clyde is beginning to make her understand her older sisters’ interest in lip gloss. But her career aspirations come first: After all, she plans to be president of the United States someday.

Maggie’s fear and confusion as she learns more about her father’s illness are direct and authentic. A contemporary tween would go online for information, not chase after a missing encyclopedia volume as Maggie does, but the retro feel only adds to the charm. The Meaning of Maggie does for middle-grade fiction what John Green’s The Fault in Our Stars did for teen literature: Both portray coping with serious illness as one aspect of a complex character, not as the single issue that defines them. Details of life with multiple sclerosis are spot-on, but what ultimately stands out is the way Maggie describes her world, including her footnoted observations about everything from butterscotch to the unbreakable Law of Mom. Funny, sweet, smart and poignant, this is a book not to miss.

 

Jill Ratzan reviews for School Library Journal and works as a school librarian at a small independent school in New Jersey.

This article was originally published in the May 2014 issue of BookPage. Download the entire issue for the Kindle or Nook.

If you are—or ever were—a kid who couldn’t wait for school to start in September, get ready to meet Magnolia Jane Mayfield. It’s 1988, and Maggie’s starting sixth grade. She’s thrilled to have a lunch table all to herself, because she can spread out her books better that way.

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Ava Lavender was born with a pair of wings. Her twin brother, Henry, rarely speaks and hates to be touched. In the rainy Seattle spring of 1944, these two siblings become the newest members of a family already known for its mysterious powers: Their grandmother can smell feelings and bake them into bread; their great-aunt once turned herself into a canary to attract the attention of her ornithologist beau; and their murdered great-uncle haunts his family in the hopes of delivering an important message.

Using detailed imagery and an almost mythical storytelling style, teenage Ava tells the history of four generations of her family. Readers learn of Ava’s great-grandparents’ emigration to the American city of “Manhatine,” of her grandparents’ acquisition of a house believed to be haunted by a frail and peculiar child, and of the various loves that her mother and grandmother have found, lost, guarded against, found again and then lost again over the years. Ava’s narration connects these past events to her current struggles to live a normal teenage life despite the huge and mostly useless wings that set her apart from her peers. A final, violent event brings together ghostly warnings, Henry’s unsuspected talents and the darkly twisted effect that Ava’s angelic appearance has on those around her.

Teens picking up The Strange and Beautiful Sorrows of Ava Lavender in hopes of a similar read to Amelia Atwater-Rhodes’ Hawksong or Patrice Kindl’s Owl in Love may have to adjust their expectations; author Leslye Walton’s debut novel is less of an adventure story about a winged girl and more of an atmospheric, poetic work of multigenerational history and magical realism. However, those willing to enter Ava’s world on its own terms will find themselves richly rewarded.

 

Jill Ratzan reviews for School Library Journal and works as a school librarian at a small independent school in New Jersey. She learned most of what she knows about YA literature from her terrific graduate students.

Ava Lavender was born with a pair of wings. Her twin brother, Henry, rarely speaks and hates to be touched. In the rainy Seattle spring of 1944, these two siblings become the newest members of a family already known for its mysterious powers: Their grandmother can smell feelings and bake them into bread; their great-aunt once turned herself into a canary to attract the attention of her ornithologist beau; and their murdered great-uncle haunts his family in the hopes of delivering an important message.

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