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Brutalized by an abusive mother, Imogen and her younger sister, Marin, dreamt of the day when they could flee her control. But only one girl managed to escape, and the cost is a decade of separation from the sister left behind. When Imogen, now a published writer, and Marin, a rising star in the ballet world, are both accepted to a renowned retreat for artists, they seize the opportunity to reconnect beyond their mother's cruel reach.

Boasting alumni that populate the highest levels of the art world, Melete offers a magical New England setting that cultivates the maximum potential from its resident artists. But as Imogen and Marin immerse themselves in the community, they find the village's postcard facade hides a symbiotic connection with the land of Faerie. Melete shimmers and blurs with otherworldly murmurs, scents both fragrant and foul, and faces shifting toward sharp edges that are not entirely human. 

Imogen and Marin find their newly rekindled relationship tested when they are compelled to compete against each other for the opportunity to become indentured to the Faerie for a seven-year term, with a guarantee of fame and success at its end. Love and pain have the power to drive each of them toward the prize as well as the power to drive them apart.

In her debut novel,  Kat Howard deftly punctuates Imogen's narration of events with brief yet lyrical fairy tales that draw aside glamorous fabrics to reveal the more visceral textures of traditional “happily ever afters.” With refreshing vision and style, Howard diverges away from expected outcomes in search of deeper exchanges in this lush story. An enchanting literary exploration that is both sensual and sober, Roses and Rot explores the high cost attached to the unbridled pursuit of love, success and escape to create a fairy tale unlike any other.

 

 

Brutalized by an abusive mother, Imogen and her younger sister, Marin, dreamt of the day when they could flee her control. But only one girl managed to escape, and the cost is a decade of separation from the sister left behind. When Imogen, now a published writer, and Marin, a rising star in the ballet world, are both accepted to a renowned retreat for artists, they seize the opportunity to reconnect beyond their mother's cruel reach.

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Perhaps you think it’s easy to spot beneficiaries of wealth and privilege in today’s society, but it is a lot easier in the late-Victorian England conjured by Dan Vyleta in Smoke, an inventive quasi-dystopian fantasy. The aristocracy are distinguished from the lower classes by one significant and immediately noticeable trait: The lower classes emit thick black smoke—or, as it appears here, Smoke.

This is an England in which babies turn black with Smoke and the resulting Soot minutes after they’re born; it’s the “dark plume of shame.” Think a bad thought or tell a falsehood, and tendrils of Smoke will alert the world to your misdeed.

The novel begins at a boarding school in which 200 upper-class boys are receiving a “moral education” to cure them of the evil they are born with. Two of them become best friends: wealthy Charlie Cooper and Thomas Argyle, whom one of the school’s young prefects, Julius Spencer, suspects of harboring a reprehensible secret.

At Christmas, the headmaster asks Charlie to accompany Thomas to the home of Baron Naylor, Thomas’ uncle. Keep an eye on Thomas, the headmaster tells Charlie, but he doesn’t say why. What follows is a shocking visit in which both boys become enamored of the baron’s daughter, Livia; discover experiments conducted with the Soot of prisoners; learn the mysterious properties of a tin of sweets; and uncover the real intentions of not only Julius but also the school’s masters.

From the houses of Parliament to London streets dense with costermongers and their handcarts, Smoke is an action-packed adventure that raises provocative questions about religion versus reason. As one character says in the second half of the book, Smoke  isn’t necessarily evil. One person’s wickedness is another person’s humanity. That’s the kind of subtle observation that makes a smart thriller easy to spot.

 

This article was originally published in the June 2016 issue of BookPage. Download the entire issue for the Kindle or Nook.

Perhaps you think it’s easy to spot beneficiaries of wealth and privilege in today’s society, but it is a lot easier in the late-Victorian England conjured by Dan Vyleta in Smoke, an inventive quasi-dystopian fantasy. The aristocracy are distinguished from the lower classes by one significant and immediately noticeable trait: The lower classes emit thick black smoke—or, as it appears here, Smoke.
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BookPage Teen Top Pick, May 2016

It’s the middle of the 19th century. Darwin’s On the Origin of Species has shaken up the scientific world, new photographic technology has led to creepy death photography, and fossil hunting is all the rage. Faith Sunderly and her family have just moved to the British island of Vale so that her father, the disgraced scientist Reverend Sunderly, can participate in a local dig. When her father is found dead after a mysterious nighttime adventure, Faith—who far prefers science to society drama and babysitting her needy brother, Howard—isn’t convinced that her father’s death was an accident or a suicide. She thinks that someone on the island is guilty of murder.

While investigating, Faith comes upon a plant that her father may have died to protect: a Lie Tree that, when fed lies, grows a fruit that reveals secrets to those who eat it. Soon, rumors of vengeful ghosts and hidden treasure begin to circulate on the island. Are these lies, spread by Faith in pursuit of justice for her father—a questionable means to a worthwhile end? Who killed Faith’s father—and why? Author Frances Hardinge gives readers enough clues to solve these mysteries, but like the Lie Tree itself, they’re well hidden.

Part historical fiction, part mystery, part gender study and part reflection on the tangled relationship between science and religion, The Lie Tree is a must-read for any teen who loved Jacqueline Kelly’s The Evolution of Calpurnia Tate.

 

Jill Ratzan matches readers with books in a small library in southeastern Pennsylvania.

This article was originally published in the May 2016 issue of BookPage. Download the entire issue for the Kindle or Nook.

It’s the middle of the 19th century. Darwin’s On the Origin of Species has shaken up the scientific world, new photographic technology has led to creepy death photography, and fossil hunting is all the rage. Faith Sunderly and her family have just moved to the British island of Vale so that her father, the disgraced scientist Reverend Sunderly, can participate in a local dig.

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BookPage Fiction Top Pick, May 2016

An inventive tale inventively told, Sleeping Giants is designed for people who like to take things apart and put them back together. Its jigsaw-puzzle narrative style works as a mirror for the project at the story’s center: the gathering and assembly of the scattered pieces of a huge and mysterious robot. But the real appeal of the book—the debut novel of Sylvain Neuvel, a Canadian linguist and software engineer—is the way in which putting together the robot tears apart the lives of the people involved. The book, like its namesake, is an elegant blend of technology and biology.

Sleeping Giants has been compared to The Martian and World War Z, but the story has more in common with the 2013 robot film Pacific Rim. The novel begins when a little girl riding her bicycle falls into a pit and lands on what turns out to be an enormous metal hand. Years later, that same little girl—Rose Franklin—is a scientist working on a top-secret project involving the study of that hand and the as-yet-theoretical body it belongs to.

We don’t spend much time with Rose, though. The story is told through transcribed interviews and journal entries, memos and the occasional news report. The interviews are conducted by a shadowy figure who seems to be orchestrating multinational backroom deals; he’s powerful enough to throw his weight around with the president’s closest advisors, but we don’t know much else about him, or even whether he’s bluffing. 

Most of the interviews are with two pilots responsible for finding the huge robot’s missing body parts, and then later, for figuring out how to drive it. The lead pilot is the feisty, unruly Kara Resnick, who, as seen through snippets, becomes the emotional heart of the book. There are also interviews with high-level government officials, techs and linguists, disillusioned soldiers and rogue scientists, not to mention oblique conversations about the world the robot came from originally. Put together, these puzzle pieces form a story about the way in which individual agendas can drive international decisions, for good or ill. 

Sleeping Giants is the first in a series called the Themis Files, which makes the book itself just a piece of a much larger puzzle—one readers will surely enjoy solving.

RELATED CONTENT: Read a Q&A with Sylvain Neuvel.

This article was originally published in the May 2016 issue of BookPage. Download the entire issue for the Kindle or Nook.

An inventive tale inventively told, Sleeping Giants is designed for people who like to take things apart and put them back together. Its jigsaw-puzzle narrative style works as a mirror for the project at the story’s center: the gathering and assembly of the scattered pieces of a huge and mysterious robot. But the real appeal of the book—the debut novel of Sylvain Neuvel, a Canadian linguist and software engineer—is the way in which putting together the robot tears apart the lives of the people involved. The book, like its namesake, is an elegant blend of technology and biology.

When the starship Galileo makes orbit above the colony Volhynia, the ship's crew is more than ready to take a brief but long overdue shore leave. Galileo's chief engineer Elena Shaw, still stinging from a lover's betrayal, is especially eager to find time away from the ship. Once she and her shipmates are settled in a colony bar, the normally reserved Elena meets Treiko Zajec, a former captain in a rogue military counterpart to the Central Corps. Their connection is immediate and soon evolves into a enthusiastic one-night stand.

But upon returning to her ship, Elena is rocked by the news that her crew mate and former lover, Danny, was killed during their overnight leave in the colony below. In that instant, she becomes both a person of interest and an alibi—because the suspect the authorities have arrested is none other than Captain Treiko Zajec.

When the local authorities resist her efforts to have Treiko dismissed as a suspect and and make no move to seek Danny's true killer, Elena launches her own investigation. Soon, she's tugging on the strands of a much larger web of conspiracy and corruption: a web that becomes a deadly snare for anyone wandering too close to the truth.

Ignited by romance and driven by a powerful blend of military sci-fi and vintage crime noir, Elizabeth Bonesteel's debut novel is the first of a planned Central Corps trilogy. Here, she has crafted a shifting stellar landscape that finds humanity stretching its limbs into a frontier still full of risk and mystery. Her on-point exploration of human dynamics in close quarters and masterful manipulation of a layered mystery offer a firm foundation for this exciting new trilogy. The Cold Between navigates the dangerous paths between the stars, the blind spots between friends and lovers and the distance that comrades will go to save one of their own.

Elizabeth Bonesteel's electric debut novel blends romance, science fiction and noir to launch an exciting new trilogy.
Review by

Amani Al’Hiza is desperate to escape the tiny village of Dustwalk. Her best chance at making the money for the journey to Miraji’s capital is her gun. Dressed as a boy to enter a shooting contest, Amani makes an unlikely alliance with a mysterious foreigner. The contest ends in chaos, and Amani barely escapes with her life, let alone the prize money. When the foreigner, Jin, reappears on the run from the Sultan’s army, Amani knows it could be dangerous to help, but she can’t shake the idea that Jin may be able to help her in return.

The nation of Miraji and its rivals are rooted in geopolitical themes from our own world, adding to the sense that Amani’s journey takes place within an ancient and well-established society. Most impressive, though, is author Alwyn Hamilton’s care not to conflate the danger and poverty Amani wants to leave behind with the Miraji culture as a whole. Amani’s respect for the legends and myths of her people and her explicit pride in being “a desert girl” show the beauty of Miraji, rather than making it a wasteland to escape at all costs.

The stakes are raised significantly in the final third of the novel, which may disappoint readers who were enjoying the relative realism of Amani’s quest. However, this brilliantly executed plot twist will thrill readers anxious for true fantasy. 

In Rebel of the Sands, Hamilton creates a robust mixture of gritty reality and fantasy, delivering a satisfying beginning to what promises to be an electrifying series.

 

This article was originally published in the March 2016 issue of BookPage. Download the entire issue for the Kindle or Nook.

Amani Al’Hiza is desperate to escape the tiny village of Dustwalk. Her best chance at making the money for the journey to Miraji’s capital is her gun. Dressed as a boy to enter a shooting contest, Amani makes an unlikely alliance with a mysterious foreigner. The contest ends in chaos, and Amani barely escapes with her life, let alone the prize money. When the foreigner, Jin, reappears on the run from the Sultan’s army, Amani knows it could be dangerous to help, but she can’t shake the idea that Jin may be able to help her in return.
Review by

“Eleanor has been ripped out of time . . .”

Without that one little sentence on the cover, it would be easy, initially at least, to lose one’s genre bearings in the opening 70 pages or so of Jason Gurley’s Eleanor. The prologue and subsequent sections each present the reader with an efficient, though not rushed, snapshot of consecutive tragedies in one family. Connected by more than just the bloodline, each of these episodes is the sort of material from which weepy, sweeping family sagas are made. That Eleanor is, ultimately, exactly that—a sweeping family saga—should not detract from the fact it is also much, much more. These opening blows grant an intimate knowledge of the damage done by the past to the title character in the present, even as it primes the reader to desperately hope the events that follow will allow, somehow, mortal wounds to be redressed.

These opening sequences are worth lingering on for a few reasons. Beyond the need to establish reader trust, they also capture the often hard-to-grasp dilemmas of depression and motherly ambivalence with an ease and economy that pretty much “pay the toll” a reader demands from a writer to keep turning the page, no matter the genre. One could stop at the end of these alone—granted, that would be a pretty depressing place to halt—and deem this a novel worth the time.

Fortunately, there remains the whole “Eleanor being ripped out of time” thing. With past literally as prologue, Gurley turns the reader’s attention to his protagonist, a mostly isolated teenager and, in ways she cannot fully comprehend just yet, a devastated vestige of past parental mishaps and mistakes. Eleanor makes do, serving as caretaker for a mother whose anger has long since chased her father away, until one stressful day she walks through a door and . . . is somewhere else.

Eleanor (and the reader) will spend the rest of the book trying to figure out exactly what is happening, and who might be involved in causing it, but this story is not a Calgon-take-me-away escape to Narnia, the Land or Wonderland. If Eleanor wants a new world, she may have to make it herself. As for the reader, Gurley has crafted an appealing little puzzle. Whether that solution is metaphysical, spiritual, magical or scientific in nature, I’m not saying. Read it for yourself.

“Eleanor has been ripped out of time . . .” Without that one little sentence on the cover, it would be easy, initially at least, to lose one’s genre bearings in the opening 70 pages or so of Jason Gurley’s Eleanor.
Review by

If you could press a button to stop the upcoming destruction of the world, would you? Henry’s been abducted by aliens and offered this choice, and he has 144 days to decide. On one hand, the world as Henry sees it doesn’t particularly seem worth saving. He’s haunted by his boyfriend Jesse’s suicide and estranged from their mutual friend Audrey. A purely physical relationship with the class bully ultimately leaves him hollow. And at home, his mother has put her dreams on hold, his father hasn’t been in touch in years, his grandmother is slowly losing her mind to Alzheimer’s and his older brother’s girlfriend is pregnant. But then Henry meets Diego, a teen with secrets of his own. With Diego’s perspective and those of his teachers, family and friends, Henry starts to wonder if maybe he should press that button and save the world after all.

At first, We Are the Ants seems to be magical realism with a slightly silly premise and a theme of resilience in the face of tragedy. And it might be that, or it might be a meditation on the power of storytelling. Or an experiment in a blended style of realistic and fantastical fiction. Or all of these combined. Either way, it promises to be one of the most talked-about YA books of 2016.

 

Jill Ratzan matches readers with books in a small library in southeastern Pennsylvania.

This article was originally published in the February 2016 issue of BookPage. Download the entire issue for the Kindle or Nook.

If you could press a button to stop the upcoming destruction of the world, would you? Henry’s been abducted by aliens and offered this choice, and he has 144 days to decide.
Review by

At 18 years old, Lady Helen Wrexhall is poised and polished, if a bit too spirited. She’s ready to overcome her late mother’s traitorous legacy and make her debut presentation in the court of King George III. That is, until sinister Lord Carlston appears and introduces Helen to the darker side of Regency London and the demons that lurk in the shadows. Lady Helen discovers that she’s more like her mother than she’s ever known, and she must choose between the society life she’s been preparing for and another, more dangerous role she was born into.

By the bestselling author of the duology Eon and Eona, Alison Goodman’s The Dark Days Club kicks off a beautifully wrought new series whose lush setting, fiery heroine and gripping adventure are reminiscent of Libba Bray’s Gemma Doyle trilogy. Goodman’s writing brings Regency London to life in a tangible way, immersing readers in rich details of the fashion, manners and social politics of the day. And though Lady Helen is a natural fit for this world, she’s a fully three-dimensional heroine. Her relationships with family and friends and her joys and frustrations with her place in 1812 society will feel immediate to readers in 2016. The fantastical element of Lady Helen’s story is just as vivid, with high stakes and a truly frightening darkness that will surely become more intense as the series progresses.

The Dark Days Club is a must-read for fantasy fans and Regency fans alike and an exciting start to a series that will have followers clamoring for more.

 

This article was originally published in the February 2016 issue of BookPage. Download the entire issue for the Kindle or Nook.

At 18 years old, Lady Helen Wrexhall is poised and polished, if a bit too spirited. She’s ready to overcome her late mother’s traitorous legacy and make her debut presentation in the court of King George III. That is, until sinister Lord Carlston appears and introduces Helen to the darker side of Regency London and the demons that lurk in the shadows.
Review by

Outcasts alienated by their peers, Patricia Delfine and Laurence Armstead found each other in junior high, forming a tenuous friendship. Patricia was a budding witch and Laurence was a tech whiz, successfully developing a two-second time machine and a potentially sentient computer. But after a painful parting of ways, the two assumed they would never see each other again.

Reunited unexpectedly as adults living in San Francisco, the pair discover they both now use their talents for the same cause: working to save the planet, each in their own way. Patricia attended a hidden academy for the world’s magically gifted and now works with a group of magicians to secretly fix the world’s problems, while Laurence is an engineering genius who works with a group trying to avert global catastrophe by technological intervention. Despite their separate paths, Patricia and Laurence keep being pushed together. Little do they realize that something bigger than either of them is determined to force them to work together to save the world.

Author Charlie Jane Anders, editor-in-chief of io9.com, seamlessly melds science fiction and fantasy in All the Birds in the Sky. Anders’ debut novel, Choir Boy, won the 2006 Lambda Literary Award and was shortlisted for the Edmund White Award. In All the Birds in the Sky, Anders adeptly twines magic, surrealism, technological innovation and machinery into a quirky story that, at its base, is about searching for common ground in a world of differences.

This article was originally published in the February 2016 issue of BookPage. Download the entire issue for the Kindle or Nook.

Saving the world with science (and some magic) in All the Birds in the Sky.
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It’s best to get the main conceit of Jessica Chiarella’s debut novel, And Again, out of the way: four people with terminal conditions win a lottery that entitles them to participate in what’s called the SUB program. This is a program where their bodies are cloned and when they reach the biological age of the participants—which happens after a few months—their memories are transplanted wholesale into the new bodies. Think of Jake in Avatar getting his consciousness uploaded into his Na'vi body, except for these people, the body is wholly theirs, made from their own cells. Yet, the new body, bereft of the dings, dents and scars that even healthy people accumulate, is not quite theirs at all. 

The transplants—Connie, Linda, Hannah and David—wake up to a world where sounds, smells, tastes and colors are almost unbearably intense, for their senses are as acute as those of young children. They have to be taught to coordinate their arms and legs, to walk, to write again. For some, the reprieve from mortality makes them humble; for others, it makes them cruel and reckless. The loved ones who expected them to die are as confounded as if they had indeed come back, whole and impossibly healthy, from the dead.

Chiarella doesn’t linger over the technical details of the SUB program, even though the reader is curious. These folks remember absolutely everything about their lives—you can’t even really call them past lives, since the transfer from the old body to the new clone seems to be as easy as putting on a new suit. What sort of gruesome research went into this medical procedure? As for the old, damaged bodies—is there nothing left of the person? Do the patients, even for a moment, have the ghastly feeling of being two places at once? It is actually to the author’s credit that she doesn’t answer these questions; they’d only gum up the narrative.

It’s Chiarella’s laser-like focus on her characters as they fight to pick up the threads of their old lives that makes And Again the unsettling, thought-provoking book that it is.

It’s best to get the main conceit of Jessica Chiarella’s debut novel, And Again, out of the way: four people with terminal conditions win a lottery that entitles them to participate in what’s called the SUB program. This is a program where their bodies are cloned and when they reach the biological age of the participants—which happens after a few months—their memories are transplanted wholesale into the new bodies.
Review by

Time and space are as fluid as water in Keith Lee Morris’ labyrinthine third novel, his first since 2008’s brutal The Dart League King. This time, a family road trip goes awry in the small town of Good Night, Idaho thanks to a hotel that rivals The Shining’s, a book with which Travelers Rest will inevitably be compared, though there are more definitive answers here.

The Addison family—mother, father, son and alcoholic uncle—are driving from Seattle to South Carolina when a snowstorm forces them to look for lodging in Good Night. The eponymous hotel, Travelers Rest, was once a palatial second home for the town’s high society, but fell into disrepair when the local mines dried up decades ago. After checking into the hotel, the Addisons quickly become separated in ways that are hard to describe, thanks to the shifting nature of time, space, memory, and dream in Good Night. The town is a lot like that grand staircase in Hogwarts, always rearranging itself depending on who enters and what they want.

Tonio, the father, wanders outside in the snow and follows a strange woman in silver shoes. Julia, the mother, finds an oddly familiar room on the third floor with an open roof, where she’s content to lie down and dream. Robbie, the uncle fresh out of rehab, bolts for the bar across the street, where he can’t tell if it’s the booze or the town that’s playing tricks on him. And Dewey, Julia and Tonio’s 10-year-old son, searches for his family, glimpsing them from a distance from time to time, but never quite able to reach them.

If you feel lost after the first 100 pages (and you will), don’t worry. The story is worth your confusion. In fact, it requires it. Proustian in theme but not in form, Travelers Rest is the definition of dreamlike prose. Morris’ writing is clean and cold as snow. The pages drift by just as effortlessly, lulling you into a quiet cocoon that you realize, too late, is actually something much more sinister.

Time and space are as fluid as water in Keith Lee Morris’ labyrinthine third novel, his first since 2008’s brutal The Dart League King. This time, a family road trip goes awry in the small town of Good Night, Idaho thanks to a hotel that rivals The Shining’s, a book with which Travelers Rest will inevitably be compared, though there are more definitive answers here.
Review by

Several years ago, after researching his true crime book The Serial Killer’s Apprentice, James Renner was diagnosed with PTSD. It’s not uncommon for journalists to suffer such effects after witnessing trauma for a story, and Renner’s 10 years of hunting serial killers and writing about unsolved murders caught up with him. Fiction provided an unexpected safe haven, and his genre-bending time-travel thriller, The Man from Primrose Lane (2012), was a crime he could finally solve. His latest thriller, The Great Forgetting, digs at a much larger mystery, one with more questions, no generic answers and therefore plenty of room for an imaginative author to play. The result is a mix of conspiracy theorist paranoia, alternate history and cross-country adventure.

The story begins with an epilogue—our first clue that nothing is as it should be—which provides several bizarre nuggets of information: Fourteen years after 9/11, the coroner who oversaw and organized the remains of Flight 93 returns to the crash site, where he finds a severed monkey’s paw, clasping a man’s watch that reads, “RIP, Tony Sanders. 1978 to 2012.” And on the monkey’s palm is tattooed a bright red swastika.

In 2015, Jack Felter has returned home to Franklin Mills, Ohio, to help care for his father, who suffers from dementia. Franklin Mills is a place Jack would like to forget—especially his former love interest Sam, who immediately enlists Jack’s help in finding her husband (once Jack’s best friend), Tony Sanders, who has been missing for three years. Tony’s trail leads Jack to an institutionalized teen named Cole, who promises to reveal Tony’s whereabouts if Jack listens to Cole’s story—and begins boiling his water to counteract the pacifying effects of Fluoride. Jack soon learns about the Great Forgetting, a vast conspiracy that conceals the true events of World War II, contradicting everything he knows about history, science, the government and even time itself.

The Great Forgetting explores humanity’s desperation to forget the worst things that happen to us and the worst things we do to each other. It never loses speed as it reveals large-scale histrionics and builds to a zealous reveal. However, in Renner’s attempt to exorcise our prejudices and transform history, he risks alienating his audience, as many readers may find themselves defensive of their living memory, holding tighter to their real history. Perhaps some things can’t be rewritten, even for fiction’s sake.

Several years ago, after researching his true crime book The Serial Killer’s Apprentice, James Renner was diagnosed with PTSD. It’s not uncommon for journalists to suffer such effects after witnessing trauma for a story, and Renner’s 10 years of hunting serial killers and writing about unsolved murders caught up with him. Fiction provided an unexpected […]

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