The Printz Award Winners: 2010

This is the last one of these reports for a while; although the ALA recently announced the 2011 Printz winners, they're in demand in the library and it will be a while before I can get to them. I did manage to finish the 2010 books that "exemplify literary excellence in young adult literature," and here are my thoughts.

Winner:
Libba Bray, Going Bovine
Honor Books:
John Barnes, Tales of the Madman Underground: An Historical Romance, 1973
Deborah Heiligman, Charles and Emma: The Darwins’ Leap of Faith

Adam Rapp, Punkzilla  

Rick Yancey, The Monstrumologist 

Barnes's Madmen Underground: I wasn't wild to crack open this book, maybe because it pained me to see 1973—a year I can remember—described as "historical." (Actually, I was probably just burned out from historical research.) But once I started, I had trouble putting it down. It wasn't anything narratively unusual, just a first-person account of a boy's first week of school. But when the boy is a member of the "Madmen Underground"—a group of students put into psychological counseling throughout the years—and he has a drunk for a mother, a late father who was the town mayor, and five jobs, his struggles to find his place are compelling and fascinating. This novel is pure YA just for the voice, which was strongly opinionated, funny, and believable. This was a long book, but the pages flew by.

Heiligman's Charles and Emma: If there's anything I love more than a good story, it's a good true story. While many books have examined the life and work of Charles Darwin, author of The Origin of Species and the theory of evolution, this is the first to look at the relationship Darwin had with his wife, Emma, and how it framed and supported his work. While the writing style tends to be simple and abrupt (I do love my compound sentences), it's meticulously researched and endlessly fascinating. I would recommend this book to readers of any age who are interested in natural history and Darwin's work. (Charles and Emma also received a National Book Award honor citation.)

Rapp's Punkzilla: This is one of several YA novels by Rapp, who's also known for his stage plays, and I have to admit I didn't get it. It's an epistolary novel written by a 14-year-old military school dropout who is traveling cross-country to see his older brother, who is dying of cancer. I didn't mind the graphic language or sex, or the portrayal of the difficult times that young Jamie—street name Punkzilla—has experienced on the streets and on the road. But there's an inherent weakness in the story-through-letters format; first, everything feels very episodic (and when it doesn't, it feels very un-letter-like), and second, we can't see the denouement firsthand, when Jamie finally arrives at his brother's home. The format felt very self-conscious to me, and the climax-after-the-fact it necessitated was unsatisfying.

Yancey's The Monstrumologist: This book was a surprising inclusion on the list for me, not because it wasn't well-written—it was—but because of what type of book it was: horror, filled with suspense, lots (and I mean LOTS) of gore, and breathless plot turns. It's the kind of book I'd expect to see on the bestseller list, not an awards list. But Yancey's writing is so lush and precise, easily evoking the Victorian era of his setting, that it was a pleasure to read about his vicious, headless monsters devouring their human prey. The human characters are interesting, as well, as is the fast and twisty plot. I enjoyed it very much; it just wasn't the kind of thing I expected to see on an awards list, which doesn't usually reward popular fiction.

Bray's Going Bovine: I went into this book blind, as it was the first e-book I ever borrowed from my library and there was no cover or jacket flap to clue me in. The opening was like many a YA novel, with high-school outsider Cameron giving a funny account of his irksome days in school. But then it took a strange turn, which the title kind of gave away: the narrator discovers he has variant Creutzfeldt-Jakob Disease, better known in cattle as "mad cow disease." There's no treatment for this brain disease, which leads to growing dementia and then death, so Cameron escapes from the hospital and goes on an increasingly picaresque journey in search of a mystical cure. His adventures get wilder and wilder—involving a teenaged little person hypochondriac, a talking garden gnome which is actually the Norse god Balder, a punk angel guide, a strange cult obsessed with happiness, and possibly universe-traveling physicists. As each adventure gets weirder, we're more inclined to think they occur only in Cameron's head, and that the possibility of a "happy ending" is less likely. When I got to the end, though, it still felt satisfying, and the ride to get there was endlessly imaginative and even funny.

So, overall a pretty good year for Printz books, with a wide variety to please lots of different tastes. For now, though, my taste is going to return to Janespotting. As I said, I'm having trouble acquiring the 2011 Printz winners, and my busy schedule means I'd rather not have to read five books for one blog entry. So look next week for my review of Emma, and all the books and movies it has inspired. That should keep me busy for a while!

The Printz Award Winners: 2009

How nice to have a little break for the holidays. I got quite a bit of reading done, so I'm ready to give you my latest report on the books the American Library Association deemed "exemplify literary excellence in young adult literature" in 2009.

Winner:
Melina Marchetta, Jellicoe Road
Honor books:
M. T. Anderson, The Astonishing Life of Octavian Nothing, Traitor to the Nation, Vol. 2: The Kingdom on the Waves
Margo Lanagan, Tender Morsels
E. Lockhart, The Disreputable History of Frankie Landau-Banks
Terry Pratchett, Nation

Anderson's Octavian Nothing, Vol. 2: The first volume in this historical pair was an honor book in 2007, and was one of my favorites that year for its unique perspective on the American Revolution. The first book recounted Octavian's journey from coddled experimental subject to escaped slave, and in this book he decides the road to freedom is best achieved by joining Loyalist naval forces. His experiences are sometimes harrowing and always interesting, as he develops into a young man and tries to decide what freedom means to him. The "discovered journal" format continues to serve the story well, giving us a somewhat ambiguous ending that seems true to history. Together these two books were one of my favorites I read last year.

Lanagan's Tender Morsels: I'd really enjoyed Lanagan's Printz-honor collection from 2006, so I was looking forward to see what she'd do with the novel form. She started with the Snow White-Rose Red fairy tale, sprinkled in a strange mountain ritual involving bearskins, and came up with this astonishing fantasy in which an abused girl is transported into her "heaven" with her two baby daughters. As the two girls grow up, they get glimpses of the real world they left behind; when one accidentally returns to the real world, her mother and sister are forced to follow. They must leave "heaven" behind, and the three women's differing reactions to a world that—unlike their heaven—contains danger and violence along with opportunity and real love is fascinating to read. This is fantasy with real depth, but it's for more mature readers; the abuse the two girls' mother suffers is heart-wrenching to read.

Lockhart's Disreputable History: This book was a lot of fun, falling into the boarding-school genre established in that first YA, Catcher in the Rye, complete with a pranks and a secret society. What I loved about this book, though, was that Frankie's involvement with school pranks was more about her exploring her role as friend/girlfriend/clique member and what it means to try to fit in. So yes, this was a fun story about boarding school life among the rich people, but it had a real depth to it that would appeal to any teen (or older reader struggling with identity issues. (Disreputable History was also a National Book Award nominee in 2008.)

Pratchett's Nation: I've enjoyed several of Pratchett's works for adults, including his "Discworld" fantasies and the apocalypse satire Good Omens; he has that British flair for wordplay and dry humor I enjoy so much. This book seemed very different to me; not only was it "alternate history" rather than fantasy, it had a sincerity and earnestness I don't really see in his satires. There's still the same sense of wordplay, though, as the young island boy Mau struggles to unite the survivors that arrive on his island Nation in the South Pacific. The first survivor he meets is Daphne, who doesn't know that a plague has made her father the King of Great Britain instead of a very distant relative. (This is where the "alternate" part of the history comes in; Queen Victoria and most of her brood were still alive and kicking around 1860, when the novel takes place.) Although Mau's struggles for survival are engaging, as is his resourcefulness, the novel is really considering bigger issues, like are there gods? What is our duty to them, to ourselves, and to each other? What makes a nation? Although these are huge themes, they never overwhelm the book, owing to Pratchett's lively humor and intricate plot. Another book with an inner depth underlying an entertaining surface.

Marchetta's Jellicoe Road: And another Australian storms the Printz Awards! Although this is another book set inside a boarding school (this one in the Australian countryside) with its own rituals and battles, it is more of a family mystery—and what a mystery Taylor Markham has facing her. Abandoned by her mother at age 11, Taylor has grown up at the school, semi-adopted by Hannah, a young woman who lives on the school grounds. When Hannah disappears with no word, Taylor uses the manuscript Hannah left behind to try and decipher what has happened to her. She is aided by school chums and by the leaders of the townies and cadets who battle for territory around the school every year. As the story shifts between present, Taylor's shared past with the cadet leader Griggs, and Hannah's story of her own tragic youth, Taylor learns to open up emotionally even as the puzzle facing her becomes more complex. (Sorry, not going to be more specific and ruin the mystery for you.) This book was a little confusing to get into, what with all the shifting accounts, but it was worth it to get involved in an intricate mystery with a very satisfying resolution. It's nice when an author can take multiple threads and tie them up neatly at the end—good plotting is tough and it's fun to see it done well.

So all in all, another extremely good year for Printz books, maybe one of the best. And when I look at some of the books that didn't make it onto this list but onto the National Book Award list—like Laurie Halse Anderson's Chains, another wonderful historical novel set during the Revolution—you'd be safe to say it was a great year overall for YA books.

The Printz Award Winners: 2008

I've been plugging away at the list, using the cold weather as an excuse to stay inside and read while using the exercise bike rather than going outside to run. That means a little more reading time, and I've made it through the list of books from 2008 that the ALA deemed were those that "exemplify literary excellence in young adult literature."

Winner:
Geraldine McCaughrean, The White Darkness
Honor books:
Judith Clarke, One Whole and Perfect Day
Stephanie Hemphill, Your Own, Sylvia: A Verse Portrait of Sylvia Plath
A.M. Jenkins, Repossessed
Elizabeth Knox, Dreamquake: Book Two of the Dreamhunter Duet

Clarke's One Whole and Perfect Day: Another Aussie makes the Printz list, with a book that didn't feel YA to me at all. Sure, the main character is a teen, a girl who feels like her family is totally crazy and hopes that maybe her grandfather's upcoming birthday party might be a chance to have something go right for a change. But her point of view isn't the only one: we get scenes from the point of view of her mother, her grandparents, her brother, her brother's girlfriend, her brother's girlfriend's mother (and father)—characters with a wide variety of ages and backgrounds. YA books are usually in the first person, and even when they aren't they're usually focused on one character's point of view. To include the thoughts of—gasp! adults, especially adult family members—seems really really unusual. That's not to say I didn't enjoy the book, it was fun and the characters were interesting, I'm just not sure how open most teens are to reading about the enemy's, er, their parents' or grandparents' side of things.

Hemphill's Your Own, Sylvia: The author labels this a "verse novel" that is based on the life of the poet Sylvia Plath, who famously committed suicide via gas oven at age 30, with her children in the next room. I've mostly known about the controversy surrounding her death and her legacy (her estate was controlled by her husband, poet Ted Hughes, from whom she was separated at the time of her suicide), and the whole kerfuffle turned me off of wanting to know more. Hemphill's verse novel/biography combines poems, sometimes in the style of Plath's own work, with brief explanations of the biographical facts behind the event described in the poem. The triumph of Hemphill's work is not just the wonderful poems which trace Plath's life and work, envisioning her and the people around her, but that it made me think I've been missing something. The poems moved me, both as verse and as story, and made me want to go to the library.

Jenkins's Repossessed: It seems like YA has been flooded with supernatural fiction over the past few years,  what with all the vampires, angels, werewolves, fairies, and other creatures starring in their own novels. This book features a demon—sorry, a fallen angel—who tires of tormenting souls in hell and decides to take a vacation on earth. He assumes the life of a slacker teen scheduled to be creamed by a bus, and discovers the fun of having a physical body, and the complexities of having feelings. After a few philosophical discoveries—has anyone noticed he's left Hell? does God pay attention anyway?—Kiriel leaves Earth behind, having tried to make a difference in a couple of people's lives. This book was a pleasant-enough read, but I didn't find it revelatory, having left that kind of philosophical angst behind during my own teen years.

Knox's Dreamquake: Although I had access to this book, I didn't think I could fairly judge it without reading the first volume, which was checked out of the library. Rather than wait, and postpone this blog entry weeks and weeks, I took my first pass for a while. Too bad; this fantasy looked interesting.

McCaughrean's The White Darkness: Wowee. I had no idea what this book was about when I cracked it open—I had some vague idea it might be a fantasy, given the dreamy-looking cover and the acclaimed British author's previous work in retelling myths—but it turned out to be a contemporary adventure set in Antarctica. The story is told by Sym, a 14-year-old Brit who is fascinated with both Antarctica and the polar explorer Lawrence "Titus" Oates,  who perished on Scott's fatal expedition in 1912. Sym feels estranged from her schoolmates, most of whom are obsessed with boys and clothes—we don't discover she is partially deaf until a few chapters into the book—and often talks to Titus in her head. When her "uncle" turns a weekend in Paris into a trip to Antarctica, Sym is thrilled at first. As she discovers more about her uncle's true intentions and his past relationship with her family, the novel turns into a terrifying, hallucinatory journey into the cold and the blinding white of Antarctica. It was an intense story of survival, and even if it did push the boundaries of disbelief in places, it was a fascinating portrayal of one of our planet's last frontiers.

So overall, I didn't think it was a great year for the Printz books. A couple of them I thought were interesting enough to read once, but kind of forgettable. The National Book Award winner from this year was Sherman Alexie's Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian, which I have read and do think will endure, while the runners-up included Sara Zarr's Story of a Girl, which I thought would speak more to teens, especially girls. Of the Printz books I read, I'd probably pick Hemphill's as my favorite ... but as a writer I may be inclined to favor books about writers.

I would say at this point I've only two more years of award-winners to read, but the 2011 awards will be announced in February, so I may not finish by then ... keep posted to see.

The Printz Award Winners: 2007

It's been tricky finding time to read, but luckily I'd already read two of the books on the 2007 list that "exemplify literary excellence in young adult literature," according to the American Library Association. It was an outstanding year for Printz books.

Winner:
Gene Luen Yang, American Born Chinese
Honor books:
M.T. Anderson, The Astonishing Life of Octavian Nothing, Traitor to the Nation, Vol. 1: The Pox Party
John Green, An Abundance of Katherines
Sonya Hartnett, Surrender
Marcus Zusak, The Book Thief

Anderson's Octavian Nothing, Vol. 1: This is an extraordinary historical novel set during the American Revolution, with its title character not a rebel or a loyalist, but a slave. The story is told through diary entries and letters, all with a formal language that enhances the historical feel. Octavian's story is told in four parts, and that's how I consumed the novel. The first part was fascinating, as we see Octavian's childhood growing up as an experiment in a research college. He is taught Latin and Greek and music (and has his poop weighed every day), while his mother, an African princess, is treated like a lady. Of course he has a gradual discovery of what their slavery really means, especially after smallpox ravages the college and his mother dies in part two. Part three covers his escape to rebel forces, and part four his recapture. The depth of the character and story kept building with each part I finished, and I eagerly turned to Vol II. You'll have to wait for the 2009 reviews for that one, sorry. (Octavian Vol. 1 also won the National Book Award for Children's Literature.)

Green's An Abundance of Katherines: Green floored me with his dark Printz-winning debut, and I enjoyed his second novel just as much, although it had a completely different tone. Colin, the narrator, is a former child math prodigy who has been dumped by 19 girls named Katherine. The later dumping has occured after high-school graduation and Colin, afraid he will never demonstrate any genius again, goes on a road trip with his friend Hassan. They end up in Tennesee and take a job for a woman who owns a tampon-string factory, and Colin discovers mathematical formulae cannot substitute for (or explain) love. I loved the comic tone of the book, which used footnotes and other asides to enhance the humor, and although I'm not thrilled with Green's reliance on the manic pixie dream girl archetype, I really enjoyed the novel. The nerd jokes were right up my alley.

Hartnett's Surrender: This novel by an Australian author really floored me. I'm not sure how to describe it without ruining the story, because it's a psychological thriller that's more of a mystery than a pure thriller. At least I can give you the opening setup: a young man named Gabriel lies dying, wondering if his old childhood friend Finnegan will visit him before the end and bring his dog, Surrender. Years before, back when Gabriel was known as Anwell and was involved in a horrible tragedy, the two boys made a pact: Anwell/Gabriel would embody the good for the two boys, and Finnegan the bad. Now that human bones have been discovered in a forest nearby, however, things start to unravel, leading to a surprising and violent climax. The mystery was engaging and the resolution, and although it's the kind that gives more questions than answers, was very satisfying. It's a haunting book that stays with you.

Zusak's The Book Thief: Another gem of a book from Australia (and again much different than his previous Printz honoree), this story set in Nazi Germany and narrated by Death hit bestseller lists around the world. Death is fascinated by young Liesel, whom he first encounters when her young brother dies on a trip when the two siblings are being taken to live with foster parents. During the trip she steals her first book, a guide for gravediggers, and her new foster father teaches her to read using the book. She is soon stealing books from book burnings and the mayor's house, reading and writing being a way for her to cope with the increasingly difficult conditions under the Nazi regime. She has two other encounters with Death, who at the end notes "I am haunted by humans" like Liesel. Even if you think you have fatigue with WWII/Holocaust stories, this one is so powerful and hopeful—attesting to the eternal power of words—that I think you would enjoy it.

Yang's American Born Chinese: The winner this year was actually a graphic novel, a field that's always been popular with YAs, but only lately has branched out to broader topics. This novel is three related stories in one, beginning with the trouble young Jin Wang, son of Chinese immigrants, is having in assimilating into his American school. The second story builds on the Chinese folk character of the Monkey King, who in the book keeps accumulating power to prove he is more than just a monkey. The third story is presented like a television sitcom starring Danny, a blond American teen who keeps changing schools every time his Chinese cousin Chin-Kee, an amalgam of Asian stereotypes, comes to visit. As the novel bounces back and forth between the three stories, we see the connections as each character struggles to define their identities without denying their origins. I thought it was very cleverly presented, although I didn't find it that revelatory, being somewhat far removed from my own teenage struggle for identity (ie, old and irrelevant). I certainly can see why it's considered a groundbreaker in graphic novels for young people, although there has been great work in the genre for years.  (American Born Chinese was also a National Book Award finalist, and won an Eisner Award for Best Graphic Album: New.)

So all in all, a superlative year for YA literature, and I would be hard pressed to choose a favorite among these books. I suppose it would depend on my mood, because there was something for my inner history, math, and book-loving geeks, and they're not very good at fighting it out.

The Printz Award Winners: 2006

The pace of fall hasn't slowed any, but I have with a twisted ankle ... meaning instead of running, walking, or TKD I've been using the exercise bike. I can read while I bike, and I've  made it through the books from 2006 that "exemplify literary excellence in young adult literature," according to the American Library Association.

Winner:
John Green, Looking for Alaska
Honor books:
Margo Lanagan, Black Juice
Marilyn Nelson, A Wreath for Emmett Till
Elizabeth Partridge, John Lennon: All I Want Is the Truth, a Photographic Biography
Markus Zusak, I Am the Messenger

Lanagan's Black Juice: This collection of short stories from an Australian writer was trippy, wild, imaginative, and right up my alley. The author used all different kinds of fantastic settings, but only one was what you might think of as traditional fantasy, with a medieval-type setup. Sometimes it took a little patience to figure out the setting—one was futuristic punk, one seemed an African or aboriginal setting, one I didn't know how to describe—but they were all worth it. Lanagan creates snapshots of wildly different worlds, all with something interesting and powerfully moving at the center. I gobbled this book up very quickly. (Black Juice also won two World Fantasy Awards, for best collection and best short story for "Singing My Sister Down.")

A Wreath for Emmett Till: I'd heard of this book before, and was familiar with the subject—the fourteen-year-old African American boy who was murdered in Mississippi in 1955—but I didn't know that Nelson's book was actually a cycle of 15 interlinked sonnets, a form called a heroic crown. The last line of the first sonnet made up the first line of the second sonnet, etc etc, until the 15th sonnet, which is made up of the first lines of the previous fourteen. The format itself is impressive—especially when you see the first lines of the last sonnet spell out "RIP Emmett Till"—but the poetry is just as exhilarating. She uses imagery from popular culture, mythology, and history; links the hate of lynching to the attacks of 9/11, imagining a grown up Till becoming a hero in the towers; and calls for an end to hate. I read the book through once, then again with the notes the author includes at the end, explaining some of her references, and was thoroughly impressed. This book should be read not just by kids who need to understand the civil rights era, but by kids who don't think they like poetry. It's a wonderful, wonderful book, and the first thing I wanted to do after finishing it was share it with someone else. (A Wreath for Emmett Till also won a Coretta Scott King Honor citation from the ALA.)

Partridge's John Lennon: this heavily illustrated biography was one of the books that has led a renaissance of sorts in nonfiction for kids, as it seems lately there is at least one nonfiction book (if not more) that scores a major honors every year. And this is a very appealing book, liberally supplied with photos, that tells the story of Lennon's life from the time he was born until his murder in 1980. As someone who writes a lot of nonfiction, I really admire Partridge's judicious use of historical context, giving us just enough history to understand the events in Lennon's life without interrupting the flow of the story. The  structure is simple, the pacing quick, and the subject compelling, making for a good read for any age.

Zusak's I Am the Messenger: this novel by an Australian novelist felt more like what they're now calling "new adult" literature rather than "young adult," as the main character, Ed, is out of high school and struggling to find purpose in his life. Chance seemingly sets him on a new path when he inadvertently thwarts a bank robbery, leading someone to send him playing cards in the mail with strange messages. The cards set Ed a series of tasks in which he is to help people, sometimes by directly intervening in their lives and sometimes just taking small actions that send a powerful message. Ed is an interesting character, and his struggle was compelling reading, but as the novel progressed and he learned more about who was sending him the cards, I found the story taking a metafictional turn that I found irritating. It was an entertaining read, but left me slightly unsatisfied at the end. (I Am the Messenger also won the Children’s Book Council of Australia Book of the Year Award.)

Green's Looking for Alaska: This novel, I think, was another game-changer in YA fiction, for its frank depiction of teenage "misbehavior." At the very least it introduced an incredible new voice in the genre. The "Alaska" of the title is not the state, but a girl that Miles "Pudge" Halter meets soon after starting classes at an Alabama boarding school. Alaska is wild and mysterious and Pudge is soon head over heels ... but the relationship doesn't last (because of a twist I won't reveal), and he and his friends are left trying to piece together why. The book has often been challenged by censors for its portrayal of teenage sex, smoking, cursing, and drinking—but none of these behaviors are gratuitous, and we see the consequences of the characters' poor choices, so these elements only strengthen the emotional honesty and power of the novel. I read this novel last year, and quickly sought out Green's other books.

So how might I have voted among this books? I have to say that I thought this year's finalists the strongest across the board since the first year of the Printz Award, and it would have been a hard decision. But I think Alaska is likely to be the longest lasting of the bunch, so I think I would have had to agree with the panel.

Can I manage to get to 2007 by the end of the month? I'm certainly going to try ... only four years of the award left to cover, and I'd like to get there by the end of the year.

The Printz Award Winners: 2005

It's taken me a while, but I've finally made it through the books from 2005 that "exemplify literary excellence in young adult literature," according to the American Library Association.

Winner:
Meg Rosoff, how i live now
Honor books:
Kenneth Oppel, Airborn
Allan Stratton, Chanda's Secrets
Gary D. Schmidt, Lizzie Bright and the Buckminster Boy

Oppel's Airborn: I don't know where I've been that I hadn't heard of this guy's work before, but this fantasy novel was right up my alley. It's set on an alternative Earth where zeppelins are the dominant form of travel, and follows the adventures of Matt Cruse, a cabin boy on one of the spaceships. These adventures include rescuing a damaged air balloon, encountering pirates, crashing on a lost island, and discovering a new species of winged creature. Although the adventure is great fun, it's Matt's relationship with his co-discoverer, Kate de Vries, and his struggle to finally accept his father's loss that make this a great read. (Airborn also won the Canadian Governor-General's Award for Children's Literature.)

Stratton's Chanda's Secrets: Another Canadian author, a completely different genre. Set present-day in an unnamed African nation, the novel follows teenager Chanda as she tries to unravel many of the secrets that surround her family and friends. She doesn't really have secrets of her own, except that she suspects the truth about her mother's illness: HIV/AIDS, the initials no one around her will discuss even though it is ravaging her neighborhood. Omigod, you may be thinking, AIDS in Africa, this is one of those "issue novels." But it isn't, really, because Chanda is a real character and we learn about how the disease affects her family and her country through her experiences, not through any lectures. The facts are dire, but the ending is hopeful, making for a satisfying read.

Schmidt's Lizzie Bright: Oh, how I wanted to love this book. Schmidt is a Michigan author, and I enjoyed his more recent Newbery Honor book, The Wednesday Wars. And Lizzie is a historical novel with an unusual setting—an island town off the coast of Maine in 1912—something that usually hooks me right away. And it's not that I didn't like the characters (a minister's son who feels he doesn't measure up, an African American girl from a nearby island who befriends him) or enjoy the writing. But somehow every time I put the book aside, I wasn't in any hurry to pick it up again. And as I got further into the story, I understood why: because the novel is based on real events, I knew it wasn't going to end well. Bad things were going to happen to these nice characters—really bad things. Worse things than I'd imagined, really. So while the story was interesting, and built tension, and developed all the characters (even some initially "bad" ones), I wasn't in the mood to read the sad (but admittedly logical) ending. Excellent book, just not what I wanted to read just then. (Lizzie Bright and the Buckminster Boy also earned a Newbery Honor citation.)

Rosoff's how i live now: I'd actually read this a year or two ago, because the premise sounded so intriguing: an American girl is visiting relatives in the English countryside when war breaks out and she and her cousins are left alone to manage on their own. I love post-war/apocalypse stories (maybe I'll blog about that later), and this one was very enjoyable, with a different angle (the teen in a foreign country) I hadn't seen before. The voice was very strong in this first-person narrative, and so Rosoff could break all sorts of rules that writers are always told to follow, the main one being "show don't tell." Her narrator, Daisy, relates the whole story from her own point of view, and so there's little dialogue (except what she summarizes) and many scenes she's telling second-hand. While normally I'd get annoyed when someone breaks this rule, Daisy's voice was so strong and compelling that I didn't really notice. In addition, the story itself goes along at breakneck pace, and Daisy's growth as a character is natural and organic. It was an extremely entertaining book, even the second time around, when I knew what was going to happen.

So how I would have voted this year? I'm not ashamed to admit the two genre books were my favorites, and I think the fierce, original voice of Rosoff tips the scales in her favor. Again, it's interesting to note that as in 2004, there was no overlap between the Printz and the National Book Award lists. This, although three of the five books (but not the winner) were for young adults. But if I were to read all those as well, I'd never get to the end of these posts! I'm making progress on 2006, already, so look for that in a couple of weeks.

The Printz Award Winners: 2004

Time again to check out the books—this time from 2004—that "exemplify literary excellence in young adult literature," according to the American Library Association.

Winner:

Angela Johnson, The First Part Last

Honor books:

Jennifer Donnelly, A Northern Light

Helen Frost, Keesha's House

K.L. Going, Fat Kid Rules the World

Carolyn Mackler, The Earth, My Butt, and Other Big Round Things

Donnelly's A Northern Light: I was really looking forward to reading this one, ever since I got my hands on an advance copy of the author's latest, Revolution, my favorite book of last quarter. This was a completely different type of book, being a pure historical rather than a modern-historical-magic realism (maybe?) hybrid, set in northern New York in 1906. It was inspired by the notorious murder that also inspired Theodore Dreiser's classic An American Tragedy, and opens with the discovery of Grace Mae Brown's body in Big Moose Lake. It is assumed that she and her male friend, two guests at an Adirondacks hotel, both drowned after an excursion on the lake. But hotel maid Mattie Gokey comes to suspect something different when she peeks into the letters that Grace asked her to burn before she died.

This seems like a straightforward mystery—and one that will be easily solved, once Mattie gets the courage to look at the letters—but the greater mystery actually lies in Mattie's own background. Although the novel opens with a body at the hotel, there are frequent flashbacks to Mattie's life on her father's farm, taking care of her three younger sisters despite a burning desire to write and go to college. Mattie made a promise to her mother on her deathbed to take care of the family, so each time we see Mattie in the present, working at the hotel despite her father's disapproval, we wonder not only what she will do about the letters, but how did she ever get here? With each flashback we think we have a better grasp on it, but only at the end does everything come together for Mattie, with each plot strand contributing to a satisfying conclusion. It's a wonderful example of how to use structure to amplify your story, as the use of flashback enhances the mystery and character development. (A Northern Light also won the Los Angeles Times Book Prize for YA fiction and Britain's Carnegie Medal, under the title A Gathering Light.)

Frost's Keesha's House: Grrrr. My library didn't have this, and it looks interesting: a series of stories, all told in different poetic forms, about teens who find refuge for their various troubles at the inner-city home where Keesha lives with an unofficial guardian. I'm always interested in what people can do with poetry, so maybe I'll get this on loan later.

Mackler's The Earth, My Butt, etc.: I heard the author speak at this summer's SCBWI conference (an engaging talk on writing though good times and bad), and got my very own autographed copy of this honor book. The voice of her book's narrator, Virginia Shreves, was equally engaging as she opens the book by relating how her not-quite-boyfriend almost made it to second base with her—and all she could think about was whether he would see the bubber underneath her shirt. Virginia is a plus-sized girl in an average-sized family of overachievers, and she is having difficulty coping with their expectations, as well as the usual high school social pressures. For a while she tries to conform and get along, but a shocking accusation directed at the older brother she idolizes leads her to start standing up for herself and discover who she actually wants to be. It was a satisfying to see Virginia grow and change, without having the "makeover" ending you would get in a movie.

Going's Fat Kid Rules the World: Was the Printz committee having body issues this year? Another book told in first person by an overweight teen living in New York, that doesn't end with them miraculously slimming down and transforming their life? The similarities are superficial, though: whereas Mackler's Virginia is from a upper-middle-class, two-parent family, Going's Troy is from a poorer neighborhood and is living with his brother and their widowed father. His story opens as he is considering jumping off a subway platform into a train; he is stopped by a grubby, skinny older kid who turns out to be a legendary musician from Troy's high school. Curt sees something in Troy, inviting him to become his drummer, and despite his lack of self-confidence Troy responds. Curt has his own troubles, though, and Troy has to muster the guts to save his life in turn. While I found Curt's character a little unbelievable—kind of a drugged-out, male version of the manic pixie dreamgirl archetype, existing more to enable Troy's character development than to have a life of his own—Troy himself seemed fully realized and his story was very entertaining.

Johnson's The First Part Last: This is another novel that makes great use of a dual timeline to create mystery and add impact to the story. It's narrated by 16-year-old Bobby, who is alternately exhilarated and exhausted by his new baby daughter, Feather. His struggles to be a good parent alternate with flashbacks to the days when he was carefree and hanging out with his friends. When he discovers his girlfriend Nia is pregnant, they (with the help of their parents) decide to give the baby up for adoption. Therein lies the mystery: if they had decided on adoption, why does Bobby now have Feather, and why does he parent her alone? I found the answer, which comes at the very end of the book, both unexpected and moving. Johnson also subverts a lot of stereotypes with this novel: not only do we see a young man feeling tender and paternal, but her African American New Yorkers are not fatherless ghetto kids, but middle-class achievers who have the loving support of two parents (although one set is divorced). I think too often when people think of books with African American characters, they think of inner-city or historical settings, so it's nice to read one that shows a broader experience. This was a short but very powerful little book. (The First Part Last also won the Coretta Scott King Award for Fiction in 2004.)

So, how might I have voted this year? All the books I read were enjoyable, and while Johnson's First Part Last was a little gem, I have a thing for historicals, and Donnelly's A Northern Light was not only interesting as a historical but also as a mystery and as an wonderfully structured piece of writing.

An interesting note: this year there was no crossover at all with the list for the National Book Award for Young People's Literature, even though four of the five NBA finalists, including the winner, Pete Hautman's Godless, were YA novels. More evidence reinforcing how subjective these kinds of awards really are.

The Printz Award Winners: 2003

In this installment of my survey of those books that "exemplify literary excellence in young adult literature," according to the American Library Association, I consider the honorees from 2003.

Winner:

Aidan Chambers, Postcards from No Man's Land
Honor books:
Nancy Farmer, House of the Scorpion
Garret Freymann-Weyr, My Heartbeat
Jack Gantos, Hole in My Life

These four works couldn't have been more different, but they were all excellent reads.

Farmer’s House of the Scorpion: this is a brilliant piece of speculative science fiction, of the kind you rarely find in books for children or young adults. While fantasy is extremely popular for this audience—fairy tales are some of the first tales we tell children, after all—it seems many authors are hesitant (or unable) to explore the more complex ideas posited by sci fi. The idea Farmer explores—cloning, and whether clones are human and deserve the same rights—could be very complicated, but the way she approaches it makes it simple: she tells the story from the point of view of Matt, a four-year-old living in isolation with his caretaker in the middle of a poppy field. Matt doesn’t know he’s a clone, he only knows he is supposed to stay hidden, even from the local children who happen by. When he can’t resist their invitations to come play, he gets injured and they take him home. His escape shows him two different things: that he is both valuable—everyone around him is worried for his safety—and yet also an “animal” who is filthy and not fit to be among humans. After a period of isolation where he is caged like an animal, he is rescued and learns the truth: he is the clone of El Patrón, an elderly but brutal drug lord who has the power to ignore laws requiring that a clone’s brain be destroyed at “birth” (clones are grown inside cows, and thus not legally “human”), and raise him instead as a real boy.

The book continues to follow Matt from age 4 to age 14, as he learns who and what he is, eventually discovering (and trying to escape from) the dangerous implications of being a clone. The brilliance of the book is that it works for readers of varying sophistication. More mature readers will understand right away that clones are intended for spare parts, and that Matt only has a future as long as El Patrón’s health holds out. Younger readers may not grasp this concept, but they gradually learn about it as Matt does. No matter how much the readers understand of the idea of cloning, they both experience a sense of growing dread, and both find a rewarding reading experience in sharing Matt’s coming of age story. The ALA recognized this broad appeal, awarding the book not only a Printz honor but a Newbery honor as well (the first of only two books so honored); the novel also won the National Book Award for Young People’s Literature.

Freymann-Weyr's My Heartbeat: this novel presents an interesting triangle: although 14-year-old Ellen is in love with her brother Link's best friend James, she recognizes they are devoted to each other and she is lucky to be included in their activities together. Things change drastically when a friend at school asks if the boys are "a couple" and she can't put the idea out of her mind. She asks them directly if they are "together" and their differing answers cause a rupture. Ellen becomes James's confidante (and eventual lover) while she struggles to understand her brother's behavior and his role in the family. This is a very mature and thoughtful book—maybe a bit too mature, with a 14-year-old narrator who seems more perceptive than most girls her age—but it was an interesting look at complex characters.

Gantos's Hole in My Life: and for something again completely different, we have this memoir by the award-winning author of the comic "Joey Pigza" series for middle graders. There is little to laugh about in the subject matter, however, as Gantos relates how he lived on his own in a welfare hotel during his senior year of high school before joining his family on the Caribbean island of St. Croix. After briefly working for his father, the aspiring writer agrees to help sail a ship filled with a ton of hash up to New York. He hopes for adventure but instead finds an FBI investigation that results in a smuggling conviction and hard time. Gantos has to decide how he will cope with jail, and what kind of person he will try to become.

I didn't read this book, but listened to it unabridged, read by the author. He relates his story in a blunt and simple style (and lots of humor, despite the serious subject); even so, I was impressed with some of his turns of phrase, like how he created a “blazing bonfire of blame” during his first week in prison. He effectively communicates how thoughtlessness led to one huge mistake without sounding preachy, and the memoir not only works as a "scared straight" story but as the account of a writer's birth. I don't think I've read a more brave and honest book, the author revealing things about himself most people would rather hide.

Chambers's Postcards from No Man's Land: Chambers has been writing groundbreaking novels since the late 1970s, and in 2002 won the Hans Christian Anderson Award, awarded biennially by the International Board on Books for Young People for "lasting contributions to children's literature." This is his most acclaimed novel, also winning Britain's Carnegie Medal in 1999. You'll notice it took a couple of years for it to make it over the pond, and I'm not surprised: it has a very complex structure that relates several interweaving stories. The first is of British teenager Jacob, who is visiting Holland both to attend a commemorative service for the battle of Arnhem, where his grandfather fought, and to meet Geertrui, the Dutch woman who sheltered his grandfather after he was wounded. He begins with a few misadventures in Amsterdam (his belongings are stolen), and his story is interwoven with Geertrui's, a first-person account of how the British paratroopers landed in their neighborhood and how she came to shelter and then fall in love with a wounded soldier left behind during the British retreat. This passages are themselves interwoven with a few actual war accounts from paratroopers, many of whom were teenagers themselves, recounting their experiences of the Battle of Arnheim.

So we have Jacob finding himself during his travels in Amsterdam and Arnheim, Geertrui experiencing first love, and a few assorted soldier's accounts of battle. An impatient reader might get lost in the complex structure, but each character is distinct and clear, and their individual struggles are compelling to read. It was a very interesting and satisfying novel to read, although it could be challenging for some young teen readers. It has a lot of crossover appeal for adults, and I can understand why it won a ton of awards.

For me, however, I can't get over how much I love Farmer's House of the Scorpion. It does such a good job of taking the all the things I love about science fiction—interesting ideas that inspire creative answers to that eternal question "What if?"—and making it accessible to readers of all ages. I not only enjoy her book as a reader, I admire it as a writer, making it my clear favorite of the bunch.

The Printz Award Winners: 2002

Continuing my look through those books the American Library Association considers books that "exemplify literary excellence in young adult literature," I look at the honorees from 2002.

Winner: An Na, A Step from Heaven

Honor citations:

Peter Dickinson, The Ropemaker

Jan Greenberg, editor, Heart to Heart: New Poems Inspired by Twentieth-Century American Art

Chris Lynch, Freewill

Virginia Euwer Wolff, True Believer

Dickinson’s The Ropemaker (honor book): Brit Dickinson is another award-laden author—winner of two Carnegie Medals, Britain’s highest honor for children’s writers—that I probably should have read long before this, but somehow never got around to it. He writes in a variety of genres both historical and fantastic, and The Ropemaker is a fantasy in the epic quest vein. When the magic that has protected the Valley’s peaceful people from the Empire’s oppression begins to wane after twenty generations, Tilja and three other descendants of the Valley’s last questers leave to find the magician who can renew the forest magic. At first Tilja feels out of place because she has none of the Valley magics shared by her companions, but she gradually discovers she has a power that may be the only way for them to achieve their goal. Tilja is a very thoroughly drawn character, but the plot itself was a fairly standard—if vividly imagined—quest story.

Greenberg's Heart to Heart (honor book): as this was more of an art book and a collection, I passed on checking this one out.

Lynch’s Freewill (honor book): This was a very interesting little book (about 150 pages). While normally books are told in either third person (he did, she said) or first person (I did)—the latter is almost a given for YA books—this little gem was an unusual experiment in second-person narrative (you did, you said). While generally I find these kind of experiments extremely self-conscious and/or overly literary, this one really worked well with the subject and tone of the book. The main character (named Will, as you might expect) is a young man who is extremely confused and almost dissociated from himself and other people following a family tragedy. The book opens with someone complimenting him on a table he made in wood shop class—a piece he doesn’t remember making: “Why are you here? (the narrator says) Whose table is that? Why are you in wood shop? You are meant to be a pilot.” When the strange wooden totems Will is making in class start turning up at memorial sites of a string of local teen suicides, things become even more confusing. Is Will predicting their fate? Is he orchestrating it subconsciously? Is his work and his confusion being used by someone else? The second-person narration not only keeps the reader guessing throughout, it serves extremely well as a way of communicating Will’s precarious state of mind. This wasn’t an easy book to get into (the second-person narration does require adjustments in the reader), but it was fascinating to read.

Wolff’s True Believer (honor book): Ack, this is a sequel, and I really didn’t have time to read the first in the trilogy, Make Lemonade, although I’d heard good things about it. Like Lemonade, True Believer is told in verse from the point of view of LaVaughn, a teenage girl who is determined to go to college someday as a way of escaping the challenges and dangers of inner city life. One thing she is determined not to do is get distracted by boys (a baby would derail her college dreams), although when her childhood friend Jody returns to the neighborhood she finds it difficult not to indulge her romantic dreams. LaVaughn also faces challenges from new classes at school and from old friends who are growing apart—pretty standard fare for a YA novel, but LaVaughn’s honest voice, and the free verse with which she tells her story, raise it several levels above the usual YA. It made me want to go back and find time to read the first (and third) novels in LaVaughn’s trilogy. (True Believer also won the National Book Award for Young People’s Literature.)

Na’s A Step from Heaven (winner): This debut novel from a Korean American author is short but memorable, chronicling one girl’s immigrant experience through a series of short scenes. Young Ju is four years old when we first meet her, experiencing the ocean’s waves for the first time, and when her parents talk of leaving their home for Mi Gook—America—she thinks they are talking about heaven. Her adjustments to a new land, a new language, a new school, and a new family dynamic are told in a voice that grows along with Young Ju. The narration was really outstanding in this book: Young Ju is believable whether relating her earliest memories in simple and straightforward language, or sharing her terrifying experiences with domestic violence as a mature teenager. Interestingly, my library shelved their copies of this book in the adult fiction section, and I wonder whether this book might hold more appeal for adults because of its broad scope. It covers much more time than most YA books, and focuses not so much on telling a specific series of events as on revealing a character. In any case, I found it fascinating. (A Step from Heaven was also a finalist for the National Book Award.)

So overall, my thoughts on this year’s books? I think they demonstrated a higher caliber than the previous year’s, and I might have had a very difficult time choosing between the four I read. The voices in Freewill, True Believer, and A Step from Heaven were all so different and yet all so memorable, it really seems a matter of personal preference. I wouldn’t be surprised to see all three of these books endure for quite some time.

The Printz Award Winners: 2001

Today I continue my survey of books honored by the Michael L. Printz Award, given annually by the American Library Association (ALA) to "the book that exemplifies literary excellence in young adult literature." Here were the awards in 2001, given to books published in 2000:

Winner:

Kit's Wilderness by David Almond

Honor books:

Many Stones by Carolyn Coman

The Body of Christopher Creed by Carol Plum-Ucci

Angus, Thongs, and Full Frontal Snogging by Louise Rennison

Stuck in Neutral by Terry Trueman

I couldn't manage to read all five of these books, not least because I couldn't get my hands on them. My local library, which has a pretty huge collection, only had the Plum-Ucci in house; the Almond was only available as an audio book, and the Rennison had been lost. I guess this shows how much influence the Printz Award had at the time ... not much. My local bookstores didn't have the Almond in stock (I had to mail order), and the Rennison didn't have the medal on the front, like most winners do ... but more on that later. Here are my thoughts on the books:

Coman's Many Stones (honor book): I don't know why my library didn't have this book about a girl whose trip to post-Apartheid South Africa with her father helps her heal family wounds. It sounds interesting and Coman is a previous Newbery Honor winner, too. But I was already investing in the winner, so I didn't spring to buy this one, too. (Many Stones was also a National Book Award finalist.*)

Plum-Ucci's The Body of Christopher Creed (honor book): This was a great read, differing from what you might usually think of as a mystery. It opens with the narrator Torey Adams, a self-described "formerly Mr. All-American Football Kicker, Blond Geeky Haircut for Little League and All That," writing from his senior year at a boarding school, where he has obviously been sent to avoid some issues back home. The bulk of the story is his account of his junior year back home in small-town New Jersey, and what happened when the class weirdo, Christopher Creed, suddenly disappears with no evidence but a mysterious note. Was it suicide? Murder? The casual high-school gossip about Chris bothers Torey, and as he becomes involved with a fellow student who others assume is involved in the disappearance, Torey comes under suspicion himself. This may sound like a traditional mystery setup, but as the book progresses, it's more about small towns and gossip and how people twist the truth to fit what they need to believe. The start was a little slow, but the book became thoroughly engrossing by the totally believable ending. (The Body of Christopher Creed was also a finalist for the Edgar Award from the Mystery Writers of America.)

Rennison's Angus, Thongs, and Full Frontal Snogging (honor book): As you might be able to tell from the title, Rennison is a Brit, and this comic novel is veddy British indeed. In fact, it reminded me of nothing so much as a Bridget Jones's Diary for the teen set. The main character, fourteen-year-old Georgia, even tells her story in diary format. She has weird parents and an incontinent little sister, isn't great at school, and is obsessed with boys and kissing (snogging)—ie, not much different than your average teen. The book was the first in a now ten-volume series, so that's why there's no Printz medal on the cover—they're marketing directly to teens, not to librarians.

Trueman's Stuck in Neutral (honor book): This slim volume has an intriguing concept: what if a severely disabled fourteen year old, despite the cerebral palsy that leaves him unable to communicate with the outside world, is really an articulate genius? Shawn has a sense of humor about his situation, although he worries about the toll it takes on his family. His father left because he couldn't stand seeing Shawn suffer—at least, he thinks Shawn is suffering. Shawn finds much to enjoy about his life, despite his limitations, and worries his father may try to put him "out of his misery." As the author develops the relationship between Shawn and his often-absent father, he also leaves it open whether or not the story ends with Shawn's death. It's a very unique book, but had somewhat limited appeal for me once it answered the "what if" question about what kind of mind could exist within a body incapable of communication.

Almond's Kit's Wilderness (winner): Almond was on the honor list the previous year for his story Skellig, and this novel had a similar element of magical realism throughout. Kit Watson has returned with his family to live in the old mining town where his grandfather spent his career. Kit falls in with a group of kids led by John Askew, a tough son of a mining family, and they play a game called "Death," where they meet in an abandoned mine and then leave one child alone in the dark to see how long he will wait before coming out. After his turn in the mine, Kit seems to see ghosts of workers (many of them children) lost during the mine's history. When his grandfather becomes ill and John Askew runs away, Kit uses these ghosts—or it is just his storytelling ability—to bring them home. As he shares with a friend, "Telling stories is a kind of magic." Kit's Wilderness has multiple layers, as Kit's grandfather shares ghost stories and Kit writes his own tale of a prehistoric boy separated from his family, although it's not that challenging to follow, in Almond's simple yet evocative language. I found it an intriguing book, but the mining-town setting and complexity might be a bit much for some young readers. (Kit's Wilderness was also a Carnegie Medal shortlist.)

So how would I have voted that year? (Considering I didn't get to read all the books, that is.) Well, the Rennison was amusing but lightweight and the Trueman somewhat one-dimensional (although the one dimension was interesting). The Almond was certainly the most literary of the bunch, but I think I would have favored Plum-Ucci's The Body of Christopher Creed, which managed to use the mystery genre format to explore larger issues of interest to teens.

*Only one overlap between the Printz and the NBA lists this year, as opposed to two in 2000. The winner was Gloria Whelan's Homeless Bird, a book for ages 8-12 about an Indian girl's arranged marriage.

The Printz Award Winners: 2000

So I mentioned I was taking a break from reading and blogging about Austen and remedial classics to try something new this summer. I'd been thinking about revisiting classic children's books from my childhood, or going through all the Newbery winners, or maybe reading sci fi novels that won the Nebula Award (I had a couple winners/nominees as biography subjects). But then I realized what made the most sense would be to look at the winners of the Michael L. Printz Award, given annually by the American Library Association (ALA) to "the book that exemplifies literary excellence in young adult literature." After all, I have been reading quite a few YA novels lately, including some that have been Printz honor books, but I've only read a couple of the winners. The Printz medal was first awarded in 2000, so that gives me eleven years of books to read, a manageable number. I figure I can cover one year every one or two weeks, reading the winner and one or two of the runners-up (maybe more if I have time or have read some previously).

So I'm starting with the first awards, given in 2000 to books published in the U.S. in 1999. The books recognized were:

Winner:

Monster by Walter Dean Myers

Honor Books:

Skellig by David Almond

Speak by Laurie Halse Anderson

Hard Love by Ellen Wittlinger

My first thought after finishing a couple of these books was, "Boy, am I glad I didn't have to choose between these books!" Not only were they uniformly excellent, they were so very different in their subject matter and tone. Here are my thoughts on each:

Almond's Skellig (honor book): I first read this in 2006, coming home from the SCBWI New York conference at which the author, a Brit, gave two very interesting presentations. I picked up a couple of his books and began reading this one on the flight home. What a short flight it was! I was hooked within the first page, in which the young narrator Michael talks about the day he discovered a creature living in the dilapidated garage of his new home: "He was filthy and pale and dried out and I thought he was dead. I couldn't have been more wrong. I'd soon begin to see the truth about him, that there'd never been another creature like him in the world." Whether the creature is a monster, an angel, or something in between is never answered, but the story about how Michael and his new friend Mina return him to health is interwoven with the story of Michael's severely ill baby sister in a beautiful, poetic language. This book reminded me of the best magical realism ... although I have to admit the title did not stick with me. I checked the book out of the library last week and realized two pages in I'd read it before. I was just as hooked the second time, though, and devoured the book in one sitting. (Note: Skellig also won the Carnegie Medal and the Whitbread Book Award, Britain's two highest literary prizes for children's literature.)

Anderson's Speak (honor book): This book, the first novel written by the Edwards Award-winning Anderson, has a towering reputation. (The Edwards Award is given by the ALA for lifetime achievement in young adult literature.) It was groundbreaking in its subject matter, portraying how a girl deals—or rather, fails to deal—with a traumatic event. (I'm not going to be specific about it, in case you haven't read the novel yet, because the event isn't revealed until midway through the novel.) The story of how freshman Melinda became an outcast and how she finds a way through her pain is told in language that is vivid, emotional, and witty. ("I stand in the center aisle of the auditorium, a wounded zebra in a National Geographic special.") To give you an idea of the effect the book had on readers and the YA market in general—it became a bestseller and has become a staple of the high school curriculum—two years later Anderson's publisher named a new imprint after the book, creating "Speak" Books to publish "classic and cutting-edge YA fiction to the forefront of the paperback list." When I first read it last year, I thought it lived up to its considerable hype—a pretty tall order, considering I'd been reading and hearing wonderful things about the book from people in the know. (Note: Speak won the SCBWI's Golden Kite Award and was a finalist for both the National Book Award* and the Edgar Award for best YA mystery of the year.)

Wittlinger's Hard Love (honor book): This book is definitely the most dated of the set, as it concerns a teen boy who meets a girl through their common love of writing zines and falls in love with her even though she is a lesbian. Since zines (small, self-published magazines) have largely been superseded by the internet and blogs like this one, this book is fast becoming a relic of the "turn of the century." That wasn't why I found this the hardest of the four books to get into; I think it was the closed-off nature of the narrator that made it difficult to get involved—that, or the funky typesetting. That said, I decided to read a few pages before turning one night and ended staying up to finish the book. This novel had a clear character arc that made sense, allowing the narrator to grow on me, and it was fairly groundbreaking in its portrayal of a lesbian character. (Note: Hard Love also won a Lambda Literary Award (given the best LGBT fiction) for children's YA fiction.)

Myers's Monster (winner): I have to confess, I hadn't read any of Myers's books before this year. (Since he's also an Edwards Award-winner, a two-time Newbery Honor medalist, and five-time Coretta Scott King Award winner, it's pretty sad that I overlooked this pioneering African American children's writer. My excuse is that his books are so ... full of boys doing boy things. Not that I don't like reading about boy characters, but I usually prefer them in fantasies, not realistic fiction.) But I read his Newbery Honor-winning Scorpions (1988) earlier this year, and enjoyed his tale of a young boy struggling to find his place in a dangerous neighborhood. Monster follows similar themes, telling the story of a 16-year-old New Yorker who is on trial for felony murder, standing accused of playing lookout for a robbery gone bad. The most interesting thing about Monster is not that Myers never fully answers whether his protagonist Steve was involved or not, but that he has Steve present his story in screenplay format. It's Steve's way of both trying to figure out how he has ended up in this situation—in jail, on trial with his life on the line—and distancing himself from the "monster" the prosecution claims he is. It's a striking, affecting way to tell the story, and definitely made me think. (Note: Monster was also a King Honor Book and a National Book Award finalist*.)

So, how would I have voted that year? Hard to say; I would have had a tough time deciding between Skellig, which is right up my fantastic alley, and Speak, which was emotional and clearly groundbreaking. Judging on the past ten years, though, I think Speak would win the day; it definitely holds up well and has had lasting significance, whereas Monster seems more a product of its time.

Coming up next time: Almond wins, and I read two books by authors unfamiliar to me.

*The winner of the National Book Award for Young People's Literature that year was When Zachary Beaver Came to Town, by Kimberly Willis Holt. The NBA is awarded to children's novels for all ages, and Holt's book seems targeted for a slightly younger than YA audience, which may be why it doesn't overlap with the Printz list ... although it made that year's ALA Best Books for Young Adults list. "YA" is in the eye of the beholder, though, and the dividing line between "middle grade" (ages 9-13—??) and "young adult" (13 and up??) is very poorly defined.