If you’ve read my blog at all, you know that I am not against magic in fiction.  In fact, some of my favorite books are fantasy books that rely heavily on the premise that I suspend my disbelief in magic.  These stories can be very powerful and can reveal a lot about what attracts us, motivates, and ultimately redeems us as human beings.

That said, I also believe that witchcraft is a real-world concept that is still practiced today.  While I am by no means an expert in the occult or in Pagan practices, I’m always a little wary when my fiction adopts certain characteristics that I associate with witchcraft.

Through reading and experience, I’ve come to define witchcraft as the desire for and pursuit of control over our environment and others.  It’s often presented as a reaction against centuries of female oppression–the only way for women to assert their independence and gain the upper hand.  While I am all for the feminist movement, I’m not one of those who thinks that in order to right the scales of justice, they must be tipped the other way.

That said, Bray’s novel treads dangerously close to that line.  I like that the novel deals with behavioral and societal norms for women in the Victorian era.  I like that the girls are seeking out ways to assert their independence.  I even like the concept of being able to open magical doors into other realms.  Where this all gets foggy is in the description of how women used this power in the past.

Now, the story falls far short of being a how-to book on witchcraft, so personally, I wouldn’t blink twice at recommending it for kids.  However, I do think that there are just a few too many references for my personal taste, and I think it may very well offend some of my more “fantastically” conservative friends.

I do need to mention the one redeeming virtue of the book, which I had to hold out until the bitter end to find.  When Gemma finally succeeds in her quest, it is the power of forgiveness that defeats the enemy.  There is just something so exquisitely beautiful about that…that forgiveness is a more powerful magic than anything evil will try to throw at us.

It almost made me want to read the rest of the series.  Unfortunately, I’m just a little too worried about what Gemma will cook up next, and my reading list is so very long, that I’ll most likely skip this series in favor of discovering another gem.

From a Christian perspective, the use of magic in this book is as inoffensive as you can get.  For the most part, anything magical is a nuisance at best, and down right eerie and evil at worst.  The only good magic turns out to be a sort of unnamed “deeper” magic that stems from the deep love we have for our family.

The book deals artfully with the loss of a parent as well as family dynamics and loyalty.  It might also be fun to have some discussions about Victorian traditions as far as mourning, parent-child relationships, courting, and gender roles.  It would be an especially good book for young readers who are interested in dance.  (Although the sisters have been forbidden from dancing since they are in mourning for their mother, the secretly dance every night.  Their activity actually seems to serve as their way of both honoring their mother’s memory and moving forward after her death.)

My only complaint about the books is that the children’s relationship with their father is very strained after the mother’s death, but this is never really fleshed out.  They make peace and get on the right track eventually, but the narrator never explicitly understands that the father’s withdrawal from the girls is a result of his mourning as well as his preparation to leave them to go to war.  As an adult, I understand this implicitly, but I’m not completely sure that younger readers would.  I’m afraid they would dislike the father and be unprepared to forgive him as he begins to reenter the girls’ lives.

The only other clue I will give you about the plot is that the castle they live in was once enchanted by a very wicked sorcerer-king.  While most of the magic has been undone, the girls stumble upon a secret passageway to an enchanted room, which is where they do their nightly dancing…and in this story, nothing good can come from dancing in a magic room.

The main character, Katsa, has been used by her uncle as a thug to keep his kingdom in line.  She is tired of it and, in unprecendented defiance of him, confronts him to say she will no longer do his bidding.  She knows that he may try to kill her, but she also has the skill to defeat anyone and everyone that is sent her way and to kill the king on top of that.  With all her heart, she doesn’t want that to happen, but her instinct is to kill anyone who tries to harm her.  The quote that really stood out to me was this: ” Mercy was more frightening than murder, because it was harder, and Randa [the uncle] didn’t deserve it.”

Isn’t that awesomely true.  Mercy is so much more difficult than lashing out and punishing the people who hurt us.

Unfortunately, only a few chapters later, Cashore killed the wonderful attachment I was beginning to feel to her main character.  Katsa starts spouting modern feminist rhetoric.  Now, I’m all for women being treated with respect and equality, both in the work place, in the home, and in places of worship, but some people take it a little too far for my comfort.

In the story, Katsa declares that she can never marry because she would no longer be her own and be herself.  Even when she meets a man who loves her AND respects her individuality, she still claims that marriage would result in a loss of her fredom and of her very personality.

It hurts me to hear a character (and supposedly, the author) saying such things against marriage.  There’s nothing wrong with being single, but to remain single because you fear being “owned” is kind of ridiculous.  My own marriage has not resulted in a loss of my “self” but has developed a richness my personality that stems from being responsible for another’s wellbeing and happiness.  I wouldn’t be nearly as understanding nor as generous with my self and my time if I did not have my husband in my life.

So, in the end, although the story was entertaining and engaging, I wasn’t at all happy with Graceling.  (Also, the Epilogue left much to be desired as far as closure.  I understand wanting to leave things open for a sequal, but if you don’t give me something to feel good and finished about, I might not come back for the next one.)

The first issue I had with the book is that the author’s political commentary is actually a little above the heads of her target audience. Shoot, it was even a little over my head and it’s not like I live in the same political vacuum that most teens do. While the story itself is straight forward, it is highly dependent upon the political aspects of the setting. Eventually, it gets to feeling like Weyn is bludgeoning you with her agenda, which gets old quickly whether you agree with her positions or not.

I’m fairly certain that younger readers won’t pick up on any of that aspect of this novel and will probably enjoy it much more than I did. For older readers, it would be a fantastic novel to teach the concept of propaganda.

However, the next issue I had with the novel might cause even more problems for its long-term success: it is very dated. The cultural and political references in the novel will be lost on young adults within the next ten years.

I’m pretty disappointed with this one. I think it is trying to be an updated 1984 for today’s young adults but doesn’t even approach that iconic work of speculative fiction.

The first issue I had with the book is that the author’s political commentary is actually a little above the heads of her target audience. Shoot, it was even a little over my head and it’s not like I live in the same political vacuum that most teens do. While the story itself is straight forward, it is highly dependent upon the political aspects of the setting. Eventually, it gets to feeling like Weyn is bludgeoning you with her agenda, which gets old quickly whether you agree with her positions or not.

I’m fairly certain that younger readers won’t pick up on any of that aspect of this novel and will probably enjoy it much more than I did. For older readers, it would be a fantastic novel to teach the concept of propaganda.

However, the next issue I had with the novel might cause even more problems for its long-term success: it is very dated. The cultural and political references in the novel will be lost on young adults within the next ten years.

You already know how much I loved Hunger Games, and while Jenna Fox was interesting, it sort of paled in comparison.  I do love that it tried to tackle ethical issues, but like many YA books that try to do so, it tends a little towards the didactic.

Unfortunately, it is also one of those books that if I talk about any part of the story or even go into detail about what I liked and didn’t like, I’ll be giving away some major plot points.

Suffice it to say, it is a science-fiction story set in an indeterminate future where unchecked and unregulated scientific development has left the environment and humanity on verge of catastrophe.  While the science aspect of the story is fairly well developed, the novel is much more about the ethical issues involved and the interpersonal relationships between the characters.

I did really liked the characters.  I thought they were realistically developed and the relationships between them were complex in a very natural way.  The plot never seems to really rev up, despite some suspenseful moments, and the end of the story departs from what you expect without giving sufficient explanation.

All in all, I don’t think this one would get my vote…if I were a young reader, that is.

The Hunger Games is so powerful, filled with significance while still subtle.  The story is set in a post apocolyptic North America that has been divided into thirteen districts that are controlled by a central capital.  Industry is all centered in the districts, which support the capital.  Years before the story starts, the districts rebelled against the capital because of the inequities inherent in this arrangement, but the rebellion was quickly quelled and district thirteen was completely destroyed as a warning to all the others.

In addition to that warning,  a tribute system was set up to remind the districts each year that they are powerless against the capital.  Every year, two names are drawn from among each districts young people between the ages of twelve and eighteen.  These twenty-four children are sent to the capital to compete in the hunger games–a fight to the death in which only one child can survive.

There were just so many things to love about this novel.  The story is completely riveting from beginning to end, both well developed and well told.  The fictional world is fully developed.  At every turn, there is commentary about poverty, power, the environment, vanity, the value of life, compassion, etc., but Collins manages to do so without it feeling didactic; she leads you to the issue and lets you see it from the narrator’s perspective without beating you over the head with it.  Plus, I love that she was able to make me both laugh and cry.

I can’t comment yet on the rest of the series, but I’m sure you’ll be hearing from me soon.  (The books are already in my cabinet at work, waiting for me on Monday.)

As far as age appropriateness goes, middle school readers could certainly handle the reading and the content, though a lot of the more sophisticated issues may go over their heads a bit.  Plus, I find that many of my sixth grade students aren’t all that interested in the romance aspect of it yet; that aspect is not incredibly pronounced in the book, but it is a significant part of the plot.  High school students would definitely enjoy the book and would most likely pick up on a lot more of the nuances.  And, of course, it is one of those YA books that I highly recommend for adults, not just those with children who are trying to monitor what those children read.  This is an entertaining and engaging book that you’ll want to talk about with everyone else who has read it.

The premise is that Alice (or more correctly, Alyss) really is from Wonderland, but Dodgson just thinks she is a little girl with a powerful imagination and ends up twisting her story into a fantastical journey.  The novel focuses on the violent political upheaval in Wonderland that led to Alyss’s exile into our world and her attempt to wrest control of Wonderland away from her evil Aunt Redd upon her return.

The book has some wonderful lessons about what it means to be a good leader, as well as on using imagination, knowledge, and technology responsibly.

The story itself is creative, fast paced, and entertaining.  My only critique is that there are a few moments when the description of White Imagination and Black Imagination comes a little too close to the Light and Dark Sides of the Force, especially when the narrator is trying to make the point that anger leads to Black Imagination.

Overall, I was very pleased with this variation on the Alice tales. It manages to update the story for an older/different audience while staying true to the imaginative foundation laid by Dodgson.

As far as fantasy for young adults goes, these books are some of the best I’ve read in a while.  The stories are set in modern times, but with the twist that there are magical guilds living among us of which the Anaweir (those of us without any powers) are completely unaware.  Each book focuses on a separate main character, with their stories interweaving without any kind of backtracking in the storyline, meaning that each novel furthers the chronology rather than rehashing things.  I thought it was pretty creative, though you do tend to miss the previous characters that you had connected with.  (They are still there, but not as well developed, becoming a little two-dimensional.)

While some may take issue with the use of magic in the story, I think it is done perfectly here.  (Remember, though, that I usually don’t have issues with fictional magic and believe that it is a natural outgrowth of a healthy imagination, so those of you dead set against magic in any form will want to take my assessment with a grain of salt or reevaluate why you believe magic, and maybe even imagination, is inherently evil.)  Ultimately, in each novel, the abilities of the characters and the guilds are seen as something that should be used for good.  The message seems to be the age old adage that power corrupts, and that without the fear of something greater and more powerful than ourselves, human beings tend to get out of line.

While the novels are not overtly Christian, the themes tie in very nicely with our faith.  Each character struggles to find purpose in life while dealing with difficult situations.  They often seek guidance from those older and wiser than themselves.  They value life and eschew violence except in self-defense.

I really enjoyed all three books, but I did have a few very slight issues with the writing itself.  The only problem I had with the first book, The Warrior Heir, was that it was a little predictable (though, my brother disagrees with me completely, for what it’s worth).  A good deal of the climax of the story was obvious to me a short ways into the novel.  As I mentioned before, I also have a difficult time adjusting to the changing character focus–I missed Jack, and was not at all happy when the third book begins with a focus on Jason, who was a character that I wasn’t particularly fond of in the second book.

My only other issue was with the third book and is a problem that I’ve noticed with other young adult novels.  The exposition and rising action seem to take FOREVER, even starting to drag a bit in places, but by the time you get to the climax, it is starting to feel like details are just getting glossed over.  There are some pretty significant events in the climax that really do not get the emotional impact that they should because the pacing is off.  Then the resolution just sort of zips by as if being told by a mother impatient to get through story time so that her child will finally go to sleep.  I suspect that Chima was nearing the page limit set by her publisher and was eager to tie up all the loose ends quickly.

Overall, though, I really enjoyed reading all three books.  Chima tells a wonderfully creative and imaginative tale that definitely kept me reading and has me hoping for more.  Plus, for those who are interested in this sort of thing, there is a rather subtle allusion to Hamlet in chapter two of The Dragon Heir.

The novels follows three young girls that are all tied to the factory in some way.  Bella is a recent immigrant from Italy.  Mostly on her own, she has come to America in an effort to save her family from starvation, but finds herself exploited and cheated at every turn, both by her bosses and by her landlady.

Yetta is a young Jewish immigrant from Russia.  She and her sister are working to bring the rest of their family to America to save them from the increasing pogroms.  However, Yetta is determined to be treated fairly and is one of the first girls on the picket line when the strike begins, suffering frequent beatings and imprisonment.

Jane is a budding socialite from a family climbing its way to the top of New York society.  She has been brought up to wear pretty dresses, attend teas and balls, marry a wealthy man who will fatten her father’s assets and/or esteem, and have absolutely nothing but fluff between her ears.  But when she meets Yetta and Jane on the picket line, she sees in them a freedom that she has never known and yet longs for.

Haddix really does a lovely job of intertwining the stories of these three girls as well as weaving in the facts of the strike and the fire that so quickly followed the end of the strike and resulted in the deaths of so many young girls.  The novel provides some fantastic historical elements that tend to get glossed over in most public school history courses, where there is a race to finish the course in time for state testing.  It is a great starting point for conversations about women’s and workers’ rights, the historical need for unions, the ethical obligations of business owners, and the discrepancy between the poor and the wealthy and how much money they each think is “enough.”