Review: A Mango-Shaped Space by Wendy Mass

A Mango-Shaped Space was the first of four full books I read over the Dewey's 24 Hour Read-a-thon period. I almost always try and use events like these to get through some of the older books on my TBR pile and this was no exception. In fact, the receipt tucked inside my copy tells me that I've owned this book since March 2012... well, I won't be owning it for much longer, that's safe to say.

Plot summary: Mia Winchell has synesthesia, the mingling of perceptions whereby a person can see sounds, smell colors, and taste shapes. Forced to reveal her condition, she must look to herself to develop an understanding and appreciation of her gift in this coming-of-age novel.

Good thing that's not a vague blurb or anything... But yes, basically, Mia has synesthesia, a condition thought to include Van Vogh and David Hockney as sufferors (and also allegedly Kanye West, but never mind that). I can sort of understand this as, while I don't see colours, I do associate them with certain things/people and can get quite stressed out when real life doesn't always conform. But I'll leave this train of thought here before I get angry comments telling me that OCD isn't the same as synesthesia (a fact of which I am very aware). 

I do have a soft spot for novels about mental health. The Shock of the Fall was one of the best books I've read all year and I completely fell in love with The Silver Linings Playbook. However, you'll note that both those books are aimed at adult readers and A Mango-Shaped Space most definitely is not. The language is very simple, but that's fine as it's aimed at younger readers and I got used to that after a few pages anyway.

The problem is how easy the whole thing is. Mia decides for no apparent reason to mention her difficulties to her parents after thirteen years of not doing so and then has a diagnosis within three days? Yeeeeeah, I don't think so. I understand that middle-grade books are always going to have simpler plots than adult novels and that it's trying to reinforce talking to your parents about your struggles... but I feel it's setting children up to believe that mental health diagnoses are instant. I just don't want children to feel that its all in their heads etc. when they're told that there's nothing wrong with them (which they invariably will be). 

*breathes* Issues? Who, me? 

The other slightly role-modely issue with A Mango-Shaped Space is that I'm preeeeeeeetty (read: absolutely and completely) sure that synesthesia doesn't allow sufferors to guess people's moods or tell whether people are lying. Wow, that's insulting. I was flabberghasted and I don't even have it. I mean, what is this book aiming for? 'Oh, I thought I had this because I can see music and taste sounds... but oh no, I can't have. I'm not additionally and randomly psychic, so there goes that idea.'

I can't wait to tell them about the acupuncture, which, cool as it was, did get to be pretty distracting. But if my abilities had been stronger tonight, I would have been able to see exactly what Adam was feeling when he kissed me. That could have been useful.

ARGH. Even if I agree to let the use of the word 'abilities' go, you would not have been able to see how he felt, regardless of how strong your symptoms are. You have an illness; you are not one of the X-Men.

Mia's also kind of a cowbag. While I did want her to get better, I liked her in absolutely no way at all. She's a horrible little primadonna. At one point she goes all mental about the fact that she boiled some pasta to go with some salad her mother made, and nobody thanked her for the salad. Really!? Did you thank your Mum for making the salad? Did you thank her the 56,000 times she's made you pasta!? And just like that I've realised why I rarely read contemporary YA- because I almost always side with the parents.

I appreciate what this book is trying to do, kind of. Synesthesia is rarely heard of and it must be comforting for children to have a novel they can read for reassurance that they're not crazy. The problem is a) it's more about a girl who happens to have synesthesia while she grieves over her deceased grandfather, and b) I really feel like it might give them the wrong end of the stick. Synesthesia makes you a mind-reader, remember?

Read a more positive review of A Mango-Shaped Space at Hearts At Play - this review also explains how synesthesia works much better than I did!

Review: Tell The Wolves I'm Home by Carol Rifka Brunt

I... don't understand. I genuinely and utterly feel like I've missed something with Tell The Wolves I'm Home, as I don't feel moved, tearful or even a little sad. I mean, I didn't hate it but it's a profound 'meh' from me on this one, if such a thing isn't too much of an oxymoron.

Plot summary:
There's only one person who has ever truly understood fourteen-year-old June Elbus, and that's her uncle, the renowned painter, Finn Weiss. Shy at school and distant from her once inseparable older sister, June can only be herself in Finn's company; he is her godfather, confident, and best friend. So when he dies far too young of a mysterious illness that June’s mother can barely bring herself to discuss, June's world is turned upside down.


At the funeral, she notices a strange man lingering just beyond the crowd, and a few days later, June receives a package in the mail. Inside is a beautiful teapot she recognizes from Finn's apartment, and a note from Toby, the stranger, asking for an opportunity to meet.


A the two begin to spend time together, June realises she's not the only one who misses Finn, and if she can bring herself to trust this unexpected friend, he might just be the one she needs the most.

I really like the idea of this plot - older relative dies of AIDS and a close younger relative discovers his secret gay lover. It just really appealed to me as something slightly different and I care quite a lot about HIV/AIDS and the associated hysteria in the 1980s. Except I nearly gave up after twenty pages. Tell The Wolves I'm Home is horrendously emotionally manipulative - I've read My Sister's Keeper and it wasn't THIS bad. It's not even subtle - you're really, really bashed over the head with the Sad Mallet to the point where I felt that AIDS was being used almost.

In the end I was glad I persevered. I got into it properly after roughly a third of the book or so, when the drama had settled down and the character growth began. There were plot points I liked and some (more) that I didn't, but occasionally I saw some nice touches that gave the book a bit of character. The room in the basement, for example, or the portrait.

The problem was, I hated everyone. I know that's almost the point of a book like this one - I was shocked and almost offended by the general attitude and ignorance towards AIDS. I know it was basically prompted by fear of the unknown illness, but June's family's treatment of Toby just angered me. So yes, manipulativeness aside, I understand my dislike. Unfortunately I also hated June, which is most probably not the point.

She's annoying, wet and sulky. Theoretically she's fourteen but I struggled with thinking of her as anything but around ten years old. My biggest issue with June, though, was her relationship with her uncle. Not necessarily that she had feelings for him because I'm sure that's natural, but that everybody knew and encouraged it. Why did nobody, including him, deal with that in a sympathetic and understanding manner? I don't see it as necessary - the plot would have worked just as well with a close uncle/neice relationship, so why shove that in there?

Let's move on to Greta. Again, she's over-done and unrealistic. I'm used to stroppy teenagers in fiction but she's too over-the-top and just becomes an irritatingly Actual Bad Person. Also...

Spoilers below. Highlight to read.

What the hell is with the whole 'Oh, I'll just lay down in the woods and dramatically cover myself in leaves because I know June will be psychic enough to decide she has to find me?' crap. WHAT IS THAT!? I think that stuck out as the most unrealistic and over-dramatic part of the whole novel. Which takes some doing.

Spoilers over. 

I think I'm done with ranting about the characters. I know I've spent most of this review discussing them, but they spoilt the book for me. They're just the standard stereotypes of loner girl, bitchy sister, kind uncle, distant mother but then with bits of unrealistic weirdness thrown in.

I guess my main point about Tell The Wolves I'm Home is that it tries too hard. If the story had just been simply about a girl whose uncle died of AIDS and so she sets out to befriend his secret lover, that would have been fine. I would have been moved and affected quite naturally, but this way was too forced and I ended up irritated. As you may have noticed.

Read more positive reviews of Tell The Wolves I'm Home at An Armchair by the Sea and Devouring Texts. 

Review: Wonder by R.J. Palacio

Ellie sent me a copy of Wonder as a giveaway/RAK type thing in the early months of 2012... and I subsequently failed to read it for a substantial period of time, obviously. However, a few months ago I participated in my very first 24 hour read-a-thon and it seemed like the perfect, light book to keep me going. Except it's not 'light.' It broke me into a million tiny pieces and I still want to hug it three months down the line.

Plot summary: Auggie wants to be an ordinary ten-year-old. He does ordinary things - eating ice cream, playing on his Xbox. He feels ordinary - inside. But ordinary kids don't make other ordinary kids run away screaming in playgrounds. Ordinary kids aren't stared at wherever they go.

Born with a terrible facial abnormality, Auggie has been home-schooled by his parents his whole life. Now, for the first time, he's being sent to a real school - and he's dreading it. All he wants is to be accepted - but can he convince his new classmates that he's just like them, underneath it all?

To begin with, I think it's important that I clarify that Wonder is not just a children's anti-bullying book. It is a book about a boy who is bullied, yes, but that is far from the point of it. I thought it might be too young for me and it wasn't. I thought it might be too twee for me and it wasn't. Whatever your preconceptions are about this book... they're wrong.

I fell completely and totally in love with it by the end of the first paragraph, literally and seriously (because you can never have too many adverbs in one sentence). I never do that. Auggie's voice was just so perfect that something 'clicked' in my head and I settled down to what I knew was going to be a one-sitting read. I wanted to savour every single word because it's not often that a book speaks out to you that clearly.

Obviously I'm not a ten year old boy and I don't have any facial disfigurements, but Auggie seems so real. Everything he says seems to be exactly the way somebody his age and in his situation would think. He's never self-pitying or whiny - he might be slightly naive, but hey, he's ten. It's allowed. It's also clever how he never really explains what he looks like, except for vague hints like 'whatever you're thinking, it's probably worse.' 

I walked towards Jack and followed him out of the auditorium. He held the double doors open for me, and as I passed by, he looked at me right in the face, kind of daring me to look back at him, which I did. Then I actually smiled. I don't know. Sometimes when I have the feeling like I'm almost crying, it can turn into an almost-laughing feeling. And that must have been the feeling I was having then, because I smiled, almost like I was going to giggle. The thing is, because of the way my face is, people who don't know me very well don't always get that I'm smiling. My mouth doesn't go up at the corners the way other people's mouths do. It just goes straight across my face. But somehow Jack got that I had smiled at him. And he smiled back.

It works very well as the narrative then changes to Via, Auggie's sister, who does explain what he looks like. By that point, you're already too in love with him to really care - which is the point of the book, I'd guess. Once you know a person on the inside, you don't care what their outside looks like and this is demonstrated perfectly here.

Some narratives are better than others, obviously. Via (who named these kids!?) can be a bit of a martyr, but then again people do tend to forget about the healthy child and focus on the disabled one. I wish her father would stop going on about War & Peace though, like the fact that she's read it means it's okay for her to take the subway alone? It's a book, not a rape whistle.

The best narrative by far was Jack, a school friend of Auggie's. Again, it captures the persona absolutely perfectly. It demonstrates the precise level of cruelty in children, where they kind of understand the effects of what they're saying, but then kind of not. I read on the author's website that the story was inspired by her own accidental reaction to a child with the same physical problem to Auggie, which probably explains why everything here is so carefully thought out.

Basically, Auggie's disfigurement is shown from lots of different angles - his family, his schoolmates, strangers, etc. These perspectives show that you can think you know what's going on inside a person's head, but you can't - not ever. You automatically assume that people who look afraid of a disfigured person are rude or inconsiderate, but you cannot know how they're actually feeling. Any other book would shove you with the narrative of the poor, disabled boy and that would be that, but not Wonder. It thoroughly explores all the possibilities and leaves you a slightly altered view of the world.

   Jack whispered: "Are you always going to look this way, August? I mean, can't you get plastic surgery or something?"
    I smiled and pointed to my face. "Hello? This is after plastic surgery!"
   Jack clapped his hand over his forehead and started laughing hysterically.
   "Dude, you should sue your doctor!" he answered between giggles.
   This time the two of us were laughing so much we couldn't stop, even after Mr. Roche came over and made us both switch chairs with the kids next to us.

If you've ever been within poking distance of Booking in Heels before, you'll know I don't tend to find the usual books 'moving' or whatever else it is that they're lauded as. Go read my review of The Fault in Our Stars for a demonstration, cause we really didn't get along. But then Wonder came along... and it broke me. I was sat in bed at 3am, tears streaming down my face, full-on sobbing because of what this book did to me. Then I got up and wandered pathetically round the house, looking for my dog to comfort me. When I went back to bed and finished the book, the ending took whatever pieces of me were left and mushed them up a little bit more. This book actually is moving, none of that over-hyped teen romance crap.

The true friendships in this book that really make you feel as if the world isn't such a bad place, after all. There's an all-encompassing form of acceptance that occurs only in very special circumstances, but when it happens it's beautiful.

If you read between the lines of this review very, very carefully, you may just discern that I kind of liked Wonder. Maybe. It's not what I was expecting in the slightest but it's truly Wonder-ful (perhaps the clue is in the title). I don't care if you don't usually read Middle Grade or you're bored of 'bullying is bad' books. I don't CARE - you still have to read this as I can almost guarantee it will exceed your expectations.

Read Ellie's review at Book Addicted Blonde.

Review: Parasite by Mira Grant

In the interests of full disclosure, I haven't read Mira Grant's Newsflesh series so I have absolutely no idea how it compares. That said, based on how truly amazing Parasite was, if I had any money I'd have run out and bought all three books already.
It's just so good.
 
Plot summary: A decade in the future, humanity thrives in the absence of sickness and disease. 

We owe our good health to a humble parasite - a genetically engineered tapeworm developed by the pioneering SymboGen Corporation. When implanted, the tapeworm protects us from illness, boosts our immune system - even secretes designer drugs. It's been successful beyond the scientists' wildest dreams. Now, years on, almost every human being has a SymboGen tapeworm living within them.

But these parasites are getting restless. They want their own lives . . . and will do anything to get them.

I know it sounds really odd - tapeworms trying to take over the world or something. But just trust me when I say that Parasite is so, so much more than that.

First of all, I thought this was YA and it's not - not even the slightest bit. The main character is Sally, who is a full 26 years of age which was a pleasant change. Admittedly she only remembers the last six years since a terrible accident wiped her memory, but having a card-carrying adult as a protagonist is necessary for the science-based and occasionally shocking plot.

The basic gist is that a huge company called SymboGen have developed an 'Intestinal Bodyguard,' which is essentially a genetically modified tapeworm that lives inside you and protects you from illness, allergies, etc. Sally had an almost fatal car accident years ago, but recovered just minutes before her family was due to turn off her life support, thanks to her Intestinal Bodyguard. Now there's a 'Sleeping Sickness' epidemic, where hundreds of people are losing all mental capacity and their implants suddenly aren't working. What could be behind the new illness and why are SymboGen so interested in Sally?

I actually went and looked into whether Mira Grant (real name: Seanan McGuire) had a background in science, because the theories expounded here actually make sense. I'm not about to imbibe a tapeworm, obviously, but the references to the 'hygiene hypothesis,' various parasites and genome splicing indicate a huge amount of research and care. A book doesn't have to be 'possible' for me to enjoy it, but I do like it when your imagination doesn't have to struggle to picture it.

I was hooked from the beginning. Parasite begins with a transcript of a recording made of scientific trials of the Intestinal Bodyguard - the first success caught on tape. After that, in between every chapter there's a newspaper article, interview, textbook excerpt, something, about the history of SymboGen and the development of the project. It may seem gimmicky in other books, but here it worked very well. It's worthwhile paying attention to these as what you've learned there ties in perfectly with the plot later on. The intricacies of the detailed story could be lost without this knowledge.

Being Sally Mitchell sucks sometimes. There's always another doctor who wants a question answered and thinks the best way to do it is to poke a stick through the bars of my metaphorical cage. I didn't volunteer to be the first person whose life was saved by a tapeworm. it just happened.
I have to remind myself of that whenever things get too ridiculous: I am alive because of a genetically engineered tapeworm. Not a miracle; God was not involved in my survival. They can call it an 'implant' or an 'Intestinal Bodyguard,' with or without that damn trademark, but the fact remains that we're talking about a tapeworm. A big, ugly, blind, parasitic invertebrate that lives in my small intestine, where it naturally secretes a variety of useful chemicals, including - as it turns out - some that both stimulate brain activity and clean toxic byproducts out of blood. 

The characters are also pretty much perfect. Sally is slightly naive, but then again she's technically only six years old. Having said that, she doesn't fall into any of the usual traps - she doesn't withhold information from the authorities for no reason, she doesn't fall head-over-heels in love with a horrible man at first sight and she doesn't decide she can deal with the whole thing herself, despite it having nothing to do with her. 

All the characters' decisions are rational and well thought out. There were times when I shook my head at what I thought was a silly twist or lazy writing... only for it to be either a) not what I thought or b) explained so well and so logically that it ended up making perfect sense. Parasite is as far from lazy writing as you can possibly imagine - every plothole, every doubt, every niggle is closed and I cannot think of a single fault with the story.

The only thing that irritated me was a tiny, tiny thing. Sally is terrified of cars, as you can imagine you would be after a near fatal accident. Unfortunately it's just way over the top -  she turns into a sniffling, whiny mess when anybody so much as glances at her while they're driving. 'How could they do that to me!?' Aside from anything else, Sally, you were driving when you had your crash. You. So shut up. Like I said though, small point, and otherwise she's a respectable heroine.

The relationships also work very well. Sally already has a long-standing boyfriend when we jump into the story, so it's a pleasant change not to bother setting up a new romantic interest. Their relationship is a factor, but it's more of a sub-sub-plot. He supports Sally when she needs it and plays a large part in the story in his own right, but he never bullies her or resents her. A good love interest, all told.

What's more complex is Sally's relationship with her parents and sister and it's done... you guessed it, perfectly. There are an awful lot of issues regarding Sally's accident and how her personality has changed, and Mira Grant doesn't shove them under the carpet. The resentment and tension are felt very subtly to begin with, but then it builds gradually until it's an unavoidable situation. Perfect.  

The ending is slightly predictable, but like I mentioned before, it's so well done and so... perfect that it really doesn't matter. it's the journey that's important, not the destination. I was a little frustrated because I hadn't realised that this was going to be a series and now I won't get to find out what happens for practically forever. Points to the author though - there is a dramatic conclusion, but no obvious give-me-your-money cliffhanger. Like I said, no lazy writing here!

So. Perfect. This book is perfect. I do wish the blurb had been phrased differently as it did take away the mystery of what was causing the sleeping sickness, but I understand that isn't the author's fault. It was interesting watching the characters figure it out, but maybe it would have been better to learn along with them. But hey ho. 

Parasite is a book that will capture your full attention and not let you go until you've turned the last page. It's not some silly little zombie book - it's a complete and well thought out story that's, dare I say it, perfect.

Read another review of Parasite by Mira Grant at Curiosity Killed the Bookworm. 

Review: Don't Kill the Birthday Girl by Sandra Beasley

I apologise in advance for any typos or odd symbols that find their way into this post. I'm typing this on my boyfriend's shiny new Windows Surface that is balanced precariously perfectly safely on a cushion on my knee. Thing is, because a) it doesn't have a proper keyboard and b) I am shit scared of breaking it, I'm writing rather like my dad right now... *pokes button with index finger* *pauses* *pokes again*

Summary: Like twelve million other Americans, Sandra Beasley suffers from food allergies. Her allergies—severe and lifelong—include dairy, egg, soy, beef, shrimp, pine nuts, cucumbers, cantaloupe, honeydew, mango, macadamias, pistachios, cashews, swordfish, and mustard. Add to that mould, dust, grass and tree pollen, cigarette smoke, dogs, rabbits, horses, and wool, and it’s no wonder Sandra felt she had to live her life as “Allergy Girl.” When butter is deadly and eggs can make your throat swell shut, cupcakes and other treats of childhood are out of the question—and so Sandra’s mother used to warn guests against a toxic, frosting-tinged kiss with “Don’t kill the birthday girl!”

It may seem that such a person is “not really designed to survive,” as one blunt nutritionist declared while visiting Sandra’s fourth-grade class. But Sandra has not only survived, she’s thrived—now an essayist, editor, and award-winning poet, she has learned to navigate a world in which danger can lurk in an unassuming corn chip. Don’t Kill the Birthday Girl is her story.

So I don't have a whole lot of great experience with illness memoirs, as I've decided to call them. The only other I've read is Chocolate and Vicodin, which could have been great but... wasn't. Far be it from me to snobbily assess the merits of a person's illness, but it read like a rather long whine about how tough the author's life is.

Enter Sandra Beasley. She does not whine, or rant, or bitch. She does not melodramatically hold her hand to her forehead or sink to her knees amid wails of despair. Instead she just kind of... gets on with it. She doesn't state what her motivation for writing Don't Kill the Birthday Girl was, but it reads as a tool to raise awareness of just how dehabilitating severe food allergies can be.

It's fairly obvious that eating out at a restaurant can be problematic if you have allergies, but this book opened my eyes to the less obvious ways in which they can impact your life. What if you're a devout Catholic unable to take Communion? Or a child at a birthday party who sees all their friend eating cake? Sometimes you just don't think through the consequences of what can seem like a rather trivial illness.

All the rites of eating I've ever envied have been secular - defined by pop culture, geography, or my era. But in scenarios where the ritual is religious, and strictly codified, those with food allergies or other dietary restrictions experience a more profound exclusion. Around 2001, a controversy arose when Boston's Roman Catholic Church (seconded by the Archdiocese of New York) affirmed its decree that rice-based wafers were not an acceptable substitute for wheat-based Communion wafers - even for those unable to ingest wheat.
...
Or, as the pastor of Our Lady Help of Christians Parish was quoted as saying during a 2001 interview with the Associatied Press at the time of the Boston controversy: "We many are sharing one bread and becoming one with Christ. We can't make different flavors for different folks and maintain that theological reality."

It's evident that an awful lot of research has gone into this book, in addition to the information that the author has presumably accumulated over several years visiting allergy specialists. There are historical and sociological points brought in, as well as visiting allergies from lots of different perspectives. The result is almost an accessible examination of allergies through the ages and it works really, really well. It is a memoir as Ms Beasley frequently draws upon her own experiences, but it's much more well-rounded and objective than you'd think.

For example, despite obviously, obviously, obviously having sympathy for allergy sufferers of all types (it would be odd if she didn't), she's able to discuss whether perhaps certain aspects are overhyped - there's a whole chapter on how peanut allergies have been blown out of proportion and she doesn't agree with nut-free airplanes, etc. Just to clarify, this lady is severally allergic to dairy, beef, soy, shellfish and a whole host of other things and yet she still doesn't need the world to alter itself just for her.

Not only do I like the book, I also like Sandra Beasley herself. Sometimes it can be difficult to review a memoir objectively when the voice and opinions of the author get in the way, but here she only adds to the value. This is an informative, objective look at allergies from the perspective of a likeable long-term sufferer. I really can't recommend this highly enough.

Visit Sandra Beasley's website here or find her on Twitter.

Review: Positively by Courtney Sheinmel

Positively was one of the five books I allowed myself to buy after coming into money last week. It's special for that reason and (less logically) it's one of the four books of that five that was PINK! Somehow the accidental colour scheme amuses me no end, but hey, we can't all be sane.

Since the day Emerson Price and her mother were diagnosed as HIV positive, nothing has been the same. When her mother dies of AIDS, Emmy has to go live with the father and stepmother she barely knows, and she feels more alone than ever. Now she has to take pills by herself, and there is no one left who understands what it's like to be afraid every time she has a cold. But when her father decides to send her to Camp Positive, a camp for HIV-positive children, Emmy begins to realize that she's not alone after all, and that sometimes, opening up to other people can make all the difference in the world.

This is a tiny, very accessible book that deals with the adult issues of sexual disease, grief and acceptance in an easy manner. Think of it as Jodi Picoult for pre-teens. It's more about Emmy's grief over the loss of her Mother than about her life with HIV, but it still gets across how traumatising and scary the disease can be for a child.

Parts of this nearly moved me to tears, as my Mum is my favourite person in the whole world and the thought of something happening to her is more than I can take. Ms Sheinmel taps into that fear most people and uses it to place you in Emmy's shoes. Her pain is very real, very adult and very sad - it's not softened or sugar-coated. Instead, it's raw and brutal and I challenge you not to be shaken by it.

The plot revolves around Emmy pushing her friends and family away because she feels they don't understand what it's like for her and she worries they only tolerate her because of her illness. Eventually she goes to Camp Positive where she befriends other children with HIV and slowly realises that life goes on, despite her loss. To be honest, I did find her a little irritating and whiny at times but then I realised how realistic it would actually be. I've thought things very similar on occasion regarding my own illness, and I just don't think I'm used to having those thoughts accurately portrayed on paper.

Despite that, it's not a depressing book - a quick glance at the picture on the cover will tell you it's more about hope than despair. I finished the book with a smile on my face and it's sitting neatly on my shelf waiting to be read again one day when I'm feeling low.

I think it could have benefited from being a little deeper and a little more HIV/AIDS-centric, but Emmy's only thirteen and so the writing style fits her age perfectly. If Ms Sheinmel wrote a follow-up book when Emmy was a little older, I'd buy it in a heartbeat.