Exquisite Captive (Dark Caravan Cycle #1) by Heather Demetrios

How lucky was I that I got a sneak peek at this book? And now that it's officially in ARC, I get to review it!

Nalia is a powerful jinni enslaved to a human master who will stop at nothing--literally nothing--to get exactly what he wants. And Malek wants Nalia. It doesn't matter that he tortures Nalia until she wishes for death or that her little brother is suffering in an Arjinnan prison camp or that the jinn are about to self-destruct in their battle for power in the magical realm. But the leader of the Arjinnan Revolution, a man who hates everything that Nalia was born to be, offers her a way to escape Malek and save her brother. Only Nalia and Raif must learn to trust each other and use their power to break the ancient magic that has trapped thousands of helpless jinn on Earth before they can fight for their own goals.

Heather is an amazing plotter, and I want her to share all of her secrets with me. There's great foreshadowing and hint-dropping and set-up for books to come. The subtext about the modern slave trade and war lords and arms dealing and drug trafficking gives it a great depth that I hope teen readers will see as well. I will admit that epiphanic rather than episodic series drive me a little nuts, but that's just personal taste, and this book handles it well. The ending actually feels like an ending and not a cliffhanger, but it still teases us with what's to come.

Nalia is a great character--I know she's done evil things, but I still feel badly for her. Maybe because she has blood on her hands, it makes her psudo-romantic relationship with Malek more believable and understandable. But I'll just admit now: I HATE Malek. I find him despicable in so many ways, which isn't a bad quality in a protagonist. All of the characters are really kind of evil, but somehow, I root for them and understand them. It makes me sound like a bit of a psychopath saying that, but it's totally true.

Visit Heather's webpage for more information and follow her on twitter, facebook and instragram to learn ways to win your own copy of the book. This book will be available at your local book store on October 7, and rumor has it that Heather will also be heading out for a book tour after the release.

Last Grad School Reading List of My Last Semester

Excuse me as I wax nostalgic for a moment. After two years and 226 books (plus hundreds of articles, manuscripts and lectures), I'm feeling a little teary-eyed that I'm posting my last reading list for grad school. Next month I head back up to Vermont for the last time (at least as a grad student) to present my lecture on nonlinear storytelling and read from my historical fiction novel in verse, and then I'll receive my diploma and officially become Kathryn Gaglione, MFA. In so many ways, the past two years have flown by, and in others, it seemed like they would never end. But here we are, at the end of the grad school reading lists. I hope I have given you some new books to add to your own reading list—I know I have discovered a lot of books to love.

The Great Influenza: The Epic Story of the Deadliest Plague in History by John M. Barry: This is a dense book. Not that I expected anything else from a 560-page history book on the deadliest plague in recorded history. But it still manages to be an understandable and engaging read. (I hesitate to call it “enjoyable” because the subject matter is anything but.)

Journey by Arron Becker: I loved the twist on Harold and the Purple Crayon.

Mercy Watson to the Rescue by Kate DiCamillo, illustrated by Chris Van Dusen: This is a fun book for the genre—just don't expect it to be on the same level as DiCamillo's award-winning children's books. And don't expect to see any characters of color either.

Locomotive by Brian Floca: It has it all. Great use of typography, a period sepia feel to the illustrations, perfect use of onomatopoeia and rhythm for the theme, the Wild West and trains. Historically-accurate, learning-with-out-realizing-it use of trains.

Flora and the Flamingo by Molly Idle: I'm a sucker for wordless picture books and hidden illustrations.

Marty McGuire by Kate Messner, illustrated by Brian Floca: Marty is a girl after my own heart with a life filled with a diverse group of friends and classmates that make her adventures a little more exciting.

Ballpark by Eileen Meyer, illustrated by Carlynn Whitt: Any baseball lover and picture book lover will love this book. It’s simple with unique illustrations and a good rhythm.

Babe Ruth Saves Baseball! by Frank Murphy, illustrated by Richard Walz: This book lacked substance by not digging deeper into the historical context of the promise.

The Invisible Bridge by Julie Orringer, narrated by Arthur Morey: I'm totally in love with the tiny details that Orringer chooses to describe--like the little crystal bowl of pink candy or the golden cascade of whiskey being poured into a decanter. So often historical fiction writers sacrifice something—beautiful prose for plot pacing, historical accuracy for appeal to a modern audience, character development for showing research—yet there’s such a beauty in Orringer’s writing that it highlights the historical context and flushes out the characters rather than dulling everything to make way for pretty words. And then there's the prison camp aspect to this novel, which I didn't handle well. I came away from this book completely drained.

Iva Honeysuckle Discovers the World by Candice Ransom, illustrated by Heather Ross: What a great book filled with humor and southern charm! While I’m still disappointed with this books serious lack of diversity, it’s almost understandable because it mostly features a large extended family of double cousins (whose mothers married brothers).

Between Shades of Gray by Ruta Sepetys, narrated by Emily Klein: I love the ending of this book. Not everything has to end happily and be tied up in a neat bow.

One of those hideous books where the mother dies by Sonya Sones: I first read this book ten years ago, and I seriously can’t believe it’s been ten years since its publication. It still feels fairly contemporary, and while the verse feels a little bland in comparison to many of the outstanding novels in verse and poetry collections that I’ve read over the past two years, it’s still a good read.

Mr. Wuffles! by David Wiesner: I was totally reluctant to read this book, and the cover art of a cat made me question the sanity of all the people praising this book. Seriously? A book about someone's pet cat? And then was I ever taken for a ride! I had to laugh out loud when I discovered I was reading science fiction.

Fourth Grad School Reading List of Fourth Semester

Only one more reading list after this. It's kind of surreal to think that after this month, I won't have any more packet deadlines. But hopefully I'll be ready to move on to publishing deadlines at that point.

Ivy and Bean by Annie Barrows, illustrated by Sophie Blackall: This is one of the better early readers I’ve read this semester. The vocabulary is age-appropriate while the usage is still unique and creative. But the characters are a little bland for my taste. Everyone is white and stereotypical of the personality they represent—I read this while babysitting my friend’s biracial baby, so I kept thinking about how absent he is from this book. The chapter breaks were also underwhelming as they seemed to be based more on word count than driving a page-turn. For me, chapter breaks should do one of two things: either heighten tension to keep me reading or conclude a plot-point while giving a teaser for what comes next. This book did neither. Overall, it’s a decent if slightly dull early reader.

And My Children Did Not Know Me: A History of the Polish-Americans by John J. Bukowczyk: This was a research book for my current work-in-progress. One of the issues with writing an ethnic historical fiction is getting the cultural context correct. A lot has changed for Polish Americans in the past 95 years, and their experience was also completely different than other immigrants who came to America around the turn of the 20th century. This book put their unique struggles into context and gave me a lot of new vocabulary to be able to express those struggles.

Something Real by Heather Demetrios: I finally read Heather's book! (Although I have read plenty of Heather's writing, so I don't exactly feel guilty for taking awhile to get around to this one.) Heather understands how to get readers inside a character’s head, and she makes you fall in love with her many diverse characters—even the ones you hate. You must watch Arden Rogow-Bales from the Bushwick Book Club perform his song "Dreamy Patrick Sheldon" from Heather's book launch party. (Yes, that is me laughing inappropriately hard while trying to hold the camera steady.)

Once by Morris Gleitzman: The narrative frame of this book is really good and makes it stand out from a lot of other Holocaust books—a little boy tells other children stories to help them deal with the horrible things happening around and to them. I also love that it starts at a rather unexpected moment in history—a Jewish boy from Poland whose parents have hidden him in a remove Catholic orphanage. (If you have ever seen the French movie Au Revoir Les Enfants, you will know this wasn't an uncommon practice during WWII.) Unfortunately, I had some major issues with the narrative voice of this book that the great concept couldn't distract me from. First of all, opening each chapter with "Once" (as in "Once upon a time") implies something that happened in the past, but the story is told in first person. Secondly, the narrator constantly makes incorrect assumptions about the world around him, and while it's understandable that a kid wouldn't understand why the Nazis burn books, I got incredibly annoyed when Felix assumes they are librarians. What nine-year-old boy doesn't know the difference between a soldier and a librarian? But the biggest issue I had with the book was how the action sequences are narrated—it’s like reading a transcript of bad play-by-play commentary on a football game.

"We Need Bigger Megaphones for Diversity in Kid Lit" by Kelly Jensen: I read a lot of articles and blog posts about kidlit, but I usually don't include them on my reading lists. This one, however, not only deserves to be included, but I encourage you to read all of the articles Jensen links to. One of the many problems with the diversity of kid lit is that people who do not feel like they reflect diversity (a.k.a. me) tend to feel like they don’t have a right to address it. And often times, when we think we are filling kid lit with color, we make our divers characters too white. Matt de la Peña addressed this in a CNN article saying, “I get worried about people who just make the character black on the outside, but not on the inside.” At least we’re talking about it, which means that if writers, publishers, book pushers and readers actually make an effort, things really will change.

Homespun Sarah by Verla Kay, illustrated by Ted Rand: I know that I’ve read a few of Kay's books before, but I couldn’t remember much about them other than that they were historical fiction about Colonial America. I love how she subverts sentence structure, often switching the predicate and subject, and that though fragmented, each sentence has distinct meaning. She also almost always flips the tag by putting the speaker tag before the dialogue (something I wrote an essay on my first semester because Karen Hesse often does the same thing in Out of the Dust). She breaks every rule, but she does it so well you don't even notice unless you're looking for it.

Hornbooks and Inkwells by Verla Kay, illustrated by S.D. Schindler: There is an impressive amount of research that went into this a 250-word book—just look at Kay’s bibliography. Her author’s note is just as long as the book itself.

Tattered Sails by Verla Kay, illustrated by Dan Andreasen: The rhythm and rhyme of Kay’s books are impeccable—she never misses a beat. It begs to be read aloud.

A Death-Struck Year by Makiia Lucier: Another historical fiction author who showed her research more than she wrote a compelling novel. Only Lucier took it a step further and wrote a love story to the city of Portland with long passages that read more like a tourist brochure than actual descriptions of the city through Cleo’s eyes. The best descriptions do double-duty by grounding us in place as well as saying something either about character or plot. Why is it important that we see the red leather chairs in Public Auditorium theater-turned Red Cross hospital? Is it the contrast of watching the plays that once came to life on the stage to the death that Cleo now sees there every day? Is it because Cleo longs to go back to the way things uses to be but will forever see blood on those chairs? There are also a lot of promises that this novel never fulfills. For example, there’s a great and humorous scene where Cleo accidentally drops a contraception brochure in front of a medical student she has a crush on, but the med student laughs it off and we never find out if Cleo is actually thinking about having sex and what that might mean for her social standing. Instead, it is just used to highlight an interesting piece of history about women’s rights without giving us any real insight into any of the characters.

The False Prince by Jennifer A. Nielsen, narrated by Charlie McWade: A few semesters ago, I attended a lecture that praised this book for its use of and "inevitable surprise," and I have to say that I couldn’t disagree more. This book purposefully misleads readers—and not in a good unreliable narrator way—though we are inside the narrators head in extremely close first-person. While it’s good to use “felicitous confusion” to either heighten tension by withholding information or so that the reader isn’t bombarded with backstory right at the beginning, having a narrator lie inside his own head makes him seem schizophrenic, which is only okay if the narrator really is unstable (e.g. Humbert Humbert) or wants us to believe he’s mentally unbalanced (e.g. Hamlet).

The Poles in America: 1608-1972 edited by Frank Renkiewicz: I will probably be going back to this book as reference as it includes an incredibly detailed timeline of events for Poles in America. It also includes long passages of primary source materials from 1910-1920, which I also found helpful.

Eleanor & Park by Rainbow Rowell, narrated by Rebecca Lowman and Sunil Malhotra: I enjoyed this book, mostly because Eleanor is an incredibly complex character whom I can relate to on so many levels that it’s kinda scary. I also loved that this book is full of color, and the adult characters are just as complex and well-rounded as the teens. I swear the breakfast table eyeliner scene came straight out of my family playbook, and I still remember going through my dad's vinyl collection like it was a spiritual experience. What I don’t love about this book is Park. I'm getting tired of the self-aware, sexually evolved, hipster love interest who puts up with a girl who treat him like crap because she doesn't want to be loved. Park is just a little too perfect, his only fault being that he loves Eleanor a little too much (their desperate need for each other is at times rather creepy, as in Bella/Edward creepy). What teenage boy loves only the music and comics that will eventually turned into cultural icons? Watchmen, Vans and The Smiths? I know that people like to read books that push the boundaries of reality, because really, who wants to read a book about a guy who leaves a girl because he gets bullies for liking her and it's too hard to get past her emotional walls. And no child of the 80's wants to admit they loved Rick Springfield more than Elvis Costello. We all want to read about characters who manage to say the right things at all the right moments, but there needs to be some balance. I want to know how Eleanor changes Park, why she's a good match for him, and not some cop-out sudden realization a third of the way through the book that he needs to stop worrying so much about what his less-evolved peers think. Maybe I’ve lost my romantic streak in my old age, but I didn’t drink the Park Kool-Aid.

A Tree Grows in Brooklyn by Betty Smith: What can I possibly say about the book that had the single biggest impact on me in high school? (Even the title of this blog comes from this book.) This book defined me, and to go back to it, not as an impressionable teenager about to leave for college but as an adult writer was a little challenging. Smith is so amazing at creating complex relationships with such vibrant and unique characters. And the images she chooses are so incredibly perfect at establishing time and place. Her descriptive instinct is pretty much pitch-perfect, and her sense of order along a nonlinear plot is unparalleled.

Geography of Girlhood by Kirsten Smith: This is a novel filled with missed opportunities. One of the most powerful things about verse is that it’s image driven—that it gives us the opportunity to see the world from someone else’s perfective, and by doing that, we can see the beauty of some else’s mind. But from the first stanza, Smith allows that imagery to slump into bland description: “everything is trees and water and rain / and smoky stink from the paper mill / and small town, small town.” And just when you think you’ve come upon another opportunity for imagery that says something deeper than the picture it’s painting, you get “the three men watching their fourth / fall to the damp ground, / platter of leaves and shoes, / watching as their boy falls upon it, / his body a heave of light.” And then she ends with the same bland image she opens with: “everything is still trees and water and rain / and small town, small town, / but no matter how you slice it, / it is my life / and I am floating right out here / in the middle of it.” It’s all images that never become tangible.

Almost Invisible by Mark Strand: This collection of proses pieces lacked an emotional punch—the book flap calls it “an exquisitely witty and poignant series of prose pieces,” but I didn’t feel especially amused nor moved by these pieces. It was interesting to see how Strand uses dialogue (of which there is a surprising amount)—he kind of runs it all together with the narrative, and often with running dialogue it is kind of fun to guess who is saying what and why each of them might say it. There is also a kind of tender relationship between a man and a woman that ran through the pieces that I enjoyed, especially in the piece “Provisional Eternity.”

Max Counts His Chickens by Rosemary Wells: It’s amazing how such a little picture book can speak to childhood experiences so clearly…with bunnies. This book uses dialogue and illustrations so well to portray what it’s like to be a younger sibling of a competitive older sibling.

Third Grad School Reading List of Fourth Semester

After five years, I was kind of sick of my old header, so this week I designed something new. I'm kind of in love with it.

I know this is shocking, but I have once again fallen way behind in posting on my blog. With summer coming closer and grand school coming to an end, I have a lot to share. Over the next few days, I'll catch up on my reading list, and then I can post about my summer adventures.

Baseball ABC edited by A. Grobani: I thought I’d go through some of the digital children’s book collection at the Library of Congress, and I have to say, this book is kind of delicious in its horribleness—forced rhymes, lost rhythm, strange word choice. I'm so glad children’s publishing has changed so drastically in the past 130 years.

The Children's Book by A.S. Byatt, narrated by Rosalyn Landor: I read a great review of this book by Publisher’s Weekly that effectively boiled down this complex book to one sentence: "Buried somewhere in here is a fine novel." I know Byatt from her novel Possession, so when I heard such a prolific historical fiction writer who understands poetry had written a book about WWI, I was excited to read it. In reality, the beauty of this novel gets completely lost in the details, a prime example of showing your research in historical fiction—specifically the extensive descriptions of the Paris World’s Fair that has very little to do with setting the scene for character development. The author also had a tendency to use pet phrases that would appear multiple times and make me wonder if I had accidentally hit rewind and was re-reading a passage, and while this can sometimes be done for literary purposes, these instances felt more like mistakes than purposeful echoes.

Sailing Alone Around the Room by Billy Collins: While I’m very familiar with Collin’s work—as a poet, performer and teacher—it was rather fun to read a collection of work by him. I was struck by his humor, which for some reason became much more obvious when observed against his other poems of more serious tones. As I’ve been thinking a lot about the poetic voice of a novel in verse, I loved the poem “Workshop” in general and the fourth stanza in particular where he explores words and sounds in a kind of tongue-in-cheek way: “his fishing pole jigging—I like jigging— / a hook in the slow industrial canal below. / I love slow industrial canal below. All those l’s.” It made what you’ve been saying about evocative words and the feel of a sound make a little more sense. The words themselves don’t have to be complicated or even unique, but how they are used together and to invoke feeling gives them their power.

London Town by Thomas Crane and Ellen Houghton: This is kind of a poorly written love poem to Victorian London. While A Walk in London by Salvatore Rubbino is a far superior children’s tour of London, this book has a sweet and nostalgic view of 1883 London. The illustrations are surprisingly fabulous.

The Sandman: Preludes & Nocturnes by Neil Gaiman, et al.: While the concept of this book is incredibly complicated, I felt the dialogue was overly simplified—something I didn’t notice when I first read this series in middle school. There are kind of three elements that make up a comic book (or graphic novel or manga, whatever you prefer): the storyboard, the illustrations and the dialogue/text. So the storyboard carries the plot, the illustrations carry the description and action, and the dialogue carries the character development, although all three elements can trade roles. This is something I’m going to have to think more about.

Your Own, Sylvia by Stephanie Hemphill: What a bleak look at the life of such a talented writer. It was almost painful to read this book, not because I think that I’m even close to the skill level of Plath, but because I can understand those manic swings, self-destructive behavior and deep need to be loved yet not feeling that love is deserved. Feeling a kinship to a woman who was obviously suffering from mental illness is quite frightening. The form of this creative biography in verse is ingenious. To use Plath’s own poetry as a structure and telling her story through the eyes of those closest to her echoes Plath’s life of voluntary solitude and emotional remoteness. Most of the time I didn’t even realize I was reading a sonnet or a villanelle until I was half-way through the poem.

The Children’s Object Book by G. Loewensohn: This book makes me realize how much more accessible books may be to children of today but how out of touch publishers still are of the class disparage in our society. This is basically a board book of common objects and portrays the life of the upper class as if it is the every-day experience of all children. At least now we portray the middle class in children’s books. The pretty Victorian illustrations keep this book from being a complete waste. (I am not so naive about the business world that I don’t realize that consumers drive a product more than altruistic values do. At the turn of the century, only the wealthy could afford to buy books—especially books with color illustrations. And now, the majority of books are purchased by middle-class women. So it makes sense that publishers look for books that reflect this demographic, even when it’s a picture book.)

Heaven Looks a Lot Like a Mall by Wendy Mass: This is a novel in verse that has no purpose in being a novel in verse, and writing issues can be found in abundance. First of all, there’s no arc to the narrative voice. That might seem like a strange statement, but this book starts with a teenage narrator who then reverts back to childhood in a near-death experience. While it is all told in present tense, there is no difference in the narrative voice from before her accident at 17 to when she is a toddler to when she is again 17 after her enlightenment. There is also an issue with completely unlikeable characters. Seriously, this narrator treats others—especially those she refers to as friends—horribly, and any glimmer of hope you see for character growth is completely lost from one verse to the next. Her mother is image-obsessed, her father is a doormat and her brother is an egomaniac. Even the kid she shares a hospital room with pulls the plug on her ventilator! There’s also the issue with the ending telling rather than showing what Tessa has learned about her relationship with her mother—“I know that by trying to fix me, / she us really trying to fix herself” (247)—and her father—“my dad might not be the greatest / dad of all time… / but he never stopped / trying to protect me / and trying to make me feel special” (247). What makes this even worse is that Mass doesn’t even lead up to this enlightenment through the rest of the novel—so without her spelling it out in the ending, readers would have no clue how Tessa has grown. As it stands, I’m not sure I buy into this realization even with it being spelled out. But none of those are this books most egregious sin.

Cures for Heartbreak by Margo Rabb: This is perhaps the most introspective book I have read in a long time—a true grief novel about what it’s like, not to get over loss, but to learn not to let it consume you. Each memory is presented almost as a vignette, a brief image of what happened to make Mia who she becomes. It is interesting to see how Rabb chose to open and close each vignette, and while there is almost a complete lack of transition between each passage and no discernible timeline, there is a distinct emotional arc that carries readers through.

Roland Wright: Future Knight by Tony Davis, illustrated by Gregory Rogers: This was a much better early reader than most. It uses reading-level-appropriate language, uses humor and history (kind of) effectively, and for the most part manages to stay away from cliché phrases and stereotypical characters. It also uses a secondary character—Roland’s pet mouse—as a rather unexpected foil to Roland’s boyish fearlessness.

Second Grad School Reading List of Fourth Semester

If I have to read any more books for my lecture, I might actually cry. As in big, fat tears of losing my mind. I'm not sure how that translates to all of the animal books I read for this packet, but I sure did read a lot of them. And I'm not exactly a talking animals fan. But I did have fun reading a lot of these books.

The Underneath by Kathi Appelt: Geez, I can’t read this book without hearing Kathi’s voice in my head, more so than with any of her picture books or poetry collections that I’ve read. (It also helps that I used to live on the Louisiana bayou.) While I don’t really care for books told from an animal’s perspective, the mystical quality and folk origins of this novel make the animal perspective work for me.

The Eleventh Hour by Graeme Base: Nice concept, not such a nice execution. While the illustrations are beautiful, they're almost too pretty and too clever. The writing was weak at best, and the mystery never really came together.

Essential English Grammar by Philip Gucker: I probably need a linguistics refresher more than I need a grammar refresher—my spelling is atrocious—but it’s been a long time since I’ve taken a writing essentials class. So here’s to reviewing the rules so I can more effectively break them. This book is okay, but there's a serious lack of practical application.

Ms. Coco Is Loco by Dan Gutman, illustrated by Jim Paillot: Early readers are generally awful, and I’m really not sure why. It’s like this gaping hole in children’s publishing between the Caldecotts and the Newberys where it seems to be okay to have sub-par writing made up of stereotypes and bad puns…and not in a good bad punny way of Amelia Bedelia, which, by the way, I’m convinced were the last decently written early readers ever. (Although, to be fair, I was in second grade when I read the Amelia Bedelia books, so they might have been just as bad.)

The Jungle Book by Rudyard Kipling: Reading this book has been a really interesting experience, a little like stepping into a narrative time capsule. With several of the "classics" that I've read recently, I've had to keep reminding myself that people viewed women, other cultures and even facts through the lenses of their time, but this book was a pleasant surprise with it's loving portrayal of Indian culture, even if there was still an imperialistic British feel to much of it. The narrative voice was probably the most interesting aspect of reading this as it's told in a remote, omniscient narrator so standard for the time. The narrator—a very traditional storyteller—sometimes referring to himself in the first person but still manages to slip across language barriers and even into the heads of animals. Sometimes the narrator is overly wise, giving us detailed translations of cultural instances, but at other times the narrator is all too human and withholds information from us. People like to complain about the first-person present novels so popular today, but every period has distinct narrative styles that kind of define the literature of the day. Makes me excited to find out what's next.

We are the Ship: The Story of Negro League Baseball by Kadir Nelson: I can’t think of another book where the author inhabits a narrator like this one, which is totally unexpected for a nonfiction book. Although the narrator is never named, you feel his experiences as a Negro League ballplayer on such an acute level that you trust him implicitly. His timing and vocabulary are also spot on for the time period and the sport. (P.S. This was a re-read for me as I listened to the audiobook version years ago.)

Audacious by Gabrielle Prendergast: Holy cow do I have a love/hate relationship with this book! A part of me wants to love it because it brings empowerment words that CoUNT. And another part of my wants to hate it because it portrays religious people as close-minded bigots. The reality is that girls have more to offer than their "virtue," but most people of faith are more moderate than media would lead you to believe. Ultimately, what is going to keep me from loving this book is that the verse tries too damn hard to be poetry when it's not.

The Serpent’s Shadow by Rick Riorden, narrated by Katherine Kellgreen: Is this fabulous literature? No. But for what it is—a fast-paced adventure novel with quippy dialogue and a diverse cast of characters—it’s a pretty fun.

Thrall by Natasha Trethewey: The way this collection deals with the father/daughter relationship dynamic is incredibly powerful. Though this specifically addresses the relationship between a white father and a black daughter, the themes and insights supersede racial barriers, but they also brought me a deeper understanding of the challenges multiracial children face, even within their own families. The last few poems were so beautiful and poignant that they had me fighting back tears—and not very successfully. As always, Trethewey’s use of diverse poetic forms to covey high emotion impresses me beyond all expectations.

In the Shadow of Blackbirds by Cat Winters: I will admit to being rather underwhelmed by the quality of writing in this book, especially as it came so highly recommended by a friend. Yes, the story is intense and unique, but the descriptions tend to skim the surface rather than establish place like they should in historical fiction. Also, it very much inflicts modern-day views on historical figures, which is unfortunate as 1918 was an extremely pivotal/liberating point in the cultural history of the United States so modern views don’t really need to be imposed to make for strong female characters. Then there’s that gothic element that equates depression with madness that just settles wrong with me.

First Grad School Reading List of Fourth Semester

Yes, my first bibliography of my last semester, and I'm only posting it a month late. I'm working on preparing my graduate lecture for Vermont College of Fine Arts—which is kind of like the defense of your critical thesis—so I reference my topic a lot in this list. I looked at a lot of nonlinear picture books and focused on narrative subtext. What can I saw, picture books are deep, man.

Snowmen at Night by Caralyn Buehner, illustrated by Mark Buehner: While this is a fun picture book that I immediately thought of for use in my lecture, reading it alongside books like Where the Wild Things Are and Grandpa Green made me realize how cliché rhyming picture books have become. You always hear not to rhyme in a picture book unless you can do it really well, and this book probably doesn’t do it well enough.

The Several Lives of Orphan Jack by Sarah Ellis, illustrated by Bruno St-Aubin: There’s a lot we don’t know in this book—the time period, the country of origin, the backstory of Jack—but that somehow gives it a folklore feel. When I went back to look at the original Grimm’s fairytales a few years ago, I was amazed by how much detail those stories lack. A lot of my memories have been filled in by Disney or books my mother read to me or watching Into the Woods every day the summer after third grade, but those stories have survived for generations because they allow the reader to fill in the details. It’s hard to put trust in the reader and let them make your characters their own.

The Fault in Our Stars by John Green: Cancer may be fatal, but it’s not a flaw. This book annoyed me to no end. Talk about a manic-pixy-fairy girl and a tall-dark-and-handsome boy who say all the right things and feel all the right emotions and are just quirky enough to be endearing and totally unrealistic. Hazel talks about a character’s "fatal flaw," and unfortunately, the main character and romantic interest’s fatal flaws are completely superficial. Gus’s biggest flaw is that he’s a terrible driver with a hero complex, and Hazel’s flaw is that she can’t see her own beauty and won’t let herself love a guy who loves her because she thinks she’s “a grenade.” Sure, these kids have to deal with huge issues, such as their own mortality and living with constant pain, but I’ve known kids with terminal diseases before—deeply loved them and been torn apart by their deaths—but I’m also hyper aware of what pain and stress does to a teenager’s personality—and it’s not a pretty thing. The irony is that Green actually has the main characters talk about the postmortem saintly status of children who die young, but he himself is horribly guilty of reinforcing the same view. I felt like this book was doing a total disservice to teens with terminal illness by not allowing the characters to be real kids. And I don’t care how intelligent you are, missing three years of school because you’re receiving medical treatment will not make you some kind of literary savant. If you look past the emotional manipulation that is this book, you find hipster adults stuck inside teenagers’ bodies (see the dinner in Amsterdam scene) without any real substance who are completely defined by their circumstances rather than who they become in the end. Green’s a great writer, there’s no doubt about that, but can’t authors create beautiful sentences and substantive characters at the same time?

An Astronaut’s Guide to Life on Earth by Chris Hadfield: I think personal essays, autobiographies and creative nonfiction are just about the perfect example of nonlinear storytelling—it allows the writer to dissect cause and effect with hindsight. The entire time I was reading this book, I was amazed at its organization, how events were grouped by topic and not chronology so I could see how one little thing could affect a future event in a big way. It reminded me of something James Cross Giblin said in his book Writing Books for Young People: He advises writers of nonfiction to “try not to begin a chapter with a flat, factual statement, but start instead with an anecdote or scene that will help establish the mood and lead the reader into the main part of the chapter” (22). Hadfield pulls that off to perfection.

Cold Skin by Steven Herick: I always approach novels in verse with trepidation—too many of them either focus too much on poetry or lose sight of the form—but this one did it well. I really liked Herick’s sparse use of stanza breaks. I also liked how seamlessly he weaves dialogue into exposition.

Letter from Birmingham Jail by Martin Luther King, Jr., narrated by Dion Graham: This is a powerful letter, and with King's oratory skills, it's a letter written to be read aloud. It reminded my of the Pauline "Prison" Epistles: Ephesians, Philippians, Colossians and Philemon. Sorry to go all Biblical when I try to keep this blog fairly nonsecular (though my religious views are a deep part of who I am, so they pretty much come out anyway), but hearing the voice of prophet's past in the voice of someone today is a pretty good sigh that he is doing God's work.

Anno’s Journey by Mitsumasa Anno: It was about halfway through this book that I realized why someone recommended this book to me. This is a book where time (Middle Ages, modern day, Renaissance) and space (England, France, Spain, Italy, even America) meet. Belgium surrealist painter René Magritte would have loved Anno. Everything is happening at once, but the journey keeps moving forward. Now to figure out how to do it so seamlessly with only words instead of only images.

Where the Wild Things Are by Maurice Sendak: I’ve probably read this book 1,000 times or more, but it’s always been out loud to kids. What amazing surprises there where when I could flip back and forth and take time to actually study the pictures in connection to the words. There are only ten sentences in this book. Ten! But the way they build tension shows how possible it is to (purposely) break grammatical rules with run-ons and fragments. I also love how the word “and” acts as a beginning rhyme (rather than the traditional end rhyme) with 23 lines opening with the conjunction. The use of the moon to show the passage of time—or lack thereof—is absolutely brilliant. What a difference reading as a writer can make to a beloved classic.

Her Dark Curiosity by Megan Shepherd: This book has wonderful chapter openings that ground readers in action and equally wonderful chapter endings that propel readers into the next scene. Sure, the vocabulary isn’t always historically accurate (one of the characters wears “pajamas” inside of “night clothes,” and the MC’s BFF uses “God” as an interjection like a modern teenage would), but this book has great plotting and pacing that makes me more willing to ignore those little slips.

Grandpa Green by Lane Smith: This is probably the best example of a layered picture book I have ever seen, with three stories in one. You have the rather simple narrative of the boy telling the story of his great-grandfather, all in the text. Then you have the story of the little boy tending and playing in the garden. And then there’s the story told in the topiary garden itself—a legacy left by an old man to his children. I know that having a book written and illustrated by one person lends itself to this kind of layering as the artist knows when to let the pictures speak and when the words are needed, but it got me thinking about how and where writers can leave room for the illustrations. I heard Brian Selznick speak a few years ago about the process of writing The Invention of Hugo Cabret and how he originally wrote it as an unillustrated novel, but then he went back at took out every passage of description or action and illustrated them instead. What words are really necessary? And how does that translate into writing an unillustrated novel?

Flotsam by David Wiesner: This is a great nonlinear picture book that uses a clever frame story of pictures within pictures to tell about the past and get a peek into the future. I love the unexpectedness of the fantasy within such realistic watercolor images. I wish I could use this one in my lecture, but it’s a little too fantasy based to work with the other books I’m using. (While Where the Wild Things Are and Snowmen at Night can technically be categorized as fantasy, they are really only fantastical within the imagination of children while this book is a fantasy hidden beneath the surface of the ocean.)

Best Books I Read in 2013

This year was kind of the year of re-reads. I went back and read some of my old favorites, and found that time either made me love them more or see more flaws. It's kind of funny how that happened. But this list is about books that I discovered this year, and while some of them were also published this year, many of them were merely new to me.

Contemporary

Please Ignore Vera Dietz by A.S. King

Edgy and fractured, compassionate and harsh, this book exemplifies everything that is good in YA fiction today. I have never read a book with such a distinct voice that tells a story so different from my own yet manages to make me feel every emotion of the characters so honestly.

An honorable mention goes to The Lucy Variations by Sara Zarr.

Audiobook

Rotters by Daniel Kraus, narrated by Kirby Heyborne

This book shocked me, and not necessarily in a good way. I'm usually not a fan of horror stories, but this one was somehow moving in its grotesqueness. And Heyborne was a well-deserved recipient of many audiobook awards for his work on this one.

An honorable mention goes to Moon Over Manifest by Clare Vanderpool, narrated by Justine Eyre, Cassandra Campbell and Kirby Heyborne.

Historical Fiction

A Long Walk to Water by Linda Sue Park

This is a book that every single person should read. It talks about a lot of big issues that affect millions of people around the world but that tends to get swept under the carpet. It might be about Sudan, but there are refugees and people without clean water all across the globe.

An honorable mention goes to Revolver by Marcus Sedgwick.

Poetry

Here by Wisława Szymborska

I love poetry: the emotion, the imagery, the beauty of words. But I don't think that I have ever connected with a book of poetry as clearly and personally as I did with this one. It's like Szymborska got inside of my head and wrote down everything I didn't have the words for.

An honorable mention goes to Native Guard by Natasha Trethewey.

Nonfiction

Narrative Dynamics edited by Brian Richardson

This book blew my mind. I've always been obsessed with time in literature, but this makes the most intellectual conversation I've even had on the subject sound like playground chatter.

An honorable mention goes to The Beowulf Poet edited by Donald Fry.

Reading List Analytics
Out of the 110 books I read this year, there were 41 picture books, 33 novels, 14 audiobooks, 15 nonfiction and 7 poetry collections. I gave 37 books five stars, 38 books four stars, 23 three stars, 11 books two stars and 1 book one star.

Best Books of 2012
Best Books of 2011
Best Books of 2010

Fifth Grad School Reading List of Second Semester

The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald: After all that I had heard about this book, I was sure I wasn’t going to like it. Why I felt compelled to read it anyway, I’ll never know, but I’m glad that I did. While I won’t call it my "favorite" book, there are a lot of things to learn from it, mostly because it felt like an experiment on narration. Fitzgerald played a lot with style, often losing himself in seemingly inconsequential backstories and repetitive dialogue, but then it would come together in these moments of clarity of character and plot that would absolutely amaze me.

Bird by Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life by Anne Lamott: No, I've never read this book before. Stop judging me!

When Marian Sang: The True Recital of Marian Anderson by Pam Muñoz Ryan, Illustrated by Brian Selznick: I have read several books on various reading levels about Marian Anderson, and I think that this one is my favorite. Maybe it’s because of Brian Selznick’s illustrations or the simplicity of the details, but this book manages to convey more of the heart of what Anderson did in 36 pages than some 300-page biographies.

When I Was Young in the Mountains by Cynthia Rylant, Illustrated by Diane Goods: A sweet poetic book about growing up in Appalachia. I loved that Rylant didn’t shy away from taboo topics like religious experiences and slaughtering animals as these are very much a part of the southern-mountain experience. She presented an honest portrayal of the events and memories that make us who we are. And the soft illustrations also give the book a nostalgic feel of a cool summer evening.

The Life of Henry the Fifth by William Shakespeare: Yes, another Shakespearean play. I was looking at a specific kind of narration, and this one had exactly what I was looking for. Plus, I love Shakespeare, so any excuse I have to read one of his plays is a good excuse for me.

How I Learned Geography by Uri Shulevitz: There is a real beauty to how Shulevitz found color and magic during a childhood spent moving from place to place as a refugee. You can literally see why he became an illustrator.

Sandy's Circus: A Story About Alexander Calder by Tanya Lee Stone, Illustrated by Boris Kulikov: This was such a great book. I had never heard of Sandy Calder before, so kudos to Stone for exploring such a unique subject. I loved the whimsical illustrations that really fit the circus style while still being contemporary and creative. I also loved how Stone really connected Calder's childhood experiences to the direction his life took as an adult--it's one of the elements of picture-book biographies that make them so powerful for children.

Eloise in Paris by Kay Thompson, Illustrated by Hilary Knight: I can’t believe I’ve gone this many years without reading an Eloise book! I was laughing so hard I had tears streaming down my face. While it’s totally ridiculous to think that one little girl could cause so much trouble, I couldn’t help but love this troublemaker of international proportions. Some modern critics might take issue with how people of different nationalities are portrayed, but that just makes me wonder what in our vocabulary will seem outdated in 100 years. Kay Thompson manages to capture what it would be like if our every childish whim were granted. This is also a great look at early picture books and how they have changed. The word- and page-count are very high, and I realized that my attention span for picture books is relatively short.

Moon Over Manifest by Clare Vanderpool, Narrated by Justine Eyre, Cassandra Campbell and Kirby Heyborne: Wow, this book was amazing. Layered and moving and filled with hope. I probably felt an extra connection to this story as it parallels my own family’s story of immigrating to America and the effects of Spanish Influenza on their lives and community. But it’s the complexity of the plot, interweaving duel-plots set during WWI and the Great Depression, that brought this story to life. I loved the story within a story narration, which reminded me a little of Holes. And the sassy, adventurous threesome of friends are just so…well, perfect for a middle-grade audience. In reading Abilene's story, I discovered a little piece of my own.

Make Lemonade by Virginia Euwer Wolff: I have decided that I'm not a big fan of Wolff, though I think her subject matter is fascinating and I can understand why some teens really connect with her work. Her style of writing just doesn't suit my style of reading.

The Lucy Variations by Sara Zarr: We all know I’m a sucker for Zarr’s books, but there’s a reason for that. It doesn’t matter what kind of character she’s writing—a girl with a bad reputation, a hidden secret, a sick mother, a baby on the way or a musical genius—I can relate to them on a deeply personal level. There’s a quality of realness that you can’t help but connect with. I think a lot of that stems for the plot-forwarding dialogue and the backstory that’s slow to be revealed. Zarr always has such interesting moments for her initiating actions, and she’s a master at interweaving what came before and how it affects what comes after.

Fourth Grad School Reading List of Second Semester

Well, it hasn't quite been a month since I finished this reading list, so I'm counting getting this posted as a success. Only a few more weeks until the end of the semester, so I really should get back to homework.

Double Crossed by Ally Carter: If you want to write a contemporary YA romance, Carter is one of those must-read authors. She just gets the teenage voice.

Dirt on My Shirt by Jeff Foxworthy, illustrated by Steve Björkman: While some of it was entertaining end even at times endearing, Foxworthy makes a much better stand-up comic than poet for children. While "unsophisticated" isn’t necessarily a bad way to describe children’s humor, it’s not a great term to use in conjunction with poetry for children.

Music Over Manhattan by Mark Karlins, illustrated by Jack E. Davis: It's the little details of this book that make it special. Lines like "the laundry was dancing in time" and that Bernie practiced "even in the bathtub" reminds me of what music was like as a kid. I also like the very real family relations intermixed with the fantastical imagery of music flying.

Girl in Translation by Jean Kwon, narrated by Grayce Wey: I wanted to like this book, I really did. But it lacked focus, and the timeline cast such a wide net that I got board. Plus, the epilogue at the end seems so contrived that even if that kind of success has come to some people, it's totally unbelievable in the context of the story. (I also had a MAJOR ethical issue with the information Kimberly keeps hidden even after becoming an adult.) I felt kind of manipulated by the entire thing, which is sad, because more immigration stories—especially modern ones—really do need to exist, and young people could really benefit from knowing that this kind of struggle didn't end after WWII. But my biggest issue was the use of dialect. The main narrative was told in plain English, but even after getting into Yale, Kimberly still speaks in stilted English in all of the dialogue. So much potential—and even a decent narrative voice—wasted on an unfocused plot.

Beautiful & Pointless: A Guide to Modern Poetry by David Orr: There are some great treasures in this book, especially the chapter on the personal nature of modern poetry. But it was all a little too...pseudo-intellectual for my taste. Don't get me wrong, Orr really knows what he's talking about—it would be difficult to get to his level of prestige if he were just blowing hot air—but his sarcasm and (at times) insulting humor gets old fast. If he's trying to make poetry loves out of the common man, he missed his mark.

Best Friends Forever: A World War II Scrapbook by Beverly Patt, illustrated by Shula Klinger: I enjoyed this book, as I do many books of mixed medium. The scrapbook concept was fun, even if I have been seeing a lot of it recently, and the topic was interesting, even if I've read better books (both fiction and nonfiction) about the topic. Although I will admit, it did make me a little more excited to see George Takei's new play, Allegiance.

The Teacher’s Funeral by Richard Peck, narrated by Dylan Baker: What's not to love about Richard Peck? His books are witty, fun and fast-paced, and I don't care how old he is or what time period his books are set in, he always manages to capture childhood so perfectly.

Skippyjon Jones Cirque de Olé by Judith B. Schachner: These books are always fun to read aloud, although this one wasn't my favorite of the Skippyjon Jones books. They're always worth picking up for a quick read.

The Winter’s Tale by William Shakespeare, from The Riverside Shakespeare: Shakespeare is also the perfect source material when studying the place of poetry in storytelling, and he always has the most fascinating young adult characters. I know some people are highly critical of this play. It has been called a failed psychological drama and a formulaic pastoral play. It's not quiet a romance and though it's been cataloged with the comedies, there's nothing funny about it (unless you think the "Exit, pursued by a bear" stage direction is humerus rather than a Greek-style fulfillment of Antigonus' failure to carry out his promise to the king). While it has veiled elements of the fantastical, it's not really a fantasy. In fact, entire passages and themes in this play are cast-offs form earlier plays. But to me, it is truly "a sad tale best for winter." I get angry at Leontes, my heart break for Hermione, and I grieve at the death of Mamillius. But I also admire the intelligence of Paulina, cheer for the goodness of the Shepard and stand in awe of the strength of Perdita. And every time I read the final scene where Leontes stands a humbled man before the image of the wife he has wronged, I weep with Hermione. Is this play as beautiful as The Tempest, as magical as A Midsummer Night's Dream, as lovely as Romeo and Juliet or as moving as Hamlet? No. But it is a beautiful example of the power of time to heal and the enduring love that binds a family. This is a play that fills you with hope by the master of all storytellers. So I love it for what it is—flaws and all—and I will continue to count it as my favorite of the Bard's plays.

Scaredy Squirrel Goes Camping by Mélanie Watt: As with Skippyjon Jones, this wasn't my favorite of the Scaredy Squirrel books, but it did come at a fun time. I'm getting ready for a big camping trip, and I've afraid I'm a little more like Scaredy than I care to admit. Unfortunately, I don't think all of those electronics and safety supplies will fit into my hiking pack.

That Is Not a Good Idea! by Mo Willems: Another great picture book with a fun twist. (But I have such a major author-crush on Willems that I'd probably love it if he based a picture book on the phone book, so maybe I'm not the best judge of this one.) One part melodrama, one part Mystery Science Theater, and one part Brothers Grimm, these chicks will really cook your goose.

Third Grad School Reading List of Second Semester

At least this list is only half a month last. Maybe the next one will even be posted on time.

Perfect Scoundrels by Ally Carter: I absolutely love Ally Carter. Her dialogue is amazing, and her plots are so freakin' entertaining. And then there's the characters--smart, funny and sexy. I can't wait to see what she comes up with next.

Al Capone Does My Shirts by Gennifer Choldenko: I loved Choldenko’s use of historical facts intermixed with artistic license. While she kept the book grounded in facts, she didn’t let the details get in the way of telling the story. I liked that Choldenko didn’t feel the need to give the detail of every movement of a character, nor did she feel the need to justify a break in a chapter or a large time span.

The Bat-Poet by Randall Jarrell, illustrated by Maurice Sendak: I don't know why I insist on reading animal books when I don't really care for them. But if you like animal books and poetry, you'll probably like this one.

This Is Not My Hat by Jon Klassen: Ah, yet another children's book by Klassen that was written for adults. It's cute and amusing, but I still don't understand why it won the Caldecott.

Viva Jacquelina!: Being an Account of the Further Adventures of Jacky Faber, Over the Hills and Far Away by L.A. Meyer, narrated by Katherine Kellgren: While I love these books and find them highly entertaining, it’s also an example of when an author superimposes modern views on history. Meyer jokes about Jacky’s virtue in a tong-and-cheek game with the male characters, but in reality, she would have been viewed as the worst kind of whore and tramp. While it’s humorous when viewed with modern eyes, there would have been nothing funny about Jack’s situation if she had truly lived during the Napoleonic Wars. On the positive side, I found the author’s lack of dialogue tags a very interesting choice, and there’s a really interesting flow of time with the narrator often reflecting on the immediate past but the majority of the story being told in first-person present.

A Poetry Handbook by Mary Oliver: I think I need to step away from poetry craft books for now because they're all starting to sound the same. I'm sure I would have liked this one a lot better if I hadn't read three others in the past three months.

Poetry Speaks to Children edited by Elise Paschen: This anthology is AMAZING. Reading it along with listing to the authors read their poems brought the experience to a whole new level. Robert Frost, Billy Collins, Gwendolyn Brooks, Carl Sandburg, Roald Dahl, J.R.R. Tolkien, Langston Hughes, X.J. Kennedy, Rita Dove—and that's just my favorites who read their own poems. But if I had to choose one favorite, it would be Sonia Sanchez's reading of “to P.J.” There were also a lot of poems only included in writing and not on the CD. Plus, the illustrations were just delightful. Yeah, I'm a fan.

Almost Astronauts: 13 Women Who Dared to Dream by Tanya L. Stone, narrated by Susan Erickson: What an empowering book for young women who want to do great things. I'm kind of ashamed to say that I've never heard a lot of stories before, especially since I've spent a fairly significant time reading books about the history of space exploration. I was totally impressed with how Stone attempted to put the gender roles in a historical context rather than viewing it with modern eyes. Unfortunately, that only made the treatment of these women seem that much more barbaric and unfortunate. I also loved the poems at the end (which I found in print online) about the “Mercury 13.”

Native Guard by Natasha Trethewey: This is one of those books that you stare at the last page and can't believe you just finished something so amazing. Yes, it's moving and beautiful, but the history it reflects upon made me deeply uncomfortable—in a good, growing-pains sort of why. It will made me question what I thought I knew about the Civil War and the Civil Rights Movement, and walked away wondering what kind of self-view we’re leaving with the next generation. As for the poetry itself, I thought I understood poetic repetition until I read this collection. Trethewey ties in the historical poems with the biographical poems with the use of a single word: phalanx. In the title poem, she moves you forward through time and place by repeating a line from the last stanza of one battle in the first stanza of the next battle. And she uses a “reverso poem” in “MYTH” as a visual reminder of internal reflection—a literal usage of this form that I have never seen before. The simplistic language is almost necessary to let the imagery that drives then narrative shine as it does in “AGAIN, THE FIELDS.” I loved the use of color and the transition in narrative from distant third to first-person as in “MISCEGENATION.” She gives new meaning to found poetry with her use of historical documents and classic literature as with “Scenes From A Documentary History of Mississippi.” I could gush about this collection all day.

By the Shores of Silver Lake by Laura Ingalls Wilder, illustrated by Garth Williams: I haven’t read this book since I was about 12 years old, and before that, my mom must have read it to me half a dozen times. For years I insisted as dressing up as Laura for Halloween. As an adult, there are some passages that made me a little uncomfortable—the almost hateful references to Indians and how Laura is afraid everything will kill her, including a train and a pony. It’s also fascinating to see how writing styles have changed so drastically in the past 75 years. The opening of the book starts after the major drama—when half the family lies on their deathbed and Mary goes blind—and instead focuses on Laura dealing with the death of her dog. And any agent or editor today would have called Wilder out on her use of passive voice. Without a doubt, this would have been written in first person if it was being published today. Despite all that, I still love this book, and I hope that little girls will continue to enjoy it for generations to come.

Bat 6 by Virginia Euwer Wolff: A book about a girl's softball game? You'd think I'd be all over that. But I'm not a fan of multi-perspective point of view first person narration (of which there is an abundance in this book), and I have a hard time reading dialect (again, an abundance in this novel). Otherwise, it is a good book about the unifying power of baseball.

Second Grad School Reading List of Second Semester

I know that's is way a month and a half late, but life just keeps getting busier and busier, and it doesn't show signs f slowing down any time soon. Without further ado, here's my second reading list of the semester.

The Poet’s Companion: A Guide to the Pleasures of Writing Poetry by Kim Addonizio and Dorianne Laux: While this book really focuses on the basics, they also give you recommendations in you want to learn more about a specific subject. But that's also where the problem lies--the content is too general, especially if you have any kind of poetry background.

Bronzeville Boys and Girls by Gwendolyn Brooks, illustrated by Faith Ringgold: This book reminded me of home and was a great example of what makes Brooks such an amazing poet. While I don't feel it's the best sampling of her work nor the best of poetry for children, but I did love reading it.

One Cool Friend by Toni Buzzeo, illustrated by David Small: This is, hands down, my new favorite picture book. I knew I was going to love it from the creative book flap alone, and the story inside didn't disappoint. With an instantly lovable main character, seamless text in illustrations, some of the best dialogue I've ever seen and a surprise ending that will leave you laughing long after you finish, this is a perfect picture book. And the mixed-media illustrations (I believe I saw felt-tipped marker, water color, crayon, paper collage and pencil), I could look at this book for hours.

Love That Dog by Sharon Creech: This was my second time reading this book, and I'd forgotten how much I'd liked it when it was first published. With a well-deserved homage to Walter Dean Myers and other great poets of our time, this book manages to be both sweet and totally boy.

Artemis Fowl: The Last Guardian by Eoin Colfer, narrated by Nathaniel Parker: WHAT THE HECK?!!!! I wanted to hate this book because of the ending, but it's just so, well, Artemis. I am so torn by the final installment of the series that I honestly don't know how to review it without all the emotions tied into the previous books of the series. And I don't want to give away the ending, which means I can't say much about the book at all. Still one of the best MG fantasy series ever written.

The Odyssey by Homer, translated by Robert Fagles: It was a little odd coming back to this work after so many years of having studied it so closely during my undergrad. I’d read a version translated by W.H.D. Rouse in high school, another translation I can’t remember my freshman year, and then this same Fagles translation my sophomore year. But reading it as a writer was completely different. I didn’t have to worry about the historical content or its place in history, but instead I got to enjoy the story telling. The strangest thing happened while I was reading it—I’d put it aside to read a more modern work, and the modern voice sounded all wrong in my head. The lack of epitaphs and symbolism and divine intervention was a little disconcerting.

Sleep Like a Tiger by Mary Logue, illustrated by Pamela Zagarenski: This is a beautiful book. It's text is soft and lulling, it's illustrations flowing and dreamlike. It reminds me a bit of A Book of Sleep by Il Sung Na, but it is uniquely its own.

Creepy Carrots! by Aaron Reynolds, illustrated by Peter Brown: I just love clever picture books with beautifully simple illustrations. I hope these never go out of fashion.

The Madman’s Daughter by Megan Shepherd: When I first heard about this book, I knew it was going to be big. And not that I've read the final version, I'm even more excited. It's gripping and sexy, dark and mysterious. This is one you won't want to miss.

Follow Follow: A Book of Reverso Poems by Marilyn Singer, illustrated by Josée Masse: While I loved the first reversion book Mirror Mirror: A Book of Reversible Verse, these poems lacked the unity of perspective and clarity of tale that the original offered, though I believe Josée Masse has taken her art to a new level. I found the title poem confusing at best and "Now It's Time to Say Goodnight" self-indulgent of the author, but I very much enjoyed "Ready, Steady, Go!" and "On With the Dance." I might try my hand at a reverso poem or two, but I don't expect to have the same skill as Singer.

First Grad School Reading List of Second Semester

My theme for this semester is "Bad Poetry." Not that I'm trying to write bad poetry or even working on poetry, but I am trying to learn more about and honor the tradition of poetic storytelling. So I'm looking at the link between epic poems and the modern novel in verse, which makes for some heavy reading. It also means that I'm spending a lot of time reacquainting myself with poetry and the associated literary terms. Which means I'll be doing some writing exercises that will help me do this. If I learned anything from the brilliant Martine Leavitt's workshop this past residency, it's that you have to write through the bad. Even if you think you'll never use it, you need to put pen to paper and write. So over the next five months, I expect I'll be churning out a lot of bad poetry, and in doing so, I hope to be able to create something good along the way.

For your enjoyment, here's my reading list for my first assignment. If you're an exceptional keen observer, you might even be able to figure out what my first essay was on.

101 Great American Poems by the American Poetry & Literacy Project: I wasn't a fan of how this book edited classic poems. They also included a lot of selections from Dickson, Frost, Longfellow and a few others when I think more of a verity of poets would have been nice, including stepping into modern poetry. But this is a decent overview of American poetic traditions. It's a good review for people who haven't taken an Am Lit class in a long time, but it's not going to make anyone a lover of poetry

Bats Around the Clock by Kathi Appelt, illustrated by Melissa Sweet: I was watching Star Trek: The Next Generation the other day (yes, I’m that nerdy), and Deanna Troy was trying to explain poetry to an alien race. She said it’s “an art form that uses words put together in new and unexpected ways, sometimes in rhyme.” Kathi is a perfect example of that. I loved that she used rhyme without sounding campy and used rhythm to keep the pages turning.

Unspoken: A Story from the Underground Railroad by Henry Cole: Such a fantastic wordless picture book. Introduces the concept of slavery in a gentle way even the youngest children can understand yet doesn't downplay the tension and inhumanity of it all. I love that Cole doesn't shy away from these big topics (e.g. And Tango Makes Three), but I don't think he even realizes what amazing work he's doing beyond putting a beautiful picture on the page.

The Beowulf Poet: A Collection of Critical Essays edited by Donald K. Fry: I am so glad that I found this collection of essays. They have done more to help me understand the difference between craft essays and literary analysis than anything else has previously. While these are all highly academic essays, they look at specific constructive elements of Beowulf rather than the overall literary value of the work or any theme it addresses.

Beowulf translated by R.K. Gordon, narrated by Robertson Dean: I cannot express how much I enjoyed experiencing this epic poem in it's original form—aloud. While I feel this translation pales in comparison to Heaney's, there is no denying that this story was made for an oral telling, and Dean doesn't disappoint.

Beowulf: A New Verse Translation translated by Seamus Heaney: I haven’t read this poem since 2001, when the Heaney translation first hit shelves. I remember loving it and feeling passionately about the story, which is probably why I read an older translation twice “just for fun” back in high school. But looking at it with the eyes of a writer was fascinating. I felt like I was seeing the alliterative verse and caesura for the very first time, which is what makes Heaney’s translation so amazing. (Now I want to hear the original Old English text read aloud.) The cyclical nature of the plot and the personification of weaponry blew my mind. There is so much meat here!

Shakespeare Bats Cleanup by Ronald Koertge: I liked that Koertge gave his main character a very specific reason to explore poetry, even though this book didn’t have much of a plot. I especially liked the use of reflective flashbacks and varying poetic forms. And as you’ll learn about me in...oh, about April, I’m a bit obsessed with baseball, so any time you see baseball and Shakespeare in a book, you’re pretty much guaranteed my love and appreciation—ask me about The Wednesday Wars by Gary D Schmidt sometime.

Faraway Home by Jane Kurtz, illustrated by Earl B. Lewis: While this is a sweet book about a little girl who is trying to understand why her father must go to Ethiopia to visit his sick mother, I didn't much care for the timeline. I know that sounds strange, but it would have been a lot more engaging if the little girl had learned about Ethiopia from her father's letters or stories from his childhood rather then them sitting in a comfy chair talking about what living in a third-world country is like. But this is still a good book for American children to learn that not everyone is so blessed to live like we do.

A Monster Calls by Patrick Ness and Siobhan Dowd, illustrated by Jim Kay: I listened to the audiobook almost a year ago and wanted to go back and read the print version. I don't know of any other novel with more beautiful illustrations, and the theme is so big and powerful it deserves multiple reads. I'll admit to being a big baby and crying both listening to it and reading it.

The Gingerbread Man by Nancy Nolte, illustrated by Richard Scarry: I always like fairytale retellings, and knowing this story, I thought this book was going to be fun to read and an interesting look at rhyme. Unfortunately, there was nothing unexpected about this book, which made me lose interest very quickly.

Guyku: A Year of Haiku for Boys by Bob Raczka, illustrated by Peter Reynolds: This book was a total inspiration to me. I’ve read it about a dozen times before, but this time, when I picked it up, I noticed completely different things through writer’s eyes. I love how Raczka uses line breaks and can establish such a clear sense of place in less than five syllables. And as with every time I read this, I appreciate how he brings in the traditional Japanese element of seasons in haiku, which is often times overlooked by Western writers.

When You Reach Me by Rebecca Stead, narrated by Cynthia Holloway: I can see why a lot of people like this book. It's very sweet and nostalgic. It's a great example of beautiful writing, but pseudorealism in literature isn't really my cup of tea.

Leonardo the Terrible Monster by Mo Willems: This book will forever hold a special place in my heart. As the first book I ever bought at the Strand and then memories of Ashley reading this aloud to me and not being able to stop laughing. What great memories are attached to this book. I wouldn't trade it for all the books in the world.

The Madman's Daughter

My dear friend Megan Shepherd's book The Madman's Daughter just hit bookstores, and I couldn't be more thrilled. Megan gifted me with a read of an early draft, and even when the book wasn't in it's final form, I knew it was going to be big. And now that I've read the final version, I'm even more excited. It's gripping and sexy, dark and mysterious. This is one you won't want to miss.

Juliet Moreau doesn't know who she is anymore. Her mother is dead, her father has disappeared, most of her friends have abandoned her and she has no future prospects. Worst of all, working as a cleaning girl for the medical labs at King's College makes it impossible for her to ignore the unnatural curiosity that hums through her veins. The same unnatural curiosity that got her father labeled a madman for his gruesome experiments on animals and humans alike.

Then a childhood friend turns up in London, and Juliet discovers her father is living on a remote island. Out of options and desperate for answers, she convinces Montgomery to take her to her father. With the help Montgomery and the handsome Edward, Juliet begins to piece together what happened to lead to her father's downfall and also uncovers a mystery in her own blood.

An homage to H.G. Wells' The Island of Dr. Moreau, The Madman's Daughter is a true Gothic horror that will keep you on the edge of your seat. For the romantic, there's a bit of a love-triangle with the damsel in distress, the boy next door and the mysterious stranger, but that is far from the focus of the story. It's really about a girl discovering that she is not controlled by fate, heritage or circumstance, that she can make her own choices and be the person she wants to be. While this book can easily stand alone, I can't wait to read the next installment.

For those of you in the DC area, Megan will be at Hooray for Books in Alexandria, Virginia, for an author panel on February 7 at 6:30 p.m.