Review: "Dreamland" by Sarah Dessen

Dreamland by Sarah Dessen
Published 2000
★★★★

When Caitlin's sister rejects the life that has been set out for her, Caitlin finds herself floundering in the shadows. With attention elsewhere, she throws herself into new things—cheerleading, a new boyfriend. Cheerleading she hates. The boyfriend, though, takes up more and more of her time...and gradually leaves her with more and more bruises.

Dessen made her name on summer (or summer-like) romances set in North Carolina, but once upon a time, before she'd settled into the rhythm of YA romance, she wrote Dreamland. I was twelve when this came out, and I probably read it that year or the next. I read (and loved) a lot of Dessen's books, but this one still stands out—darker, not a romance (or not really), a time in Dessen's writing when her heroines were allowed to make mistakes and find themselves in unhealthy relationships and not be squeaky clean. It's so interesting to see reviews from people who read some of Dessen's later work first and prefer that, because I have always felt that this is one of Dessen's stronger works—no healthy happy romance, a heroine who get wrapped up in drugs, etc.

I realized I'd grown out of Dessen's books some time ago, when I read yet another book about a heroine with problems that weren't her fault and concluded that I wasn't likely to see another heroine who got to be at all messy (and definitely not one who was poor or fat or queer or political or from somewhere other than small-town-but-not-too-small-town North Carolina). I remember this one as one of Dessen's only books that allows for that messiness (an abusive relationship isn't Caitlin's fault, of course, but she at least goes willingly into her experiments with pot and class-skipping—agency, yay?). But, rereading it now, it's perhaps not so big a difference; Caitlin is still a White, wealthy (or wealthy enough to never worry about money) teenage girl with an enormous safety net. I'm still so happy to see a YA character who gets to make some mistakes, but even the dramatic drug plotline feels quite late-90s these days; while I wouldn't recommend that high school students go get stoned, an author writing this in the 2020s would probably have to get Caitlin hooked on something stronger for it to carry the same weight that it did then.

Because this was published 25 years ago, it's interesting to see what else still feels contemporary and what doesn't—Caitlin calling every number where she thinks she can reach Rogerson, for example, is a distinctly pre-cell-phone vibe. A few word choices and targets of not-quite-snark would give me pause today but aren't so out of line for 2000s NC. Late in the book, there's some stuff involving residential treatment and characters who are in said treatment for months, even more than a year—partly a sign of changing times (contemporary insurance companies would likely give most of the patients the boot within weeks), partly a sign of this being a world populated by people with a certain degree of financial comfort, partly perhaps just that Dessen might not have considered insurance policies when writing the book back then.

As a nostalgia read, this was a win, and I can still imagine it resonating with teens, especially those in unhealthy relationships. But...these days, I'd probably recommend something else.

Review: "The Girl You Know" by Elle Gonzalez Rose

The Girl You Know by Elle Gonzalez Rose
Published February 2025 via Bloomsbury YA
★★★

Luna's world fell apart when her twin, home for winter break, was found dead—and with the police planning to make this an open-and-shut case, there's only one thing to do: take over her sister Solina's identity, infiltrate her fancy boarding school, and find proof that her sister's death was murder...as well as proof of who did it.

I love me a boarding school book, but I ran up against my inability to suspend disbelief pretty quickly here. Hard to believe that Luna was able to financially support herself and her sister (who has a scholarship, but one that doesn't cover anything by way of incidentals) on a less-than-minimum-wage diner job; hard to believe that she lasts more than a day in a school where everyone should know her, she doesn't know even the barest details; hard to believe several different event sequences. Like...Luna realises once she gets to the fancy fancy prep school that Solina was presenting a different version of herself to the people there, one Luna knows nothing about, and yet nobody calls Luna on...really anything? She struggles in her classes, and despite Solina having a GPA that nobody else can even touch, nobody questions Luna-as-Solina struggling; she can barely mask her revulsion when kissing Solina's boyfriend; she runs around ready to stab people with her rusty-but-trusty knife, and nobody really notices.

I can't help but think of Tana French's The Likeness, in which the main character is called in to impersonate another woman, one who visually could be her twin. She has to swallow buckets of information in a minuscule amount of time, but she's trained to do it, and also, she plans and practices in the limited amount of time; she holds her breath and watches people's reactions and adjusts on the fly; things are weird, and she actively works to smooth things over. I know the rules are different for YA, but if I do a reread, it'll be of The Likeness, not of The Girl You Knew.

Review: "Death and Other Occupational Hazards" by Veronika Dapunt

Death and Other Occupational Hazards by Veronika Dapunt
Published January 2026 via Poisoned Pen Press
★★★★

Death needs a sabbatical: Life is exhausting, the Boss takes centuries to mull over every change in their image (really, he needs a marketing department), the VP for Pandemonium & Perdition is up to all his usual shenanigans, and the Human Communications Director has stretched his three-day vacation into more than two millennia. (He hasn't been totally slacking, though: He has a side gig as a hair model.)

So yes—Death needs a sabbatical. Unfortunately, her sabbatical coincides with the first Unplanned deaths she's seen in her career...and those deaths could have devastating consequences if she doesn't figure out who (or what) is behind them.

This was just about as tongue-in-cheek as I could have hoped for, with a serving of murder on the side. It's a pretty delightful romp (if that can be said about a book about Death): Death is fed up with the black robes and scythes and eager to mix and match the loudest patterns and brightest colors she can find, but for all her experience, she doesn't always quite...get...humans, and she often doesn't understand when she gets things not quite right, or why.

It's worth noting that the setup here is oriented in a very Specific Western Religion direction; although Death mentions having spent time all over the world (picking up souls—it's not clear how she is managing the workload of tens and tens of thousands of people dying each day, but that's kind of beside the point), nearly the entire book takes place in London, which for whatever reason seems to be favored not only by Death but also by the VP for P&P and the HCD, and there's never any mention of how Death comes into play when, for example, a Hindu or Buddhist or Muslim etc. etc. etc. person dies. In some ways it's maybe for the best that that isn't explored (I do not want a book that tried to make it global but in which the answer is "it's all the same outcome for everyone! But oh, haha, it just so happens that it looks a lot like a very white version of Christianity!"), and it would have had to be a very different book to get into the weeds without making it super problematic, but...well, just a heads-up that the vision here is pretty specific.

All that said—it was a ride. I'd love to have a coffee with this version of Death.

Thanks to the author and publisher for providing a review copy through NetGalley.

Review: "Tales of Enchantment" by Shanna Swendson

Tales of Enchantment by Shanna Swendson
Published August 2023
★★★★

Enchanted, Inc. is one of my all-time favorite chick lit series, and I do not use "all-time favorite" lightly. In Tales of Enchantment, Swendson adds a few short (and not so short) stories to the mix, fleshing out the series with moments that didn't fit into the main event.

I've read two of these before, as the stories featuring Sam were also published separately, but the others were new to me. The ones that resonated most were those about Owen and Rod, before the series starts (not sure why, but they felt the most playful), but most of all I loved the short essays and commentary from Swendson—a bit of background on each given story, some cultural context, etc. My poor little millennial brain can't really wrap itself around the idea that younger readers need reminders that there was a time when you couldn't just whip out your cell phone and call someone (or look something up), but here we are. My least favorite story was probably the last one, narrated by Katie's grandmother, I think just because the voice didn't feel as distinct...but that's a pretty minor quibble.

As ever, reading anything by Swendson is a reminder to reread the whole Enchanted, Inc. series...especially as it's been a decade since I last read the earliest books. Will this finally be the thing that pushes me to give the German versions a go? Only time will tell.

Review: "Sobibor" by Jean Molla

Sobibor by Jean Molla, translated from the French by Polly McLean
English translation published 2005
★★★

Spoilers below

Pulled this one from deep deep down on my TBR, and it's an odd one. Part YA eating disorder story, part Holocaust story. Emma's anorexia/bulimia serve as...something of a penance, plus something of a visible sign of shame, I think? The timeline was a little confusing, but the short of it is that she discovers a Holocaust-era diary that her late grandmother had stashed away; the diary is written by a French Nazi sympathizer (and Nazi himself), and the more Emma reads the more she questions what she knows about her grandmother: in addition to what Emma learns through the diary (in which her grandmother makes appearances), why did she have this diary, and who was this man to her?

I'm not sure quite what to do with this. The comparison of the body of someone who is very sick with anorexia (and yes, Emma is very sick) to a person who survived—or, for that matter, didn't survive—the Holocaust is not a new one, but here it's a bit more literal. But...when Emma eventually works out the details, she understands that the writer of the diary, despite the different name, is her grandfather. There's a whole confrontation, and it just feels odd—like someone's (the writer's?) fantasy of, well, confronting a Nazi.

It would be interesting to see this spread out over more time. Most of Emma's reaction, other than the confrontation, is confined to her relationship with food and her body. But...I'd have liked to see her really wrestle with what this means for her memories of not just her grandfather but also her grandmother. Her grandfather gets the brunt of the blame, as well he should (he's the one who happily worked at a death camp and who, somewhat less happily, committed murder himself); her grandmother, who is dead by the time Emma is working all of this out, gets less attention. But she's in many ways the more interesting character: she was at the camp as forced labor from Poland, and her relationship with Emma's grandfather meant survival...but the fact that she stayed with him after the war, buried his secrets, is something separate, and I don't think the book really gives enough room for Emma to work all of that out.

Review: "Spirit of the Mountain" by Shelley Davidow

Spirit of the Mountain by Shelley Davidow
Published 2003
★★★

I decided that I'd make some headway on my TBR, so I picked this up, because it's been on my list for years...only to find that it never actually made it to my Goodreads list. It was about time regardless, but I'll have to double-check next time!

At any rate: in Spirit of the Mountain, a young teenager from Durban goes to the countryside to stay with her uncle. She's already anorexic when the book starts, and she deteriorates as time goes on; her mother (who is city-bound and racist) is not enthusiastic about Emily's time away, but Emily's uncle is convinced that the countryside is what will cure her (never mind that he has exactly zero plan for how this will happen).

This is interesting—in many ways it's more of the same thing, one of many similar YA "issue books" about eating disorders from a particular era...albeit at the end of that era. What distinguishes this is the setting; when Spirit of the Mountain was published, apartheid had been over for less than a decade. Although Emily's uncle is the prototypical good guy who gets along with everyone, tensions are high...but also, it's eventually a sangoma (traditional healer), not a Miracle Therapist, who sets Emily on the path to wellness. (Unfortunately the sangoma does fulfil the role of the Miracle Therapist—tells Emily that her illness is because she's afraid of becoming a woman, knows exactly what she has to do, et cetera. I'm also decidedly skeptical of the idea that the right thing to do for a struggling infant is to tell its mother that she can't have him back because an equally unwell teenager is caring for him and they need each other to get better!)

Ultimately I think this is trying to do some interesting things but the timing of writing perhaps gets in the way. Anna, an African woman who works on Emily's uncle's farm, is allowed to be a smart and resourceful character, but she's not given much personality or role beyond helping other people get better; the sangoma is a peaceful man with all of the answers, but most of the other local Africans are an angry, spear-wielding mass just outside the gates; Emily is treated as a gold-star exception for not looking down on various characters on the basis of skin color. None of this feels particularly unusual for a book from this time and place (lots of trying to figure out how to write about race in a post-apartheid South Africa, I think), but it does feel dated.

Review: "Brighty of the Grand Canyon" by Marguerite Henry

 

Brighty of the Grand Canyon by Marguerite Henry
Published 1953
★★★★

Yet another childhood reread. I'm not sure how it came about, but I was obsessed with this and King of the Wind (which I have yet to reread) and Brighty of the Grand Canyon; although I had (and read) some of the Misty books, these two were the ones that I came back to over and over again.

This is definitely one to be read in the context of time and place; the hunting material isn't really contemporary (though...the focus on guns might be...), and personally I find the good-guy-bad-guy material a little reductive, but eh, I don't think that part really has to do with the age of the book. I love the emphasis on Brighty's independence, which feels like a reminder to readers that not everything must, or should, be tamed.

If I read this for the first time now, I'd probably give it three stars and not think much more about it, but...what can I say, the stuff that stuck with you in childhood sometimes sticks with you. Would still recommend it for young readers, along with perhaps a discussion about what has changed since then and a Playmobil Wild West set.

Review: "Good Night, Mr. Tom" by Michelle Magorian

Good Night, Mr. Tom by Michelle Magorian
Published 1981
★★★★★

A childhood favourite—I read this so many times when I was younger that I'm actually kind of staggered that this is apparently my first reread in fifteen years or more.

For the most part, this stands the test of time brilliantly. Magorian builds characters so thoroughly and thoughtfully, and even though I knew every plot point of the book, it managed to break my heart all over again. Such wonderful details, too.

If I'd read this for the first time now, I'd probably give it four stars; it's a beautiful book, but it is also a bit of a cliché (grumpy old man with a heart of gold and all that). I'm not sure that either Tom or William ever does anything bad or even wrong—Tom never gets angry; I don't think he makes a single mistake as a guardian/foster parent; other than one upset moment, William never acts out, and on the rare occasion that he breaks a rule, there's a ton of context. (I think there's an argument to be made that some of this comes down to trauma response, but then, this is a book written in the early 80s for children, and I think it's already doing a pretty good job at addressing trauma!)

As it is, though, I'd still recommend this highly and widely...and I'll still read it again in a year or two or fifteen, and I'll probably still give it five stars then too.

Review: "Alanna" (graphic novel) by Tamora Pierce, adapted by Vita Ayala and Sam Beck

Alanna by Tamora Pierce, adapted by Vita Ayala and Sam Beck
Published May 2025 via Harry N. Abrams
★★★

Pierce's books were staples in my family's household when I was growing up—it started with the Alanna books and grew to include the Circle of Magic books and then it kind of...went from there. My dad loved them as much as my sister and I did, and we bought new books set in whichever universe pretty much the day they came out. I've reread most of Pierce's books many, many times, as a child and as an adult (although admittedly fewer times as an adult).

I loved the recent graphic novel adaptation of First Test, and I was thrilled to see that the OG series is getting an adaptation as well. If anything, it's just surprising that it's taken so long!

The result, though—I'm not quite sure what isn't working for me, but I was underwhelmed. The art makes sense for the story; if anything, it's easier than in the original to see how Alanna could pass as Alan for so long. The emotional connection wasn't really there, though. Partly this might have been that a lot of internal stuff is shoved into dialogue, where it doesn't always fit. Part of it, to be fair, is also that some of the characters I learned so little about in this book also have very little characterization in the original (I went back and reread the original quartet pretty much as soon as I'd finished this).

I'll still be reading the hell out of any sequels as soon as they're published, and I'd still recommend this to both those who grew up with Tortall and those who didn't but read graphic novels now...but my heart is going to stay with the originals.

Review: "Summer's Ending" by Helen McClelland

Summer's Ending by Helen McClelland
Published 2006
★★★

Something of a curiosity, this: Summer's Ending is a classic 1930s school story...except published in 2006. It makes some sense, as the author did a bunch of work related to the Chalet School books (this has a very similar feel). It's a little modernized, but not all that much. We have two girls (11 and 13) sent from Malaysia, where their white British family lives, to London to join their older sister in a convent boarding school (their older brother being at a boys' school nearby). The girls aren't quite so squeaky-clean as in the Chalet School (the early books of which were written in the 20s and 30s), but they're still fundamentally Good; similarly, the school isn't quite so hyperintensely rules-based (the nuns are honestly in some ways more understanding than the relatively liberal, often untrained teachers of the Chalet School), but it's still...well, a 1930s boarding school run by nuns. Jean (the eleven-year-old) talks back and breaks rules and whatnot, but if you've read the Chalet School books, you can think of her as Grizel: a little rough around the edges, but fundamentally, you know. Good. (As in the Chalet School books, though, everyone assumes that the only valid/acceptable/up-to-standard education is an English education. So that's fun.)

Now. There be spoilers. This book was published almost twenty years ago and I don't think all that many people are seeking it out these days, but hear ye, hear ye, spoilers abound in the rest of this review.

In many ways what interests me most is the plot point of the children all being sent off to England. I know it was a thing at the time, but Christina and Roderick (the older children, twins) have not been "home" to Malaysia in years; their parents have come to visit, but between cost and the amount of time it would take them to return, the twins have not been back. Christina is a virtual stranger to Jean and Maggy; Roderick, off at his own school, is an unknown entity.

Obviously kids generally fly the nest at some point, whether that's for university or something else. Obviously children still leave home at young ages, for all sorts of reasons, and it's a long time before they go home, again for all sorts of reasons. I myself left (except, I went one town over, not miles and miles and miles away) for boarding school when I was fifteen, and though I have trouble imagining being away for five years or more at a time, I know it was done.

But there are two tremendous losses in this book: one midway through, which the characters struggle to make sense of for much of the rest of the book, and one mentioned in the sort of epilogue, with one of the sisters narrating some of what has happened since. (That is: one character dies during the course of the book, and we find out later that another character died in World War II.) And, my gosh. It is honestly more realistic than everyone living happily ever after, but you have to think that parents losing a child so far away—a child they have only seen maybe once a year since he was a very young child—would be questioning every decision they'd made about where to live and how to educate their children.

Anyway, things to think about. I'm not sure what made me shelve this one, once upon a time (more than a decade passed between me shelving it and me actually reading it!), but I suppose now I can move on to other things.