A Monster Calls by Patrick Ness

First published in 2011

If you can, try to get the illustrated version of A Monster Calls – it makes the whole book a beautiful little volume to keep and really enhances the dark themes and emotions present in the book. They mimic the kind of twisted, bitter thoughts present in Connor’s mind, but overall just appeal to the idea of darkness. I think they were haunting and beautiful.

This book is dark. It is raw, it is unflinching and honest, and for all the magic realism present in it, it is a very real story. I knew what was coming – I think that it is clear what will happen from the start. But I did cry, and not even just because the writing was beautiful or it was really tragic – but just because it feels very real and laid bare. Even if you can’t relate to Connor’s sadness, and the reasons for it, I think it is easy to apply those feelings on a personal level, because as they are written they are simple and totally accessible and there is nothing forced about them.

I really loved the idea of the monster calling on Connor. I actually found the monster rather funny with his deadpan lines and how he totally discredits all of Connor’s outbursts. I thought he was kinda cool. I wouldn’t mind if he came calling on me. The ‘monster’ element is actually a really lovely, unforced example of using magic or fantasy to enhance a contemporary story – the two parts work together seamlessly.

Another aspect of A Monster Calls I really enjoyed is the way it uses the importance of stories – stories to occupy our minds, stories to cast light on our own lives, and stories to create beauty out of chaos. Connor may not like the stories the monster tells him, but he cannot deny their importance in getting him to the place he needs to be with his mother.

A Monster Calls is not a story I absolutely love or would hold dear to my heart, but it is a very special story and a beautiful idea. I think many people would cherish it as an emotional attachment - it might be one of those books that ‘gets’ them.

Queen of the Night by Leanne Hall

First published in 2012 by Text

Hall’s first book (the Text Prize winner), This is Shyness, was one of my favourite reads in 2010. I thought it was brilliant and quirky and a stay-up-all-night read of the best sorts. Queen of the Night takes us back to this same world. The style, the hipness, the gorgeous dream-state is still there. Shyness is a fascinating world to get lost in, and Nia and Jethro (Wildgirl and Wolfie), are great characters to take us there.

When I read This is Shyness it had such a unique quality and I just fell in love. Although Queen of the Night is as unique and clever and imaginative, some of the novelty of Hall’s writing has worn off and simply for this reason I didn’t love it as much as This is Shyness. It’s amazing to fall back into that world but the ‘wow’ factor was just missing. Which is not to say that it wasn’t as good, more just a case of ‘second time around’ syndrome.

There was a lovely bittersweetness to Wildgirl and Wolfboy’s relationship this time around. What impressed me so much when they first met were the witty exchanges, the excitement of discovering each other, the charged flirtation. In this book Hall has captured wonderfully that feeling of trying to get over someone, of missed opportunity, of hope even when you know there is no substance to it. I really liked the first half of Queen of the Night when Wildgirl and Wolfboy were dancing around each other. And of course, when they do meet again, they still retain their strong, individual personalities that drive the narrative forward.

The action picks up in the second half of the book. The plot line this time revolves around Doctor Gregory stealing people’s dreams – in this case the dreams of Wolfboy’s depressed friend, Paul. Because of this, Paul has gone into a catatonic state. Wildgirl must enter a dream world to try and bring him back. It is all very hip and lovely-weird and whimsical but always in a contained, unself-aware way.

I have found with Hall’s books that they are less about the plot and more about the experience. The adventure drives forward the themes, the relationships, the ideas. The suburb of Shyness is as alluring as ever. It creates such a wonderful space to explore the imagination. The writing is actually quite concise and straightforward, but the world and thoughts it gives rise to elevate it beyond the words on the page. It was nice to see Wolfboy’s relationship with Ortolan and Diana develop, although I feel their interactions in Queen of the Night were really just to lay the foundation for possible development in a third book.

Another enjoyable and imaginative outing from Leanne Hall. She has a very distinct voice in Aussie YA fiction and is one of the few authors who I actually follow from book to book, waiting to see what she will do next.

The Death and Life of Charlie St. Cloud, by Ben Sherwood

This edition published in hardcover by Bantam Dell, 2004

I don’t feel like I can write a proper review of The Death and Life of Charlie St Cloud, and I don’t really want to. Because to be honest, this book infuriated me. It frustrated me to the end where I started wondering what was wrong with me, and why wasn’t I seeing all the amazing and magical things about it that all the other famous authors were, according to the glowing reviews on the back cover. So let me drop a few points about my reading experience:

·         I read this book because I recently saw the film, starring Zac Efron. The film was okay. It was pretty much what I expected. The characters Tess and Sam annoyed me, or maybe I just found the actors playing them really unlikeable. I think the Zef did pretty well, considering the material he was working with. But then again, I’ve always thought he was a decent actor, right back from when he used to be in Summerland (AMAZING show – why still no DVD????!!) The kid’s got some talent in addition to those much-lauded looks.

·         The premise of the book is clever enough, and the setting gorgeous. I did enjoy the anecdotes and description 0f the town and the harbour and the graveyard. I love reading anything about graveyards – there is so much material to be got out of them, there are so many stories you can build, themes you can explore. So that was okay.

·         BUT, the way it was all executed – yuck. This whole book, to me, felt contrived. I could not find and did not feel any genuine emotion. The writing was self-congratulatory. Designed to make the reader feel like they were reading the greatest, most life-affirming story they’d ever come across, to find the secrets of life among all its pages. Instead, I just wanted to run away.

·         The dialogue was pretty bad. It didn’t feel natural to me at all. In fact, nothing about this book felt natural. The scene where (SPOILER) Charlie and Tess finally get their sexy on just made me feel embarrased to read such purplish prose and badly-articulated sentiment.

·         I didn’t like Tess. I didn’t care what happened to her. I hated the way she was introduced, as some ballsy, modern, everyone-was-in-love-with-her woman. It all felt just so put-on.

·         My biggest dislike was waaaaaaaaay too much telling. Every character gets their own two-page backstory which is supposed to make us see how well-rounded or hard-done-by or totally-cool-guy they are. Hardly any of it, in the overall story arc, is relevent. Hardly any of it is interesting. In fact, I just found it bad writing.

There are other things, but I won’t go on. Overall, I just really felt the author couldn’t get past his own agenda and let the story speak for itself. It was over-done, over-written and pappy. I can see where others might find it sweet, or life-affirming, or touching. That’s fine. But this time, not for me.

Black Juice, by Margo Lanagan

First published in 2004, by Allen & Unwin

Recently I picked up my old copy of Margo Lanagan’s Black Juice, which I vaguely remember once having to study either for school or uni. Black Juice is a collection of ten short stories, each one strangely compelling and sprinkled with her usual mix of mystery and beautiful despair. My favourites are ‘House of the Many’, ‘Yowlinin’ and ‘Singing my Sister Down’, but really, each of these ten stories is as intense and disturbing as the other. They are saved from being uncomfortably confronting by such tiny, sad reflections on human nature and the world, which sink their teeth into all the vulnerable parts of your mind and body you’ve been foolish enough to expose.

What I love about these stories is that they all pack a punch and are in your face; they drop you right into the centre of the action and leave you to flounder your way out along with the characters. The worlds the characters inhabit are alien and troubled and feel like a sort of faraway mimicry of the world we know. They are utterly fascinating, because Lanagan only ever hints at the details of how they came to be, dropping a few well placed objects and hints and allowing us brief flashes into what the characters think about these worlds. Everything seems off-kilter, slightly amiss, an impression of reality. Her stories are scary with what we don’t know about them, but because they all have the slightest trace of the familiar, they are still, in all their strangeness, a little too close to home.

What is real and recognizable about these stories is the human emotion, and more specifically the human despair, that is woven through them. The insights Lanagan gives us about who her characters are as human provides the perfect amount of tenderness and compassion to balance the fierce unforgiving landscapes. This is what we understand, and what strikes so close to home. That she can do this over and over, for each story, yet in completely original ways, is what makes Black Juice such a brilliantly realised piece of work.

The imagination and originality put into these stories is remarkable. Lanagan’s writing is beautiful, as I’m sure is countlessly mentioned – her prose is poetic and expressive without being heavy-handed. I think the word is effortless - her writing doesn’t try too hard but still knows exactly what it is doing. But the real magic is in how Lanagan builds up time and place and landscape and then, delicately, shows us the cracks. Black Juice is quite extraordinary, and a wonderful reading experience.

"Irini performed the final part for all of us: stepped forward, knelt on the pavement, and, holding her skirt decent in the wind, bent and kissed Grandma's forehead. It seemed only right - she was the one who knew Grandma best, these last days. It's the role of daughters to move ever away from their mothers ... and it's likely, isn't it, that someone will step in, and appreciate everything the daughters can't, being so busy pushing themselves out into the world, saying, No, no, I'm not you."

When You Reach Me, by Rebecca Stead

First published (in Australia) by Text Publishing, 2010

A gem of a book – subtle, sensitive and lovely – I can see why it won the Newberry Prize in 2009. The biggest success is the central character; she is an absolute delight to read about. Miranda is precocious but never annoying, clever, curious and possessing an old soul that makes her moments of innocence so devastating, in a wonderful kind of way.

Miranda is a not-quite teen who finds herself in the middle of a puzzle. She is trying to get her head around mysterious notes and stolen belongings and somebody who seems to know everything that is about to happen before it’s even happened. And all this at a time when her best friend Sal has, without a reason, shut her out, and her Mum is about to go for a shot at money and fame on a TV game show.

When You Reach Me is in the mode of magical realism, with the emphasis, I think, on reality – the intricacies of friendship, the complexities of growing up and the moments that make us realise our childhood is coming to an end. This is a time both sad and beautiful: bewildering but precious because how we deal with it gives us clues to the adult we will become. This crossover between being a child and becoming an adult is really, I believe, what this book is dealing with, and it does it beautifully. What Miranda thinks and feels and the way she sees things and expresses herself is so spot on, so childlike but perceptive at the same time. I loved it.

The plot is also clever, and woven throughout the book quite splendidly. I was constantly wondering where the story was going and how it was all going to fit together and play out. The real joy is, of course, going with Miranda as she pieces it all together as well. I was not quite sold on the premise, or idea as a whole – maybe I found it a bit too neat, or... I don’t know. Something niggled at me, the tiniest bit. But it was not enough to destroy my overall enjoyment and appreciation of the book.

Read When You Reach Me for the gorgeous central character, insightful, aware story-telling and poignant capturing of what it means to be a child trying to make sense of the world.

"I sat on the couch and closed my eyes. I pictured the world. I pictured the world millions of years ago, with crazy clouds of gas everywhere, and volcanoes, and the continents bumping into each other and then drifting apart ... Now fast-forward. The earth is still making loops around the sun.There are humans all over the place, driving in cars and flying in aeroplanes. And then one day one human tells another human that he doesn't want to walk to school with her anymore.

'Does it really matter?' I asked myself.

It did."

The Three Loves of Persimmon, by Cassandra Golds

Published by Penguin, 2010

Persimmon is a young lady devoted to her florist shop, at the top of the Botanical Gardens Railway Station. She has been disowned by her family for following the flower profession, and although clever and kind, is rather lonely. Epiphany is a mouse who believes there must be more to the world than the confines of Platform One. Each must undergo their own trials of love, heartbreak, imagination and adventure before they can find the place where they truly belong.

I am divided about this book. On one hand, there were moments of such cleverness and loveliness that is just charmed the socks off me. There are some pithy insights about people and the world around us, beautiful moments of both reflection and descriptive prose, and some genuinely delightful, funny lines, particularly from Persimmon’s ornamental cabbage Rose. I love fairytales, and I love what this book is trying to be. I love the innocence of it. I love how every creature, every action, is made to feel important, is never derivative in comparison to something else. There is a gorgeous mix of the quirky and the real.

Yet I feel like that whatever the book is going for, it isn’t quite there yet. I think some parts are overwritten and overstated, which ruins whatever lovely thing the author has just described or had her characters say. Similarly, the way characters speak, the way events play out, sometimes it feels like they are designed to have a particular effect. This insults the reader’s integrity. There is, perhaps, a little too much telling instead of showing. And although this is certainly a unique book, parts feel derivative – a little too sentimental, a little too neat. What I really wanted was just for Golds to let her story breathe – everything is there, it’s just the way she chooses to tell it.

Parts I particularly enjoyed were the development of Persimmon’s three loves – it  is great to see a young adult/children’s author dealing with the idea that love is not always perfect, that it must develop, that it takes many trys with many significant others to get it right. I LOVED the stuff about Walter and the theatre, having a fondness for the theatre and the theatre life myself. Rose was a great character, with many cabbagey intricacies. And the train station setting, especially Persimmon’s florist shop, was gorgeous. The devotion both she and Epiphany have to flowers (both literally and figuratively) is a delight to read.

"This flower's petals were as red as blood and the fold upon fold of them made a mysterious kind of face that was turned towards her and, it seemed to Epiphany, smiling the gentlest, most beautific smile ... Epiphany extended her trembling whiskered nose into the tips of the petals ... she gazed and gazed into the heart of the rose."