Category Archives: Young Adult
A white orphan boy adopted by a Mexican ‘faggot’, another Mexican girl with a now here then not birth mother whose way of communicating is through messages in lipstick on the bathroom mirror and another boy whose whole family are addicts and who seems to be a mutation – weird, even gory isn’t it?
I have no clue where I heard of this book and why I decided to download it. But then, I’ve ceased looking for reasons , of the how and when books open themselves out to me. They drop into my lap when the time is just right. This is a genre that I would have kept afar in the normal course – Young Adult, they call it. Let me say, many of these books are more so for us parents, specially those of teenagers. It’s a rare parent that remembers their own years of angst, trying to find a foothold between the innocence of childhood, the raging hormones of the teen years and the underlying maturity of adulthood. You meet one of those here, to remind us what parenthood is all about, should be about.
The story revolves around a year in the life of seveteen year old Salvador, his best friend Samantha and their classmate Fito. It covers the whole gamut of challenges they face – bullying, drug abuse, alcoholism, love life or the lack of it, the need for validation, the struggle between standing up and being ridiculed, death of loved ones, unexplained anger, parental pressure, finding confidence and ultimately love. It’s also a story of how one mature and loving adult can change the life of many a kid.
Sounds too much and too confusing? Not at all. The narrative is so beautiful and in a language that kids and adults alike can relate to, that I just couldn’t put it down. Literally. After years, I almost bunked a day’s work. Yes, it’s been a very long time since I finished a book in a day. It sure did touch a very raw spot in this mother’s heart, for I’d had another one of those heated fights with the resident teenager the day before. It’s tough admitting that you are wrong, maybe that’s why I had tears streaming down my face towards the end.
I’ve stopped reviewing books in the conventional sense. Whether it’s good or bad, how good the writing style is, if the storyline is plausible or not etc., etc. What I do instead is to wait for those snapshots that connect, those that makes you set the book down and make you think, or better still, dream. This one provided more than enough of such,
“I told you that there were only two things you needed to learn in life. You needed to learn how to forgive. And you needed to learn how to be happy.”
“I am happy, Mima.” I was lying to her, but not all lies were bad.
“That means you’ve learned to forgive.”
But the best of all was some memories of childhood. Of family dinners and tables filled with food. How uncles and aunts and cousins get together, conversations in the kitchen, in the living room, in the bed room. How the kids fought with each other and then made up among themselves. How lucky was it to have grandparents who loved you to the moon and back, at the same time giving you a piece of their mind or the sharp edges of a cane on your bottom if the situation warranted it. Of how your family could break you to pieces and another one could mend it all. How everything everything has a reason , a logic that we may not understand then.
“I finally understood something about life and its inexplicable logic. I’d wanted to be certain of everything, and life was never going to give me any certitude.”
Most of all the book reminded me of the good that is there in this world. Fiction, you say? But isn’t fiction itself borne out of reality?
I paid a fortune for this set, 12 years ago. In fact, it was in about fifteen months of installments that the payment was done. By far, the best investment in money till date.
There was a set of 10 step by step ‘ learning to read ‘ books that came long with this. Both the kids started their affair with the written word with those. Have lost count of the number of times I’ve read it out to both of them. The first word that they could read, the wonder filled joy on their faces, is still the most priceless feeling in the world.
People ask how do you make kids read? The only way I know, read out to them, day after day, the same pages again and again. With the first born, there was more time, I have to admit with a twinge of guilt. We would read diligently, morning after morning. That was the easiest way to wake him up, “get up, let’s read.” We would lean on the temple wall, waiting for the school bus, reading whatever he picked up for the day. At random, continued from the previous day, or something that piqued his interest. There was no method, nor any plan, we just read.
He was on to serious reading by the time he turned eight. Enid Blyton never interested him, to my chagrin. Thank God, I was sensible enough to stop pushing after a couple of Famous Fives. Hardy Boys met with the same fate, he couldn’t complete even one. A pattern emerged slowly and surely. Biorgraphies and sports. Don’t take me wrong, he was still a boy, thankfully. Greg Heffley* was his constant companion. That ‘Wimpy Kid’ was with him as he ate meal after meal was devoured with that skinny kid by his side, the boy even fed the kid. The almost adult still devours the series. As I shout at him for bringing it to the dining table the fiftieth time, he retaliates, “but it was you bought me the first one. I never asked for it.”
Then came life. He took to Lance Armstrong like a Kuttanadan to duck. Between school and play, he finished the autobiography in two days flat. Barely a week later, the news broke. Of cheating, there is no other word to describe it. I will never forget the disbelief in my boy’s eyes and the catch in his throats as he said, “it wouldn’t be true, alle Amma?”
The next round belonged to a contraption I hate with all my heart – the X-box. The day it came into our lives, sounded like the death knell of books. The silly thing never knew the power of a miffed mother, though. As the addiction grew, so did my resolve to fight back. We reached a compromise , Monday to Thursday turned to no screen days. Voila, the lovers were back together, again. Life is like the tides now. It ebbs and flows, when the son’s eyes turn red, the mother’s decibel levels rise. But we’ve learned to live together, the books, a few screens, the son and his mother. For, now I know he has a friend for life. When he seems lost, I can see his hands stretching out to his bedside table and a light shining under the door long after the midnight clock has struck twelve. He is in safe hands.
Now, the daughter is another story by herself. She lives in another universe altogether. Of elves and fairies and all things bright and shiny. Having escaped the world of making night into a work day, I started reading to her while making her sleep. “One more page” was like music except on some days that was particularly exhausting. But again, read we did. Whenever and wherever we could. To my utter horror again, she followed her brother’s footsteps. No Enid Blyton! How could my very own turn traitors? By then, I was too old and weary to fight losing battles. I should have known where she was headed the moment she started picking up fairy tales. The Pottermaniac is growing up I know when I see her stacking up Archie’s during our monthly ritual of visiting Blossoms. Her books are filled with colours, just like her soul – Thea Stilton, Tinkle, Archie’s, Fairy Tales and of course, Harry Potter.
That first set of English reading books went to my nephew an year ago. While on a cleaning spree today, I realize it’s time. For the next set to find a new home. To entice another little one to the magical world that words are.
Dear Ouseph, it’s not mere books that are coming your way. It’s the keys to magical kingdom, that was guarded lovingly by your chettan and Chechi , protected fiercely by your ammai and looked upon with indulgence by your uncle. Drink from it, satiate your hunger for knowledge and guard it with your life. Until you pass it on to your little brother.
And I send you this wish, “May the word be your legacy!”
But then I know it cannot be otherwise, for it is your grandfather that took a young girl by her hands and led her to the bright and enticing world that was hiding behind the dark shelves of the long forgotten ‘The English Bookhouse’ .
What you heard is true, this is a cliched story. A star crossed pair of teenagers, both of them terminally ill, wishes coming true, devoted parents, adoring sisters, video games of guns and gore, precocious dialogues, the story has all the ingredients of a block buster young adult movie. No surprises here, a movie is indeed slated for release.
Hazel Grace, or ‘Just’ Hazel as she calls herself, is terminally ill. Her cancer seem to be temporarily stalled by a new medication, but she knows her days are numbered. As expected, she meets the gorgeous, precocious, tongue in cheek Augustus Waters in a support group meeting. Once a talented basketball player, the dreaded illness has left him with a prosthetic leg in place of a real one. And he falls in love, not the least because she resembles his girl friend who, no surprises here again, died of cancer. Too much cancer, you think? Wait, there is Isaac, who is waiting to lose his eye so that he can be certified NEC – No Evidence of Cancer.
Ready to run off? Not so fast. If you are still wondering what the hype and hoopla is all about, open that copy of yours and read. We tend to dismiss such books saying the kids sound smart beyond their years, they speak words far suited to people much older, if not wiser and so on and so forth. Think for a minute, though. Aren’t our kids exactly the same? And we listen to them with a proud smile and an indulgent look. It is quite obvious as you read that the author knows young adults and ill ones at that. He seem to read their minds quite well and can really relate to the insecurities that rage their hearts. So it came as no surprise when I read somewhere that at twenty two, he worked as a student chaplain in a children’s hospital.
If the strength of the story is the realistic manner in which it is portrayed, its huge success among the young ones could very well be the ideal love that they long for at that very impressionable age. The growth hormones on overdrive, peer pressure on one side, parental do’s , don’ts and expectations on the other side, it is a period of conflict for them – of emotions, soul and body. It is only natural that they yearn for that one true love, who understands you inside out, who stands by you come what may and who is ready to lay down even his life for you. And that is the connect that the author is able to tap effortlessly. For, here is someone who is willing to give up his last wish for his love. What more could an idealistic teenage heart ask for?
The parents are mostly in the background, especially Gus’s. Both sets of parents seem to be similar, maybe because of the almost identical backgrounds all three characters seem to come from. Hazel’s parents are a little more deeply etched – the mother who stays strong and the father who breaks – again seem to follow an expected pattern. What I loved here is Hazel’s concerns for her parents. She has read up on how a kid’s death might affect the parents , ‘studies say more than 50% end up in divorce.’ She has overheard her mother ‘cannot be a mother’ anymore. We give kids far less credit than they actually deserve and Green has beautifully brought out this point. Their fears are as real as a grown up’s and it is much more similar to ours that we would actually admit.
I will leave the details of the wish, what happens in between and how it all ends for the reader in you to find out for yourself. As I moved the book into the ‘read’ folder, two thoughts refused to leave me. The first one was Hazel’s thoughts on how illness defines her life and the person that she is now. As parents and elders, we tend to treat children with kid’s gloves many a time, more so when they are ill. It might be fine with them when it is an occasional illness. But it could be shattering to them when the illness is something that they are forced to be reminded of whether they want to or not, like Hazel’s oxygen tank. The ultimate fear of a young girl or boy is to be different from their peers. It is so well brought out when Hazel’s father tries to force a curfew on her. The teenager in her wants to act like a typical one, but she is almost always restricted by the thought of how she might hurt them. For a typical girl her age, that might very well be the last of concerns. You can only try to imagine the emotional trauma she must be going through, understanding and acting accordingly would be an impossible task for a parent.
The second is something that has been in my mind ever since I read a Reader’s Digest article years ago. There was this story about a terminally ill guy who decides to celebrate his own wake. Along with his wife, he plans it elaborately, with his favorite food and drinks, all his close friends and family present and each one reading out their eulogy for him. What a beautiful way to go, isn’t it? I am all for this. Why are we so reluctant to say good things about people directly to them when they are alive and then eulogize about them when they are no more? A simple ‘I love you’ said with feeling fills our hearts with joy, imagine the abundance of happiness it would mean to us if our loved ones took time out to really say what we mean to them. Isn’t that what is so charming about kids? They live for the moment and tell us what they feel in that instant. So, why not eulogize someone each day, while they are still in your life?
Going back to the book, these lines from ‘Desiderata’ keeps playing in my mind,
“Be yourself. Especially, do not feign affection. Neither be cynical about love; for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment it is as perennial as the grass.”
Verdict – If you are a parent to a teenager, read it. If you are a parent of a teenager who swears by this book, read it, now. If you are not a parent to a teenager, but is someone who believes in and tries to live by the above quoted lines, read it.
Off late, the reader in me has been veering more towards real life stories and memoirs than plain fiction. Life definitely seem to be more interesting and stranger than fiction. The third book of an author whom I have come to love immensely seem to confirm the fact. There is something that pulls you in , when stories contain an autobiographical taste to it. Maybe I’m wrong here, but Margaret Atwood’s ‘Cat’s Eye’ sounds like the author’s own childhood. The details are so vivid, the emotions so raw that one feels she has to have gone through this, it sounds too honest to be fiction. But then , maybe that’s why she is a revered author.
Elaine Risley has returned to the city of her childhood, Toronto, for a retrospective of her paintings. As she wanders around the street, long suppressed memories and emotions burst out onto the surface. Everything about Elaine was different, her parents would have seemed strange to other children, her father an entomologist, making home wherever the bugs where, and a mother who was unusual compared to other ‘normal’ mothers.
After years of wandering around and no formal schooling, Elaine’s parents decide to settle in Toronto. The school is something that is quite unfamiliar for the new girl. For one who has been wandering aimlessly with her elder brother, the segregation between boys and girls is something that is hard to fathom as is her anxiety in dealing with girls her own age.
“I’m not used to girls, or familiar with their customs. I feel awkward around them, I don’t know what to say. I know the unspoken rules of boys, but with girls I sense that I am always on the verge of some unforeseen, calamitous blunder.”
With the advent of Cordelia in the neighborhood, starts a series of events that leaves an indelible mark on Elaine. Bullying among boys is more physical and visible. Girls seem to be made of a different mettle as far as this is concerned, it is more by insinuations, shrewdly phrased words and more often than not, ignoring and belittling the victims. It is so ingenious, the bullied are made to believe they are lacking in something so essential, without which they just cannot be a part of the most sought after group. The effect of this is so far reaching that Cordelia is like a fearful shadow looming over Elaine all through her life. The angst and essence of a bullied one is brought out in the words
“Little girls are cute and small only to adults. To one another they are not cute. They are life sized.”
Elaine grows up to be a famous painter, gets married twice, has two daughters, one with each husband. Her angst as a woman, daughter , wife and mother is brought out in a humorous manner that I love about the author. The author’s language is a delight, as always. Written from a woman’s angle – feminist is a much maligned phrase – you are left wondering where the author ends and Elaine begins, you cannot imagine anyone else as the protagonist.
A confrontation with Cordelia, so that she could come to terms with her life is what Elaine seem to be looking for. In that sense, the ending was very mild in my opinion. That is the only grouse I have against the author here.
Verdict – It is in and out a woman’s story. Those of who have grown up in a pre – FB and Harry Potter era would be able to relate to it totally, so if you are one, go get it. Others, who are interested in a story that abounds in acerbic wit and tongue in cheek sarcasm, all from a woman’s point of view, would love it as well.
Imagine having a brilliant father who allows you to experiment with anything, lets you run around in the wild, explain the moon, the stars and the universe, tells you how things work, brings you hoards of books, and encourages you again and again that you are the best in this whole world and there is nothing you cannot do. And then a mother who paints all day, is a book worm and is of the belief that children should be independent and learn their way about the world as early as possible. Sounds like paragons of parenthood, isn’t it?
Now imagine living in the worst possible dump, where the very same parents do not seem to care whether water is dripping on to you as you sleep on a makeshift bed in freezing winter, steals the hard earned money that you saved for college to get drunk and are not just willing to take responsibility for even putting food in their children’s mouth? Well, that is how shocking this story is. Mind you , it is a real life story.
Born to a brilliant father who dreams big and a free spirited mother, Jeannette and her siblings find their childhood to be a long adventure, moving from one place to another, living out in the wild and doing things other kids cannot even imagine. But as you read about a three year old frying sausages by herself and getting burnt, you know instinctively that something is amiss. The flights from one job to another, the running out of money, the grand dreams and the like brings out the gruesome reality that their irresponsible parenting is.
Rex Walls is in eternal search for gold and his grandiose plans to build a glass castle is something that he shares with his second daughter Jeannette, while his wife is in search for success as an artist and believes it is just around the corner. In between, what both of them seem to conveniently forget is that they are parents to four kids. Once they are forced to settle in one place finally, is when the kids start realizing that they are parenting their father and mother instead of the natural way around.
The tale is deeply disturbing, you often wonder how could such a well read , intelligent couple be so irresponsible. It could be the sense of security that they somehow imbibed in their childhood or the effect of all kinds of books they have been lucky enough to read right from when they were two and three year olds, that sustain the kids through all kind of trials and tribulations. It is heartening to read about how the siblings fight to protect each other from common enemies, how they refuse to give up and how they are willing to go to any length to help themselves. The father seem to be a callous addict whereas the mother comes across as an insensitive and outright selfish woman. it is nothing short of a miracle that the kids feel any love for them at all.
What catches you by the throat is the sheer grit and determination of the elder three kids, how they fight for each other and their thankless parents and their perseverance to get out of the hellhole. The younger two pushes the eldest one Lori out to New York first and she in turn pulls them out. That they could not rescue the youngest one Maureen, remains a constant cause of sadness for the author.
Apart from reiterating as to how resilient and steadfast in their dreams children can be, it was also an eye opener for me to the fact that the ragged, crazy looking guy that I turn my face away from, on the street, could be one of the most brilliant persons I could ever meet in my life.
Last but definitely not the least, the story underlines the immense power that books can have on your life and your outlook to it. That, in fact they could be your salvation.
Verdict : A must read, especially for young adults and those who crib about how their childhood affected them so much that they couldn’t help but being failures. And kids who complain their parents do not buy them the latest gadget that comes out into the market, should be made to read this book at least once a week.
Certain books have a way of coming to you when the moment is just right. There I was on a holiday, in a home stay where books were in plenty, many of them dog eared, the edges turning brown and some of them even crumbling. Finding the right book to read from this profusion was a true dilemma. Picked up and even tried reading a few, but then, my heart refused to be drawn into any of those. Browsing through yet another book shelf as the kids were running around the living room, I could almost hear the hum of bees as this book called out to me, the one that I’ve been searching for, for sometime.
Fourteen year old Lily Owens has grown up with a sense of terrible guilt and an insatiable longing for her dead mother. The only memory that she has of her mother is a beautiful lady urging her to hurry up, throwing clothes into a suitcase and the sound of a gun shot. Rosaleen , the black lady is the only mother figure that she has known as she grew up with her authoritative and abusive father. A racist incident finds Rosaleen in jail and Lily decides to break her free , finding freedom from her father along with that.
A picture of a ‘Black Mary’ with a note ‘Tiburon, South Carolina‘ leads her to the three Boatwright sisters named after the months they were born in and their enchanting and somewhat eccentric world of bees, honey, Black Madonna and Daughters of Mary. Lily’s longing for the love of a mother, the tiniest hope for a sign that her father loves her in some way and moreover, her determination to break free from the shackles of a moralistic society that decides where a woman’s place should be, is what the story is all about. It is also about the coming of age of a teenage girl in an an obviously racist community and her bewilderment at how the color of your skin decides who you are and how you would be treated.
August Boatwright comes across as a mature paerson, who has learnt what life is at a young age and has decided to live life on her own terms. As for June, she is the stubborn mule and it takes a sad and shocking tragedy to make her come to her senses. May and her wailing wall tugs at your heart’s strings. Through these ladies, their mad cap sisterhood, the tough Rosaleen and the handsome Zach, Lily comes to terms with who her mother was and in the process finds herself and the courage to face her father.
This is as much a coming of age story of a young white girl as it is about life lessons. This is also about mothers and daughters and the beautiful truth that you need not give birth to a baby to be a mother.
I loved the allegories to the world of bees in each chapter.
“The world was really one big bee yard, and the same rules worked fine in both places. Don’t be afraid, as no life-loving bee wants to sting you. Still, don’t be an idiot; wear long sleeves and long pants. Don’t swat. Don’t even think about swatting. If you feel angry, whistle. Anger agitates, while whistling melts a bee’s temper. Act like you know what you are doing, even if you don’t. Above all, send the bees love. Every little being wants to be loved.”
Just what I needed to complete my nostalgic holiday,
“Actually, you can be bad at something, Lily, but if you love doing it, that will be enough.”
Verdict : A simple story , told charmingly. Nothing earth shattering, but it sure does make you think and smile, what more do you need?
Let me get it right at the outset. This book has nothing even remotely to do with the
infamous Grey series. In fact. nothing could be as dissimilar.
15 year old Lina leads a happy life with her parents and younger brother in their home in Lithuania even as rumors of a Russian invasion wafts in the air. Until one day when her father fails to return home from work and soldiers come knocking at their door the next day. She, along with her mother Elena and brother Jonas is taken on a train journey that lasts almost eight weeks. For a family that has led a luxurious life, life in a boxed compartment where people are packed in and the only way to relieve themselves is through a hole on the floor, it is a hell that they could have never imagined even in their worst dreams.
The story takes us to a beet farm in Siberia where they are made to work in the most extreme and pathetic conditions and from there to the polar tundras by the Laptev Sea(northern coast of Siberia) . The conditions in which the captives are expected to live has to be read to be believed. Lina is a gifted artist and she keeps track of the places, incidents and people through the sketches that she guards defiantly.
What makes the book enjoyable is the little acts of goodness that keep the hopes up for a group of otherwise condemned lot. The tale also tells us how even among the cruelest , there could still be a shimmer of light. What captures you most is Elena’s hope and belief that her husband will find them and that keeps the will in them to survive at any cost. She teaches her children not to judge anyone or what they do. She is truly what the soldier Kretzsky describes her as , ‘Krasivaya‘
“It means beautiful, but with strength,” he slurred. “Unique.”
The pain and longing of a first love is beautifully captured in the evolving relationship between Lina and young Andrius. The author has beautifully brought out the emotional dilemma of a helpless boy where he tells Lina why his mother is doing what she does and why he cannot do anything about it.
The persecution of the Jewish race by Germans is something even a small child would know, so much has been written and discussed about it. Some of the books that I’ve been reading in the recent times have taken me through hereto unknown stories and perspectives of the word wars. I am left wondering how many more could be there from each part of the world. What do these wars finally achieve?
The author’s father was a Lithuanian military officer. In the author’s note she says how even after the war was over how “Speaking about their experience meant immediate imprisonment or deportation back to Siberia”. Ultimately, what the book leaves you with is a never ending sense of hope and peace. In her own words,
“Some wars are about bombing. For the people of the Baltics, this war was about believing. In 1991, after fifty years of brutal occupation, the three Baltic countries regained their independence, peacefully and with dignity. They chose hope over hate and showed the world that even through the darkest night, there is light. Please research it. Tell someone. These three tiny nations have taught us that love is the most powerful army. Whether love of friend, love of country, love of God, or even love of enemy – love reveals to us the truly miraculous nature of human spirit.”
Verdict – A quick read that packs quite a punch. Gives one more view of the II World War, from a Russian side
I chanced upon this gem of a tale in the course of a search for an age appropriate book for my 11 year old son. Set in the background of the United States during the second World War, era, the story starts with a baseball game between two rival Jewish schools. The match predictably ends in an injury that portends the beginning of a life long friendship between two boys – Reuven and Danny.
Danny and his father has a very strange relationship that Reuven finds to be very cold and strange. Having been brought up by a father who is very open in his interactions and is liberal in his outlook, he just cannot fathom why things are as it is with his friend. The growing friendship between the two boys is very obvious in the narration, what is hidden and what is more relevant is the strong influence of the fathers on each other. Reb Saunders, Danny’s father do not approve of Reuven’s father’s ideologies, but he acknowledges and even encourages the friendship. It is as if each father nudges their offspring towards the other, its a subtle message of love that they have for their sons, their deep longing to see the boys finding happiness in their lives.
Reb Saunders comes across as an extremely orthodox and rigid person, and this is in stark contrast to David Malter who considers his son as an equal and treats him so. The story covers a period of about six years and takes us through the coming of age of the two boys. It tells us how religious bigot-ism and changing political situations can affect even the closest of relationships and how true friendship can stand the test of time and trials. More importantly, it portrays the deep love a father has for his son, the price that he is willing to pay is that very relationship that he treasures the most.
What I loved the most is the easy connect between Reuven and his father and how he guides the confused youngsters towards their true destinies.
Verdict : A must read for young boys and their fathers , as well for mothers and daughters 🙂