From an optimist, a bit of negativity. Followed by optimism.

Negativity—especially of the churlish variety—is not my scene. After a brilliant eureka moment in my early undergraduate life, I put away the majority of my haughty, ironic, suspicious-of-optimism, Judgy McJudgerson teenage legacy and moved on to a much happier existence. The idea of Bronies (which I just read about today) tickles my heart; the sheer joy and exuberance exploding from Jimmy Fallon at every turn on his late late show is my bread and butter.

Not for its cynicism did I spend six years studying Russian lit, nor do I inhabit the young adult and kidlit world in order to have a ready supply of lesser-than things to make fun of. Rather, I did both for the wit and humanism and fantastic use of language so often employed therein. Sincerity and optimism, that's my game.

So you can understand why I have mixed emotions taking time to write about a series of things I've come across thus far in 2012 that, well, I am feeling really negative and judgy about. Even though—or maybe especially because—the negativity comes from a place of optimism. But these things are so tied to what I hold near and dear to my heart that, well, I just want to say something. So I will say my something, and then I will move on. And we will make Mondays days of love and sincerity from here on out.

CASE THE FIRST
The first thing that rankled me I saw last week, and was the bizarrely visceral lit-snob reaction to the appointment of Walter Dean Myers as National Ambassador for Young People's Literature. I didn't take the editorial very seriously—I think it was intentionally incendiary (and willfully self-serving), and anyone even a bit clever can understand that the argument doesn't even correspond with the meaning of the actual appointment (an ambassador is not a laureate, or an instructor, or a mirror, for example).

However, I do dislike it when anyone claims that a) literature's only goal is to elevate, and b) that "to entertain, to problematize, or to instruct" cannot simultaneously elevate. I am not claiming that all —hell, I'm not even claiming that literature's only goal should be to elevate. But I do think that anytime a person chooses to read something for their own edification, they are doing themselves a service. All exercises in reading are transformative:

Psychologists from Washington University used brain scans to see what happens inside our heads when we read stories. They found that "readers mentally simulate each new situation encountered in a narrative". The brain weaves these situations together with experiences from its own life to create a new mental synthesis. Reading a book leaves us with new neural pathways. (Washington Univ. in St. Louis, via The Guardian)

…so even if Myers' work is "insipid" (which, whatever. Opinions are opinions.), the act of reading his work can do good just as well as Homer (or any number of increasingly ill-judged bawdy Old English bits) can. Either/or paradigms are harmful, especially if the result is keeping kids from actively engaging, on their own time, with literature, whatever that may be.

In any case, the guy is zany, which comes a dime a dozen, and Myers is still the one with the prestigious appointment, so, again, whatever. Also, I recognize that cultural snobbery is the Achilles Heel that brings out my cynicism. Okay. Water under the bridge.

However, today I came across two more things, in quick succession, that bit at me, and a series of three is always stronger, so. Here we are.

CASE THE SECOND
TEDtalks! Why are you doing me wrong?

For some reason, an economist got on stage to talk about his suspicion of stories. Yes, stories. That video is sixteen long minutes of your life, and I don't necessarily recommend anyone watch it, but there it is for those interested.

The takeaway is, humankind's tendency to frame everything—memories, lives, advertising—into stories is somehow…reductive? Constricting? Bad? Honestly, I'm a clever person, able to read literary criticism in Russian, but I could barely follow his argument. It was very…personal, I think. And yes, maybe I was feeling a bit ornery, my very avocation being called to task, but. Please.

Stories are used because framing the chaos and mess (which Cowen wants us to instead embrace, yet somehow not try to frame for better understanding) is how we make sense of life, how we can find meaning and move forward from the things that happen to us. I can understand the desire to be suspicious of stories people tell when selling something—obviously. Sales is a game, and you should always look outside the pitch's box. But just being human and telling stories? Being suspicious of that just promises exhaustion.

CASE THE THIRD
Being (and using) awesome.

This was highlighted in today's Shelf Talker, and it totally caught me off-guard. A bookselling dude in California has made it his mission to cull the word "awesome" from everyday English, citing its ubiquity and utter lack of real meaning as a source of physical pain.

"Saying the word in my presence is like waving a crucifix in a vampire's face," Tottenham says. "It's boiled down to one catchall superlative that's completely meaningless."

I am all for linguistic flexibility and creative oral latitude, but MAN OH MAN can you be a bigger Grinch? Hating people who use and believe in the word awesome is like hating puppies for tugging on each other's ears. Nerdfighteria's DFTBA mantra is the precise opposite of a cliché, and the precise example of people loving language and creativity and intelligence to BE BETTER. Or, as Tottenham would hate to hear it, more awesome.

This guy is a bookseller. I don't even. I hope he learns to spend more of his time enjoying things.

ANYWAY
There ends my wind of negativity. I just didn't like seeing 2012 get off to such a cynical start. Because 2012 is going to be a year of AWESOME. STORIES. And optimism.

You know how I know? Because today, right after being bombarded by cases the second and the third, I opened a birthday package from a dear college friend, and found THIS:

Yes, that IS Minnesota running at you with HUGS.

So. 2012. Be awesome. Tell stories. Hug people. Be optimistic.

GO.

RTW: Best of the Best of the Best of 2011 (aka, Look! A Post!)

No preamble here, let's just jump in: YA Highway's Road Trip Wednesday, number 111 AND the last of '11. Coincidence? Well, yes. But let's revel anyhow.

This week's topic is the top five books of 2011. But "of" is so vague, and I read so very much throughout the year, that I am going to go ahead with two lists: one of books released in 2011, and one of books I read this year, but were published earlier.

So in no order, with my Goodreads reviews (if I wrote one):

Published in 2011:
° The Scorpio Races, by Maggie Stifevater—specifically, the audiobook version.

This amp should go to 11; five stars is, really truly, not enough. What a story. What characters! Oh Dove, my Dove. Stifevater's outdone herself. If you can get the audio, even if you have already read the printed copy, I urge urge urge it. These readers are TOPS.

° Anna Dressed in Blood, by Kendare Blake.

So, first, the cover. When I first saw this cover reveal earlier this year, I was impressed and thoroughly spooked out. When I finally got it in my hot little hands, I was even happier with it. When I turned the last page of the book, all I could think was, I wish there was more blood. So book two? Please bring me more blood front and center. Thank you. 

I loved this book. I loved this book to bits and pieces and shreds. I loved Anna; I loved Thunder Bay; I loved the improbable addition of Queen Bee Carmel to the ghostfighting squad. I loved the freshness of the writing, which was clear and honest, and filled with enough unexpected turns of phrase and thought that I burst out laughing repeatedly (in the best way). The violence and gore, too, was pitch perfect—not gratuitous, always interesting, always moving the story forward in the best, most gruesome, way. 

And Cas. I adored Cas. That he rationalizes his interest in Anna as being kind of perfect, even if it is more than a bit wrong, is realistic (well, as far as ghosts go); that he can't think about how the relationship would play out after five or ten years is even more so. He was just mature and pragmatic enough to make the effects of his job seem real, while at the same time jussssst enough self-focused and shortsighted to be a believable teenager. 

The story, too, was strong and well-paced, and ended up feeling like a very satisfying television miniseries rather than a fleshed out single episode. It was comfortable territory, coming in as a rabid fan of Supernatural, but the similarities served as a framework, a safety blanket, rather than as a reminder of a different mythology rehashed. The sequel can't come soon enough. But please: more blood!

° Don't Stop Now, by Julie Halpern.

  

Julie Halpern, GET OUT OF MY HEAD. Somehow, between this and WILD NERD YONDER, almost my entire high school + college experience has been thrown in a cocktail shaker, mixed up, and served over ice. I love this story, and the characters, and how the delicate structures of who each is is obvious without being heavy-handed. Lil and Josh's friendship is rock solid and leaf-thin at once, and the giddy excitement of a road trip is made clear, with the palpable sense of things being just off enough beneath it to feel absolutely true. Oh, and what a voice on Lil. Loved her.

° Entwined, by Heather Dixon.

A sweet, charming thing of a story, with a HUGE cast of equally charming, fully-fleshed out, dear characters. And such a great, tense series of action scenes at the end! Love those sisters; so much spunk. This is the kind of book that belongs on a self, to be read and reread and reread.

° The FitzOsbornes in Exile, by Michelle Cooper.

I just love these books. Sophie is so gosh-darn fantastic and kind and clever; Toby's just so funny…the whole clan is great. I am endlessly impressed by the amount of research and though that had to have gone into the writing, and how effortless and breezy it comes off. Recommend recommend recommend.

Published earlier, read in 2011:
° How to Say Goodbye in Robot, by Nat Standiford.

°  Birthmarked, by Caragh M. O'Brien.

Shelves are inundated with dystopian/bleak future stories lately, but Birth Marked stands out for the solid and believable world Caragh O'Brien has built. It is clear she has all the details established, but she doesn't belabor them in the narrative, and lets the characters live their stories, in their world, in a completely organic (and non-patronizing) way. The problems that arise are reasonable, and the reactions/solutions to them valid against the internal logic; the complexity of what "right" decisions are in a society plagued with more issues than simple struggles for power and glory is great, and the characters on either side of the wall, from all sectors of the Enclave/Wharfton society, rise to it with complexity of their own. Gaia is a fantastic heroine, and Leon's coldness and flaws are welcome in his role as romantic foil and heroic other. I am definitely anxious for November's release of Prized.

° Before I Fall, by Lauren Oliver.

° The True Meaning of Smekday, by Adam Rex.

° Twenty Boy Summer, by Sarah Ockler.

What a tight, lovely, sad, funny, sweet, cathartic book. Anna Abby from New Yawk is one of my favorite narrators in a long time, all stubbornness, insecurity, and wry humor. Definitely a book to keep on the shelf for re-reading every summer.

Honorable mentions for series finished in 2011:
° Mastiff, and the end of Tamora Pierce's Beka Cooper series.

° Goliath, and the end of Scott Westerfeld's Leviathan series—again, particularly the fantastic audio version.

And one many years old, but that I read this year and adored and have taken to carrying around in my purse everywhere:
° The Morgan Rawlinson series by Maryrose Wood (Why I Let My Hair Grow Out; How I Found the Perfect Dress; and What I Wore to Save the World)

I loved this book. Morgan's voice just screams out from page one, and she is so SURLY you can feel it in your bones. This is the kind of series I wish I'd had for shelves in my formative years.

Good grief that was hard. I read more this year even than I realized. I feel terrible leaving off some other titles (Shade and Shine, for pete's sake! Girl of Fire and Thorns!) but these really were my absolute favorites.

Okay, 2012. I'm ready for you.

Thankful Kinetic Thursday, and an RTW…Late

I know I abandoned the scary stuff reviews; I've all but abandoned the blog. But, as yesterday was Thanksgiving (so, obviously, Thursday), and as the most recent Road Trip Wednesday over at YAHighway was about what we're thankful for as writers, I thought I'd drop two birds with this little ditty:

Ira Glass on Storytelling & Creativity

It's also floating around tumblr in still form:

I am—I hope—just reaching the end of this phase. Because, between you and me, and in the most humble way possible, I have fantastic taste. I mean, I really get stuff. But getting this first manuscript where I want it to be is taking more than awhile. And while I love it, I am also sick. to. death. of it. I am so ready for the Next Big Idea (it's there; it's waiting; it's great). But I want this book to make it through the early phase. 

So I am thankful to Ira Glass for his essay, and I am thankful to the good creatives of the internet for making such nice visual representations of it.

There, that's it. I'll be around.

RTW: Changing the Bloodlight

Too punny? Let's pretend it isn't.

Over at YAHighway, this week's Road Trip Wednesday prompt is What supporting character from a YA book would you most like to see star in their own novel?

And since I am devoting October to scary reads, my first thought was resident Queen Bee Carmel Jones, from ANNA DRESSED IN BLOOD.


What I liked most about Carmel was exactly what Cas does: she's smart. She's smart and put-together and fiercely determined to do the right thing, even if the right thing means confronting, with absolutely none of the requisite skills, a murderous ghost in order to give some peace to the memory of her jackass ex-boyfriend.

Tumbld here*

Carmel's status as Queen Bee is one that's obviously been earned, one she deserves, not one she tricked her way into. And watching her doggedly follow Cas through his hunt, and come out swinging when she shouldn't have a snowman's chance of surviving, is impressive.

Seeing the story from her point of view—or another, different, ghost hunting story, since [SPOILER] she makes it through book one—would be fascinating.

* that image being as artsy a bee as I could get the internet to give me. I don't abide sexy animal costumes, but I think Carmel would know just how to rock this to maintain her position.

MORE BLOOD. Please.

Anna Dressed in Blood by Kendare Blake

"I'm staring up at Anna's House again. The logical part of my brain tells me that it's just a house. That it's what's inside that makes it horrifying, that makes it dangerous, that it can't possibly be tilting toward me like it's hunting me through the overgrowth of weeds. It can't possibly be trying to jerk free of its foundation and swallow me whole. But that's what it looks like it's doing." (ch. 10)

So, first: the cover. When I first saw this cover reveal earlier this year, I was impressed and thoroughly spooked out. When I finally got it in my hot little hands, I was even happier with it. When I turned the last page of the book, all I could think was, I wish there was more blood. So book two? Please bring me more blood front and center. Thank you.

I loved this book. I loved this book to bits and pieces and shreds. I loved Anna; I loved Thunder Bay; I loved the improbable addition of Queen Bee Carmel to the ghostfighting squad. I loved the freshness of the writing, which was clear and honest, and filled with enough unexpected turns of phrase and thought that I burst out laughing repeatedly (in the best way). The violence and gore, too, was pitch perfect—not gratuitous, always interesting, always moving the story forward in the best, most gruesome, way.

And Cas. I adored Cas. That he rationalizes his interest in Anna as being kind of perfect, even if it is more than a bit wrong, is realistic (well, as far as ghosts go); that he can't think about how the relationship would play out after five or ten years is even more so. He was just mature and pragmatic enough to make the effects of his job seem real, while at the same time jussssst enough self-focused and shortsighted to be a believable teenager.

The story, too, was strong and well-paced, and ended up feeling like a very satisfying television miniseries rather than a fleshed out single episode. It was comfortable territory, coming in as a rabid fan of Supernatural, but the similarities served as a framework, a safety blanket, rather than as a reminder of a different mythology rehashed.

Also: can we talk about the deep maroon font? Bloody (pun intended) fantastic.

The sequel can't come soon enough. But, you know, with more blood.

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