Author: lafasai

I finished Anatomy: A Love Story two minutes ago, and I have to say that I have never been more irked by the conclusion of a novel. But nevertheless, I persevere. 

Anatomy: A Love Story by Dana Schwartz is a historical fiction novel set in early 17th century Edinburgh that follows Lady Hazel Sitten, a young visionary who aspires to become a surgeon despite both being a woman and the chains of polite society. She finds an unlikely ally in Jack Currer, a “resurrection man” who specializes in digging up bodies and marketing them to scientists and physicians for the sake of experiment. 

I read this entire book in one afternoon, which is typically an indicator of two things: the plot is fast-paced and engaging, but also lacks a depth of themes or any impressive development of characters or issues. That’s not to say I didn’t enjoy it; Anatomy: A Love Story contains several likable elements: a lion-hearted heroine, mystery in historical Scotland, romance, and an intriguing focus on medicine. Hazel Sitten is a resilient and kindhearted protagonist who possesses a Hermione Granger-esque spirit, making her easy to root for. Further, the concepts employed by the plot are fascinating in and of themselves, such as medicinal breakthroughs of the 17th century, the nascent stages of female scholarship, and class conflict. 

Anatomy: A Love Story rang eerily similar to Stalking Jack the Ripper by Kerri Maniscalco in the sense that it’s primarily a mystery told from the perspective of a medically proficient young woman and her charming sidekick-slash-love interest. All in all, I enjoyed the book, although I doubt it will stick with me for long. It was both entertaining and fascinating and checks all the boxes of a perfect quick read. 

As for the ending, I found it very uncalled for. It’s almost as if the drama of the conclusion was more than the story itself could support. I’ll say this––if you are looking for a book with either a happy or satisfying ending, Anatomy: A Love Story is not the one you seek. 

“What is bad for the heart is good for art. The terrible irony of our lives as artists.” –– Jandy Nelson, I’ll Give You the Sun

Jandy Nelson’s I’ll Give You The Sun is the exquisitely written story of Noah and Jude, a pair of twins that once shared a soul but now barely know each other. The book ebbs and flows with their cycles of hatred and love and bitterness and forgiveness as they age into young adulthood. 

I’ll Give You The Sun is first and foremost a homage to art. Noah and Jude are both visual artists, inspired by their late mother. She is the catalyst of an ongoing and underlying competition that grows and evolves between the two where every challenge, every argument, every bout of bitterness and hatred that arises between them is symbolized by their art and creative visions. 

Not only does I’ll Give You The Sun revolve around Noah and Jude’s love for art, Nelson’s writing itself is art transposed into words, to put it simply. Somehow, she manages to bend the English language to wrap perfectly around the minds of Noah and Jude. Frankly, Nelson could write 500 pages about nothing and I would read it solely for her words and metaphors and the way they seamlessly fall into pictures in my mind. The reader truly finds themself in Noah and Jude’s world; it’s actually startling how perfectly Nelson captures the relationship between the twins. The downward spiral of  “NoahandJude” and their subsequent yearning to love each other again is the true lifeblood of the story. While the actions and events of the book are interesting in how they overlap and connect over the years, the essence of I’ll Give You The Sun is encompassed by Noah and Jude as their own family and their unadulterated passion for art and love.

“Hope in the shadow of fear is the world’s most powerful motivator.” 

Scythe by Neal Shusterman is a dystopian fantasy that takes place on Earth hundreds of years in the future, a time where the threat of natural death has been eradicated and the sole enforcement of population control are scythes, a group individuals professionally trained to “glean” civilians. Citra and Rowan are chosen as two scythe apprentices, and find themselves the center of turmoil that begins to permeate the scythedom. 

I immensely enjoyed Scythe. Shusterman’s world building was absolutely immaculate and detailed. I’ve found that fantasy authors can often fall into a world-building trap, either by being too vague or overly specific and tedious. However, Scythe does not fall victim to these dangers of fantasy writing, in fact, Shusterman managed to legitimately suspend my disbelief for much of the book, which is an uncommon experience for me when reading fantasy. Furthermore, I found the “post-mortal world” in which Scythe is set genuinely intriguing, and I was actually eager to learn more about it as I read on. 

In terms of the plot, it was equally impressive. I am a huge fan of “apprenticeship” stories, and Scythe Faraday and Scythe Curie were admirable mentors to Citra and Rowan, as well as simply enjoyable characters. Additionally, I particularly found the dual perspective aspect of the novel to be appealing (as I always do). The switching POVs and the journal excerpts that were included between chapters allows the reader to piece together the complicated layers of Scythe’s plot. In this sense, Scythe seemed similar to a mystery-thriller; I found it suspenseful and engaging, and Shusterman was very purposeful in allusions and foreshadowing. 

I recommend this book to anyone looking for a riveting trilogy. Although I wouldn’t call Scythe a quick or light read, it really hooks the reader into the story, and definitely checks all the boxes of a captivating story.

Okay, so I’ve only ever cried twice while reading. The first time was when I read The Book Thief as a freshman, and the second time was the other day when I finished this complete heart-punch of a book. 

What Beauty There Is by Corey Anderson is the incredibly stark and beautiful story of Jack Dahl, a seventeen year old boy who needs to care for himself and his little brother despite being penniless and parentless in the cold Idaho winter. Jack’s path intersects with Ava Bardem, a lonely young girl of his same age, whose character has been hardened by her harsh father. Together, Jack, Ava, and Jack’s little brother Matty build a fragile trust as they unknowingly become involved in a dangerous scheme larger than they realize.  

What Beauty There Is is maybe the most poetic book I have ever read that isn’t actually written in verse. The dialogue, setting, and descriptions are sparse and without flower, which 100% fits the tone of the story. The setting, a bone-chilling Idaho winter, completely made the book, giving Jack’s story a cold spare quality. I can’t pinpoint what it was about the setting that made it so perfect, but Jack’s dreary surroundings were reflective of his bleak situations, and they really were the finishing touch on the perfectly dreadful atmosphere Anderson built. 

On that note, Anderson really does create a story in which the reader can become fully immersed. Each chapter is opened with a brief, mysterious passage written in an––initially––unknown voice, and it adds a surreal quality to the storytelling, almost as if you’re dreaming, or listening to someone else’s dream. I read through What Beauty There Is with trepidation; I never really knew what was going to happen, and the mysterious narration helped to set the ominous tone. One of my favorite things about this book is how Anderson overflows it with gloominess, but also leaves a little kernel of hope for the reader to cling to (and believe me, I clung. While crying.). 

Anderson also focuses on how loneliness can make emotional vulnerability difficult. Ava and Jack are stubbornly independent, and they are faced with the difficulty of finding trust even in the most hopeless of times. I really enjoyed how they slowly realized that trust can help rather than hurt, and how they eventually opened up to each other despite the many obstacles along the way––and at the end.

What Beauty There Is was a 2022 William C. Morris YA Debut Award Finalist. This award looks for a debut YA book that appeals to young adult readers, exemplifies the highest standards of YA literature––independent of popularity or message and content––and possesses notably excellent writing and story components. I think that What Beauty There Is is a great candidate for this award, as I was astounded by the depth and rawness of Anderson’s debut novel, unusually profound for YA literature. Further, What Beauty There Is is especially catered to teen readers, focusing on the emotions and personal struggles of young people who find themselves lonely and alone.

I beg that everyone reads this book. What Beauty There Is evoked in me a sympathy for characters and their struggles to a degree that I’ve never experienced. It’s a sorely beautiful read, not to mention an absolute shot in the feels. For those looking for a good cry, or just to feel something, What Beauty There Is is a phenomenal option. Your heart will ache for Ava and her secrets, Jack and his resolve, and Matty and his absolute adorableness. 

“I knew its light instantly, its warmth, the voice I could feel but not hear. Surril. My star.” Star Mother, Charlie N. Holmberg

Star Mother by Charlie N. Holmberg is a fantasy novel that follows Ceris Wenden, a young woman who is chosen by the Sun God to be a Star Mother, a woman destined to give her life in service to the Sun God by bearing one of his children. However, Ceris achieves the impossible: she survives. Displaced in time, alone, and separated from her daughter, Ceris struggles to find her way to some semblance of normalcy, accompanied only by a mysterious godling named Ristriel as her guide. 

Some things I loved about Star Mother were both the religious lore and the themes of motherhood and how it can change a young woman. The plot is difficult to grasp without a full understanding of the religion that Holmberg has spun. Mainly based on astrology and the worship of the sun, the fictitious religion is both based on concepts familiar to us as readers and refreshingly unique and well thought out.  

Although Ceris’s story took place on planet Earth (with the Sun and Moon), I still interpreted Star Mother as an other-world fantasy, which I think is credited to Holmberg’s skillful craft of the religion. Holmberg incorporated faith into almost every character, event, and place, which effectively made religion a core component of both the plot and setting. Furthermore, the stories and beliefs of the religion itself were interesting and very well done. 

Secondly, the importance of motherhood is a driving force of the book. After giving birth, Ceris is immediately separated from her daughter, Surril. However, it is clearly evident throughout the book that Ceris loves her daughter unconditionally despite the distance between them. I’ve never read a young adult book that has revolved around being a mother like Star Mother does, and it was an intriguing concept. Ceris is twenty years old when Surril is born, which may be older compared to other YA protagonists, but still a notably young mother. I loved observing how her priorities and outlook on life changed after she entered motherhood, and although Surril is not actually in most of the book, her affect on her Ceris is an important component of her character development. Not only is Ceris a young mother separated from her daughter, she is a young woman coming of age, and Star Mother is a story about her finding her family and finding herself.  

Although I enjoyed the setting and Ceris’s motherhood journey, I found the plot to be a little bland, overshadowed by the powerful world-building. There was a romantic interest, but the relationship was neither integral to the plot nor well developed, in my opinion. Star Mother is an incredibly light read, one that interested me in the moment, but wasn’t especially impactful in retrospect. I was super supportive of Ceris throughout the book, but none of the other characters really interested me. I was also initially put off by the characterization of the Sun, who seemed to be both celestial and omniscient yet subject to base human desires. However, as the book progressed, I grew more accustomed to the humanlike tendencies of the celestial characters. 

Star Mother by Charlie N. Holmberg is a quick fantasy read that highlights themes of faith and the importance of motherhood. I would recommend this book to anyone who enjoys detailed and unique world building, especially that of a religious nature. Also, books focused on motherhood––and written from the mother’s perspective––in YA are uncommon, so I would encourage people to read Star Mother if they’re interested in stories fueled by the impact of motherhood. 

Frankly in Love by David Yoon is a lighthearted contemporary story of Frank Li, a Korean teen living in California navigating high school relationships, future plans, and family conflicts. His (generally) smooth life as a self-proclaimed nerd is disrupted when Frank becomes infatuated with a white girl, whom his parents are disproving. To solve his dilemma, Frank acquires the assistance of Joy Song, a friend of the family and a fellow Korean who coincidentally has a problem similar to Frank’s. As they embark on their fake-dating scheme, they confront struggling romantic relationships, family conflicts, and the looming prospect of college. 

Overall, I really enjoyed Frankly in Love. As a senior in high school, I found many of the obstacles that Frank faced relatable and amusing, but I can understand how older readers could be uninterested in the plot. Furthermore, Yoon touches on insightful themes such as racism, familial struggles, and finding your identity both as an adolescent and an Asian American. Specifically, exploring the perception of identiy from the perspective of a young Asian raised in America was exeptionally enlightening. In this sense, Frank’s story surprised me with it’s juxtaposition of emotional depth and light-hearted comedy, something I really enjoyed. Additionally, I thought that both Frank’s relationships and problems were painted pretty realistically, yet in a manner that was both entertaining and emotionally touching. 

I would recommend Frankly in Love to anyone looking for a feel-good coming of age story. It’s a comedic quick read, certainly not the stuff of classics, but surprisingly profound in its themes. I think it would resonate well with high school students especially, as Frank is a lovable, nerdy, and relatable protagonist.

Geared towards educators, this article revolves around a “rubric” formulated by Ann E. Ebe, which contains seven characteristics of writing: ethnicity of characters, familiarity of setting, relevance of time period, age of main characters, gender of main characters, exposure to the particular genre, and relationship to the reader’s schema. By keeping these things in mind while choosing a book for a student, especially one that is less active in education, educators can better students’ participation and investment in class as well as reading in general. The article refers to a hypothetical character “Miguel,” aged 15, bilingual, and new to America. He is an example of a student in need of a culturally relevant novel to bridge the gap between himself and his education.

The authors of this article posit that cultural representation boosts educational participation. A critical aspect of their stance on how books can help young readers is the idea that the integrity of a culturally relevant text relies less on ethnicity or gender and more on how it directly relates to the reader’s life and experiences. The tone of the article is encouraging, even helpful, looking to advise other teachers or mentors in helping kids become more invested in their education.

As someone who is a student, not an educator, this article seemed more interesting than helpful. Although it did not satisfy my original interests/inquiries about cultural representation in YA literature, the article did bring up an intriguing topic: how to involve students in reading through works culturally relevant to their own lives. I found Ebe’s rubric an interesting strategy for educators. However, it seems a bit formulaic; as I perceive reading as a more liberating experience, free of rubrics and requirements. From a personal standpoint, I read as an outlet from my actual day to day life, and while I enjoy seeing aspects of myself in protagonists from time to time, I usually read for the escape. Despite this, I understand how books reflective of students’ lives and experiences would further their investment in their education.

To conclude, while “Lingua Anglia: Bridging Language and Learners” was not what I expected, it was an insightful read. I think it’s a great concept that educators should explore, especially those who teach ESL or English to young teens.

Work Cited:

Hickey, Pamela J., and Caroline B. Hopenwasser. “Lingua Anglia: Bridging Language and Learners: Engaging Miguel: Culturally Relevant YA Literature.” The English Journal, vol. 103, no. 2, National Council of Teachers of English, 2013, pp. 105–07, http://www.jstor.org/stable/24484202.

I can concisely sum up my reaction to Six Crimson Cranes with this quote from the movie 10 Things I Hate About You: “I know you can be overwhelmed, and you can be underwhelmed, but can you ever just be whelmed?” 

Six Crimson Cranes by Elizabeth Lim is a retelling of the folktale The Six Swans by the Brothers Grimm. It’s set in an Asia-inspired fantasy world in which magic exists but is forbidden (classic, I know). Shiori, our protagonist, is a young girl who is cursed into literal silence while her six elder brothers are trapped in the bodies of swans, and Shiori journeys alone and voiceless to free herself and her brothers of their curse. 

I am a huge fan of Lim’s other series, Spin the Dawn, a loose adaptation of Mulan. I went into Six Crimson Cranes with extremely high standards, and was unfortunately “whelmed”. I did not dislike Six Crimson Cranes, but I was not astounded. I found the plot to be slow at times, and frankly, I forget much of the middle of the plot. Additionally, the romance caught me off-guard, and it seemed unexpected and incongruent with the plot.

I did enjoy the concept of the retelling and Shiori as a character. Shiori is resilient despite the loss of her voice, and I found myself rooting for her despite my disinterest in the plot. Additionally, I loved the plot twists near the end of the novel, which I did not foresee at all! I enjoyed the fluidity of evil, especially the uncertainty of who was evil.  I thought Shiori’s stepmother, Raikama, was a marvelous villain and character, and I really liked how Lim played with her arc throughout the book. Lim is also very adept at depicting stories set in a culture inspired by Asia, something I appreciate in her writing.

I feel a certain level of guilt in not loving Six Crimson Cranes, as I am aware that I had unusually high standards for Lim’s second series. However, Six Crimson Cranes is a solid, well written novel in which Lim incorporates unexpected plot twists, dynamic antagonists, a unique cultural setting, and a strong female lead. I would recommend this book to anyone looking for a solid fantasy read and interested in fairy tale retellings! 

-Sonny

“The sooner you let people be who they want to be, the better for all.”

The Luck of the Titanic by Stacey Lee is a historical fiction novel about a young Chinese-English girl named Valora Luck who journeys on the famous Titanic voyage in search of her twin brother Jamie and a new life as an acrobat in America. 

Although the Titanic is one of the most renowned tragedies in history, I found The Luck of the Titanic to be a surprisingly uplifting novel (initially). There was never a slow moment in the plot of Valora’s story, but I found that the characters and their relationships were really the backbone of the novel, which is something I really enjoy in a book. Even beyond the delightful romantic relationship, there were friendships, mentors and their mentees, and of course, Valora and Jamie’s relationship. Their “twinship” fueled the book with its entertaining dialogue and unconditional sibling love. A strong point of the novel was the characterization of Valora specifically. Throughout her journey, her perseverance towards her goal never wavered, yet she still valued other people in her life selflessly. Further, Lee touches on important themes such as racism, grief, and Chinese culture and tradition in a way that is sensitive and didn’t overpower the plot, which I appreciated. 

While The Luck of Titanic was not intricately written nor a milestone in literature, I found it to be a great quick read that was enjoyable yet thought provoking. Readers who appreciate strong female characters who challenge prejudice and books that are mostly propped up by deep and meaningful character relationships and identities, I would recommend The Luck of the Titanic as a lovely quick read. Or, if someone’s just looking for a feel-good historical fiction novel with a nice, happy cry at the end, this book is for them.