Buena High School Library Staff Recommendations
Mr. Levin's Book Recommendation for January:
It: A Novel by Stephen King
First things first: yes, It is a book about a killer clown. Kind of.
Though Stephen King gets pigeonholed as a two-dimensional horror novelist, he's actually a sophisticated, multifaceted author with an uncanny ability to invoke the complexities of childhood innocence and trauma. He is, after all, the same man who wrote the stories that became Stand By Me and The Shawshank Redemption.
That being said, I was pleasantly surprised by the depth and complexity of It. The novel isn't just 1,153 pages of Pennywise the Dancing Clown terrorizing the town of Derry, Maine; rather, it's an examination of isolation, loneliness, bullying, racism, domestic violence, sexual abuse, antisemitism, and a multitude of other important themes. The members of the self-identified "Losers Club" each face a personal roadblock that would warrant its own YA novel; the fact that Stephen King ambitiously tackles so much (under the guise of a "horror novel," no less) is a testament to his considerable talents. However, since his reputation for creepy plots tends to overshadow his sophistication and eloquence, it would be easy for casual passersby to dismiss King as a hack pulp novelist. It, however, is a near-masterpiece that capably conjures the terrors and exultations of childhood - and, as such, deserves a place alongside other bildungsroman classics.
FULL DISCLOSURE - I have to admit, I purchased It to get more bang for my buck: I needed a new eBook to read on my iPad and it simply made sense to buy a 1,000+ page novel for $11.99 instead of a novella for the same price. That being said, it took me more than a year to get through the whole thing. I started, stopped, started, stopped, and restarted reading... occasionally losing hope that I would make it through the endless underground sewers of King's novel. Like the members of the Losers Club, however, I'm glad that I was able to overcome a seemingly insurmountable obstacle and make it out alive.
In the end, It isn't so much a novel about the terrors of death as it is about the magic of life. As King writes near the novel's conclusion, "But it's nice to think... that childhood has its own sweet secrets and confirms mortality, and that mortality defines all courage and love. To think that what has looked forward must also look back, and that each life makes its own imitation of mortality: a wheel."
It: A Novel by Stephen King
First things first: yes, It is a book about a killer clown. Kind of.
Though Stephen King gets pigeonholed as a two-dimensional horror novelist, he's actually a sophisticated, multifaceted author with an uncanny ability to invoke the complexities of childhood innocence and trauma. He is, after all, the same man who wrote the stories that became Stand By Me and The Shawshank Redemption.
That being said, I was pleasantly surprised by the depth and complexity of It. The novel isn't just 1,153 pages of Pennywise the Dancing Clown terrorizing the town of Derry, Maine; rather, it's an examination of isolation, loneliness, bullying, racism, domestic violence, sexual abuse, antisemitism, and a multitude of other important themes. The members of the self-identified "Losers Club" each face a personal roadblock that would warrant its own YA novel; the fact that Stephen King ambitiously tackles so much (under the guise of a "horror novel," no less) is a testament to his considerable talents. However, since his reputation for creepy plots tends to overshadow his sophistication and eloquence, it would be easy for casual passersby to dismiss King as a hack pulp novelist. It, however, is a near-masterpiece that capably conjures the terrors and exultations of childhood - and, as such, deserves a place alongside other bildungsroman classics.
FULL DISCLOSURE - I have to admit, I purchased It to get more bang for my buck: I needed a new eBook to read on my iPad and it simply made sense to buy a 1,000+ page novel for $11.99 instead of a novella for the same price. That being said, it took me more than a year to get through the whole thing. I started, stopped, started, stopped, and restarted reading... occasionally losing hope that I would make it through the endless underground sewers of King's novel. Like the members of the Losers Club, however, I'm glad that I was able to overcome a seemingly insurmountable obstacle and make it out alive.
In the end, It isn't so much a novel about the terrors of death as it is about the magic of life. As King writes near the novel's conclusion, "But it's nice to think... that childhood has its own sweet secrets and confirms mortality, and that mortality defines all courage and love. To think that what has looked forward must also look back, and that each life makes its own imitation of mortality: a wheel."
Mr. Levin's Book Recommendation for February:
Why We Broke Up by Daniel Handler (with art by Maira Kalman)
Daniel Handler's Why We Broke Up is based on a novel concept: what if that box of random items you collected whilst dating that ex-boyfriend/girlfriend could be used as the hub of a breakup narrative - with each of the items serving as an axle or a spoke in the wheel of the story?
While the potentially kitschy gimmick of such a narrative could very easily turn melodramatic or pretentious, in Daniel Handler's capable hands it transcends the novelty of the premise. Reminiscent of Jay Asher's Thirteen Reasons Why, the novel follows protagonist Minerva ("Min") Green, a teenage cinephile obsessed with classic films, as she falls in love with high school jock Ed Slaterton. While we know the couple's days are numbered (hence the title), we're drawn into a whirlwind romance that (temporarily) transcends traditional high school boundaries and forces us to examine our own preconceived notions of identity. While not flawlessly executed, the book does present a fascinating examination of how an individual changes and evolves over the course of a relationship.
Much of the novel's effectiveness stems from Handler's unique narrative voice channeled through Min: our protagonist is a precocious young woman who almost falls into the "manic pixie dream girl trope" (a la Cameron Crowe or John Green), but whose complex emotions supersede that simplistic description. Min is not so much Zooey Deschanel or Kirsten Dunst as she is Rachel Bloom; while she's clearly an "adorkable" character, she is much more self-aware and complex than other characters in the simplistic MPDG vein.
That being said, Why We Broke Up is an engaging, humorous look at growing up, even as it teeters between comical and heartbreaking. It won't change your life, but it might make you nostalgic for those tortured, angst-ridden days of high school romance.
Why We Broke Up by Daniel Handler (with art by Maira Kalman)
Daniel Handler's Why We Broke Up is based on a novel concept: what if that box of random items you collected whilst dating that ex-boyfriend/girlfriend could be used as the hub of a breakup narrative - with each of the items serving as an axle or a spoke in the wheel of the story?
While the potentially kitschy gimmick of such a narrative could very easily turn melodramatic or pretentious, in Daniel Handler's capable hands it transcends the novelty of the premise. Reminiscent of Jay Asher's Thirteen Reasons Why, the novel follows protagonist Minerva ("Min") Green, a teenage cinephile obsessed with classic films, as she falls in love with high school jock Ed Slaterton. While we know the couple's days are numbered (hence the title), we're drawn into a whirlwind romance that (temporarily) transcends traditional high school boundaries and forces us to examine our own preconceived notions of identity. While not flawlessly executed, the book does present a fascinating examination of how an individual changes and evolves over the course of a relationship.
Much of the novel's effectiveness stems from Handler's unique narrative voice channeled through Min: our protagonist is a precocious young woman who almost falls into the "manic pixie dream girl trope" (a la Cameron Crowe or John Green), but whose complex emotions supersede that simplistic description. Min is not so much Zooey Deschanel or Kirsten Dunst as she is Rachel Bloom; while she's clearly an "adorkable" character, she is much more self-aware and complex than other characters in the simplistic MPDG vein.
That being said, Why We Broke Up is an engaging, humorous look at growing up, even as it teeters between comical and heartbreaking. It won't change your life, but it might make you nostalgic for those tortured, angst-ridden days of high school romance.
Mr. Levin's Book Recommendation for March:
Different Seasons by Stephen King
What happens when you strip Stephen King of his supernatural storytelling devices and leave him bound to the confines of a non-magical world? Well, as it turns out, more twists and turns and terror. The 1982 collection Different Seasons serves as an opportunity for King to flex his literary muscles and dabble in the kinds of storytelling overshadowed by his literary typecasting as “only” a horror novelist. The final result is an engaging, entertaining series of unique stories that will appeal to King’s fan base – and to readers interested in genres outside the realm of supernatural horror.
Comprised of four unrelated novellas (three of which have been adapted into feature-length films), Different Seasons shows King’s prowess as a writer without the distractions of ghosts, monsters, or mythological evils. In keeping with the collection’s title, each story is loosely identified with a unique season: “Rita Hayworth and Shawshank Redemption” is the springtime tale (“Hope Springs Eternal”), “Apt Pupil” serves as a summertime story, (“Summer of Corruption”), “The Body” acts as an autumnal anecdote (“Fall from Innocence”), and “The Breathing Method” works as a wintertime narrative (“A Winter’s Tale”).
The first (and best) story in the collection is “Rita Hayworth and Shawshank Redemption,” which was adapted into the universally beloved 1994 Frank Darabont film, The Shawshank Redemption. Over the course of the story’s 100 pages, we get Red’s perspective on the strange tale of Andy Dufresne, an indefatigably hopeful prisoner in the titular Shawshank prison. Readers of this story will be pleasantly surprised by how faithfully adapted the film version was, with Tim Robbins and Morgan Freeman playing Andy and Red (respectfully).
The next story, “Apt Pupil,” is a less masterful (albeit still terrifying) tale of a “golden California schoolboy” and his horrifying obsession with a fugitive Nazi war criminal. As we witness high school student Todd Bowden force his Nazi neighbor Kurt Dussander out of “retirement,” King juxtaposes the twisted longings of sociopath Todd with the stained conscience of the Nazi who has gone into hiding and attempted to reinvent himself as a kindly old man in suburban southern California. With its examinations of sadism and guilt, “Apt Pupil” reminds us of how truly appalling and inhumane the Nazi war criminals of World War II were; though transplanted to a sunny San Diego suburban setting, the horrific crimes of Nazi concentration camp officers seem even more egregious and ghastly outside the confines of a history textbook. Unfortunately, with the swelling tide of white supremacy cresting once again, “Apt Pupil” seems less like a shocking fantasy and more like a repulsive reminder of the fact that our lives will never be free from the violent prejudices of fringe extremists.
The centerpiece of this collection is “The Body,” the longest of the stories in Different Seasons, clocking in at 150 pages. Better known in its film incarnation, Stand By Me, “The Body” recounts the journey of a quartet of adolescent misfits in the 1950s who go in search of a child's corpse. Arguably one of the best stories King has ever written, “The Body” shares a great deal of DNA with his 1986 masterpiece, It. In some ways, “The Body” serves as a warm-up exercise for King: its cast of characters would fit in nicely with Derry’s Losers Club, and they encounter similar roadblocks in a bildungsroman narrative. Like It, “The Body” is more attuned to the terrors of childhood and the inevitable grappling with mortality that everyone encounters sooner or later in life.
The only one of the four novellas that dips its toes into anything remotely supernatural is “The Breathing Method,” which hints at a questionably benign multiverse and examines a mother’s ability to overcome impossible, inhuman obstacles. Without spoiling too much, it’s safe to describe “The Breathing Method” as a twisted testament to a mother’s uncanny ability to care for her unborn child – no matter the bloody battles along the way. This final story is the shortest in King’s collection, but it packs a lot into its 63 tumultuous, unnerving pages.
Though King often gets pegged as a one-trick pony capable of producing only tales of the macabre, Different Seasons illustrates how diverse King’s imagination can be and how skillfully he executes his visions. In the four tales that comprise Different Seasons, King proves that he is more just the “Master of Horror” – he is a master of Gothic examinations of the human experience... in all seasons of life.
Different Seasons by Stephen King
What happens when you strip Stephen King of his supernatural storytelling devices and leave him bound to the confines of a non-magical world? Well, as it turns out, more twists and turns and terror. The 1982 collection Different Seasons serves as an opportunity for King to flex his literary muscles and dabble in the kinds of storytelling overshadowed by his literary typecasting as “only” a horror novelist. The final result is an engaging, entertaining series of unique stories that will appeal to King’s fan base – and to readers interested in genres outside the realm of supernatural horror.
Comprised of four unrelated novellas (three of which have been adapted into feature-length films), Different Seasons shows King’s prowess as a writer without the distractions of ghosts, monsters, or mythological evils. In keeping with the collection’s title, each story is loosely identified with a unique season: “Rita Hayworth and Shawshank Redemption” is the springtime tale (“Hope Springs Eternal”), “Apt Pupil” serves as a summertime story, (“Summer of Corruption”), “The Body” acts as an autumnal anecdote (“Fall from Innocence”), and “The Breathing Method” works as a wintertime narrative (“A Winter’s Tale”).
The first (and best) story in the collection is “Rita Hayworth and Shawshank Redemption,” which was adapted into the universally beloved 1994 Frank Darabont film, The Shawshank Redemption. Over the course of the story’s 100 pages, we get Red’s perspective on the strange tale of Andy Dufresne, an indefatigably hopeful prisoner in the titular Shawshank prison. Readers of this story will be pleasantly surprised by how faithfully adapted the film version was, with Tim Robbins and Morgan Freeman playing Andy and Red (respectfully).
The next story, “Apt Pupil,” is a less masterful (albeit still terrifying) tale of a “golden California schoolboy” and his horrifying obsession with a fugitive Nazi war criminal. As we witness high school student Todd Bowden force his Nazi neighbor Kurt Dussander out of “retirement,” King juxtaposes the twisted longings of sociopath Todd with the stained conscience of the Nazi who has gone into hiding and attempted to reinvent himself as a kindly old man in suburban southern California. With its examinations of sadism and guilt, “Apt Pupil” reminds us of how truly appalling and inhumane the Nazi war criminals of World War II were; though transplanted to a sunny San Diego suburban setting, the horrific crimes of Nazi concentration camp officers seem even more egregious and ghastly outside the confines of a history textbook. Unfortunately, with the swelling tide of white supremacy cresting once again, “Apt Pupil” seems less like a shocking fantasy and more like a repulsive reminder of the fact that our lives will never be free from the violent prejudices of fringe extremists.
The centerpiece of this collection is “The Body,” the longest of the stories in Different Seasons, clocking in at 150 pages. Better known in its film incarnation, Stand By Me, “The Body” recounts the journey of a quartet of adolescent misfits in the 1950s who go in search of a child's corpse. Arguably one of the best stories King has ever written, “The Body” shares a great deal of DNA with his 1986 masterpiece, It. In some ways, “The Body” serves as a warm-up exercise for King: its cast of characters would fit in nicely with Derry’s Losers Club, and they encounter similar roadblocks in a bildungsroman narrative. Like It, “The Body” is more attuned to the terrors of childhood and the inevitable grappling with mortality that everyone encounters sooner or later in life.
The only one of the four novellas that dips its toes into anything remotely supernatural is “The Breathing Method,” which hints at a questionably benign multiverse and examines a mother’s ability to overcome impossible, inhuman obstacles. Without spoiling too much, it’s safe to describe “The Breathing Method” as a twisted testament to a mother’s uncanny ability to care for her unborn child – no matter the bloody battles along the way. This final story is the shortest in King’s collection, but it packs a lot into its 63 tumultuous, unnerving pages.
Though King often gets pegged as a one-trick pony capable of producing only tales of the macabre, Different Seasons illustrates how diverse King’s imagination can be and how skillfully he executes his visions. In the four tales that comprise Different Seasons, King proves that he is more just the “Master of Horror” – he is a master of Gothic examinations of the human experience... in all seasons of life.
Mr. Levin's Book Recommendation for April:
Shout by Laurie Halse Anderson
It's been over a decade since I first read Laurie Halse Anderson's masterpiece, Speak, and I'm still haunted by the character of Melinda Sordino and her traumatic coming-of-age story. In the years since, I've read almost every YA book that Anderson has written - from the award-winning historical fiction of Chains to the heartbreaking Wintergirls - and I'm perpetually amazed by Anderson's realistic grasp on the complex lives of teenagers. Although Anderson's writing has always addressed a variety of traumatic experiences (rape, anorexia, and PTSD - to name a few), I was surprised by how openly the author discusses her own personal experiences in her new memoir, Shout. As it turns out, Laurie Halse Anderson has imbued her fictional characters with a variety of details and experiences from her own personal traumas; in fact, it seems like much of the sympathy and empathy that she has fostered in so many of her struggling characters stems from her own personal life.
What makes Shout such a timely read is that so little has changed in the decades since a teenage Anderson was raped by an acquaintance from school. Although the #MeToo movement has shed light on the stories of so many survivors of sexual assault, Anderson is quick to point out that our culture still can't overcome its despicable tendencies of victim-shaming and perpetrator-enabling. Over the course of Shout's nearly 300 pages, the author not only delves into her complicated personal history (examining domestic violence, substance abuse, and mis-education in America) but also society's current evils: toxic masculinity, inappropriately limited/dishonest sexual education, and lack of support for survivors of trauma.
While this litany of issues and societal ills might seem overwhelming for a casual reader, Anderson's beautifully poetic writing and blunt honesty transform Shout from one woman's memoir into a near-masterpiece that should be required reading for all teenagers. And while the darkness that seems to creep into these pages might threaten to devour some readers, Anderson reminds us that the only path to a healthy life is through the examination of our own tragedies and suffering:
"too many grown-ups tell kids to follow
their dreams
Auntie Laurie says follow your nightmares instead
cuz when you figure out what's eating you alive
you can slay it" (160).
Shout by Laurie Halse Anderson
It's been over a decade since I first read Laurie Halse Anderson's masterpiece, Speak, and I'm still haunted by the character of Melinda Sordino and her traumatic coming-of-age story. In the years since, I've read almost every YA book that Anderson has written - from the award-winning historical fiction of Chains to the heartbreaking Wintergirls - and I'm perpetually amazed by Anderson's realistic grasp on the complex lives of teenagers. Although Anderson's writing has always addressed a variety of traumatic experiences (rape, anorexia, and PTSD - to name a few), I was surprised by how openly the author discusses her own personal experiences in her new memoir, Shout. As it turns out, Laurie Halse Anderson has imbued her fictional characters with a variety of details and experiences from her own personal traumas; in fact, it seems like much of the sympathy and empathy that she has fostered in so many of her struggling characters stems from her own personal life.
What makes Shout such a timely read is that so little has changed in the decades since a teenage Anderson was raped by an acquaintance from school. Although the #MeToo movement has shed light on the stories of so many survivors of sexual assault, Anderson is quick to point out that our culture still can't overcome its despicable tendencies of victim-shaming and perpetrator-enabling. Over the course of Shout's nearly 300 pages, the author not only delves into her complicated personal history (examining domestic violence, substance abuse, and mis-education in America) but also society's current evils: toxic masculinity, inappropriately limited/dishonest sexual education, and lack of support for survivors of trauma.
While this litany of issues and societal ills might seem overwhelming for a casual reader, Anderson's beautifully poetic writing and blunt honesty transform Shout from one woman's memoir into a near-masterpiece that should be required reading for all teenagers. And while the darkness that seems to creep into these pages might threaten to devour some readers, Anderson reminds us that the only path to a healthy life is through the examination of our own tragedies and suffering:
"too many grown-ups tell kids to follow
their dreams
Auntie Laurie says follow your nightmares instead
cuz when you figure out what's eating you alive
you can slay it" (160).
