A Review of Twilight: The Graphic Novel, vol. 1 by Stephenie Meyer and Young Kim

On a darker note, I picked up the first Twilight graphic novel this week. A few statistics: The book has been out four days and is #24 in Amazon.com's sales ranking. Forty-one customer reviews have already been posted, with an average rating of 4-1/2 stars.

As for me, I found myself looking to see how Kim's artwork compared to the movie cast, because hey, isn't that the first thing you would do? For the record, this Bella is much sweeter looking than Kirsten Stewart, who has a kind of world-weary edge to her. Edward looks a little younger and sweeter, too, for that matter. And so does Bella's dad, who is blond here. And Jacob. Everybody is just less square-jawed... Do I sense a trend? Well, Alice looks exactly like movie Alice, and so do Mike and Jessica, Bella's new friends at school. But that's about it.

Of course, we should address more important matters. I think you'll find, as I did, that the graphic novel is a terrific format for this kind of storytelling. After all, Twilight is essentially dot-to-dot angst, and a graphic novel provides a snapshot of each of those dots. If anything, this format allows for heightened drama.

Purists (AKA worshippers) will be bugged by minor differences, but those of you who appreciate Twilight in a less-avid way and who are fans of graphic novels will probably be happy with Young Kim's rendition of the bestselling book in the universe. Considering how much talking goes on, Kim manages to make the story feel relatively fast-paced. Watch also for the occasional mixed media touch, such as a photo of a car in the background instead of a drawing.

While most of the book is in black and white, color is added in a few key spots, most notably in the meadow scene, where the richness of the color highlights the way this couple's cosmically destined love takes them out of ordinary reality. Of course, the artist can't resist using red in a couple of places, too, e.g., for Bella's blood. Kim refrains from putting it on the book jacket, however, creating a new, softer look.

I suppose the black and white used for the majority of the pages suits the mood of Twilight, but I do find myself wondering what the book would have looked like with color throughout. And I have a weird quibble: Kim often uses a heavy black line for the "tail" portion of the voice bubbles, which I felt was distracting. (If any of you know what that part of a voice bubble is actually called, let us know! If there isn't a name, we should make one up...)

My shortest review ever, and why? Because I think the word "spoilers" is passé at this point, as is any kind of plot summary for such a well-known story. Suffice it to say that if you're a serious Twilight fan, you should run out and buy the graphic novel right this minute.

Note: This is not the entire first book in Stephenie Meyer's series. It takes us up through the forest scene and stops, To Be Continued in Volume Two. And by the way, the eminently mockable glitter chest works better here than in the movie.

Jane Gets a Makeover

I was making my rounds through a bookstore the other day, scanning the YA (teen) shelves, when my eyes were caught by another imitation-Twilight cover, stark black with a passionate red rose and a couple of white roses hovering behind. I picked it up, expecting to see a title along the lines of Fangs in the Night or My Brooding Werewolf Lover.

But the book was Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen. With a teaser phrase on the front in all caps: "THE LOVE THAT STARTED IT ALL." The back jacket let me know that there are two more books in this set, Wuthering Heights by Emily Bronte, AKA "LOVE NEVER DIES," and Romeo and Juliet, "THE ORIGINAL FORBIDDEN LOVE."

Just so we're clear, what this means is that Jane Austen, Emily Bronte, and William Shakespeare are jumping on the Twilight bandwagon—courtesy of HarperTeen. (This edition of Pride and Prejudice is ranked #7,707 in sales on Amazon today, not a bad number, really. FYI, Stephenie Meyer's Twilight is currently ranked #121 in Amazon sales. In terms of total sales, Twilight is catching up fast, with more than 17 million to P&P's 20 million.)

So how does Pride and Prejudice stack up against Twilight? Yes, thousands of women just howled in outrage, sounding like Taylor Lautner in full fur. But read on...

We've got Elizabeth vs. Bella, for starters. Elizabeth is a little older and has way more confidence. She spends most of the book irked at Mr. Darcy and only gradually relents, overcome by a growing awareness of her mistaken assumptions, as well as by Mr. Darcy's unexpected gallantry and his really gorgeous mansion. Bella, for her part, is addicted to Edward Cullen almost from the get-go and is pretty self-effacing, even self-deprecating.

Mr. Darcy vs. Edward? No contest. Mr. Darcy outbroods Edward Cullen and Robert Pattinson put together, and without being melodramatic. Each hero is capable of leaping into the fray to help his ladylove, but Mr. Darcy sacrifices his famous pride on the altar of Elizabeth, humbling himself to aid his enemy Mr. Wickham for her sake. Edward merely beats up a vampire and manages not to drink all of Bella's blood.

As for wit and fine writing, craftsmanship and subtle humor... No, I can't go on. I'm starting to howl like Taylor Lautner. Let's just state the obvious: Jane Austen is a really, really good writer.

Having gotten a kick out of seeing these new editions, I walked a few steps farther and came across a Marvel Comics version of Pride and Prejudice which insisted on coming home with me. I'm not sure how you feel about graphic versions of classic literature—appalled? amused? But I was curious to see just what the adapter and illustrator had done with one of my favorite books ever.

Apparently this edition was originally published as a series of four comic books. The covers are nicely tongue-in-cheek, each set up to resemble a magazine cover. Fake article teasers used on the book jacket include "Lizzy on Love, Loss, and Living," "Bingleys Bring Bling to Britain," "17 Secrets about Summer Dresses," "How to Cure Your Boy-Crazy Sisters," and, of course, "Who Is Mr. Darcy?" Marvel has kindly included the other three jackets in the back of the book for your enjoyment. (I should warn you that the interior artwork does not look anything like the cover art.)

The oddest thing about this book is the front flap copy, which could have been highly entertaining, but isn't. Not a bit. It seems more like a super-condensed version of CliffsNotes, to tell you the truth, remarking on social relevance, major themes, and Austen's writing style. If the Marvel people were going to go there, they should have just thrown in a more detailed note at the back of the book.

I have to say, Nancy Butler does a very good job of picking out the best of Austen's wonderful dialogue and including it in this graphic adaptation. Think of the book as a movie. Like a movie, a graphic novel has to re-envision a novel as a series of scenes and preserve key dialogue while replacing description and action with visual images.

Presented in such a tight format, P&P does seem a little more soap opera-ish. This impression is aided by Hugo Petrus's artwork, which conforms to comic book conventions by giving almost every woman in the book, and certainly the Bennet sisters, surprisingly full lips for people living in an age prior to Botox. However, to Petrus's credit, he doesn't enhance anybody's breasts except maybe Mrs. Bennet's, and that suits her portrayal as a rather blowsy woman. The only moment that seems truly out of character and anachronistic here is when the artist shows Mr. Darcy holding Elizabeth in his arms (entirely off the ground, cheerleader-catch style) after he has re-proposed and she has accepted. Highly improper! But it's just the one frame, so I think I'll forgive the guy.

Petrus's palette is inclined towards browns and golds, a good match for the era. He manages to give the long dialogue scenes a surprisingly energetic feel by varying his compositions and showing characters' shifting emotions. The only thing that threw me off about the artwork was that in the fourth segment, Petrus's style seems to have changed—maybe he's using a different medium, or the printing method has changed, or he's simply using fewer lines to portray these characters.

As for the artist's rendering of Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy, I wasn't on board at first, but they grew on me. I imagine most of us have pictures in our heads of favorite literary characters, and these didn't match up for me. Still, once I got used to them, I rather liked them, Botox and all.

Another version of P&P that has been shelved in the YA section lately is Pride and Prejudice and Zombies by Jane Austen and Seth Grahame-Smith. I had such a good time writing my Amazon review of this book last year that I'll share it with you here:

Imagine a fifteen-year-old girl reading Pride and Prejudice. No, better yet, imagine her watching a DVD of Pride and Prejudice, preferably the one with Keira Knightley. Her best friend is plopped down beside her. They're eating low-fat microwave popcorn and sighing blissfully every so often, when suddenly the girl's younger brother shows up, along with his own best buddy.

The two boys look at the screen for about three seconds and say, "Gross!" Then, with an evil look, the first one says loudly, "You know what would make this better? If there were zombies in it."

"Yeah," his friend says, "hungry for brains. And that girl right there could be a kick-butt zombie fighter."

"Elizabeth Bennet?" the big sister says, appalled, yet vaguely charmed by the thought.

"Ha," her friend says, "she and Mr. Darcy could kick zombie butt together! That would be kinda romantic. In a disgusting way, I mean."

Just then Mr. and Mrs. Collins come on-screen. It doesn't take long for the boys to realize how boring they are. "That guy has to die," says the girl's brother.

"Yeah, and the girl could turn into a zombie," says his friend.

"Okay, you can shut up now," the fifteen-year-old tells the intruders. "We get it. You're funny."

But her brother isn't quite finished. "What this story needs the most is a lot of vomit. Because it makes me sick!"

Um, so, anyway—that's what this book is like. Just exchange the ten-year-old brother for a literate thirty-something screenwriter and you've got this hybrid, which is said to be 85% Jane Austen, 15% Seth Grahame-Smith.

What's most impressive is how smoothly the guy weaves his "unmentionables" and things like the Bennet sisters' martial arts training into the original text. Take this bit, for example:

"Upon entering Meryton...the eyes of the younger [Bennet] girls were immediately wandering up the street in quest of officers, and nothing less than a very smart bonnet indeed, or the wail of the undead, could recall them."

Then there's a parlor game that's all the rage—Crypt and Coffin. Or the fact that London is a walled city divided into military enclaves in order to deal with the zombie menace. Elizabeth's favorite aunt and uncle live in Section Six East, just in case you were wondering.

One thing Grahame-Smith has fun with is letting Elizabeth and her sisters' combat training render them rather bloodthirsty, especially in response to the most irritating characters in the book:

"To the girls, who could not listen to their cousin [Mr. Collins] without taking a silent inventory of the countless ways they could kill him, the interval of waiting appeared very long."

Grahame-Smith also gives Mr. Wickham a much more severe comeuppance than Austen ever did. And Elizabeth gets into angry martial arts face-offs with, not only Mr. Darcy himself, but Lady Catherine de Bourgh.

Austen's "co-author" occasionally misses a beat when it comes to having other characters respond normally to his additions, and he gets a bit carried away with the vomit, but I have to admit, Pride and Prejudice and Zombies is remarkably clever in its own little rotting-flesh way.

Of course, the greatest irony of all is that avowed anti-snob Seth Grahame-Smith has a name that makes him sound like he'd fit in nicely with Darcy and Bingley's elegant London crowd.

Now, zombies aside, what do you think about that phrase on the imitation-Twilight book jacket of the latest edition of Pride and Prejudice? Is this book really "The Love that Started it All?" Well, HarperTeen's other title, Romeo and Juliet, came long before Austen's book and arguably defined star-crossed lovers for all time. Which makes it a better comparison to Twilight, actually! (Hm. How many of you just howled like a drunken Elizabethan?) As for Pride and Prejudice, let's just say that every romance novel written in the past century or so and every rom-com ever filmed, particularly the ones with the slightest hint of initial dislike between hero and heroine or any sort of witty banter, owes a big fat thank you to Ms. Austen. With or without that black cover adorned by a bloody-looking rose.

A Couple of Twilight Spoofs

I haven't shared a Twilight spoof in a while...

YouTube has a surprising number of spoofs with people just acting out scenes, especially the big vampire reveal in the forest, but I like the ones with a twist, like this selection from Texas.

And I know Christmas is over, but here's a spoof with some funny bits, though it's pretty odd overall.

The cover shown to the right is the UK version, which has a softer look than the U.S. cover. It's as if they bought an organic apple instead of a waxed one.

Scary Trend Grows Like Something Yucky in a Mad Scientist's Petri Dish

In case you don't think children's books have clout, read this article about upcoming projects from Disney, which includes the note, "Guillermo del Toro appeared on video from New Zealand to talk about his partnership with Disney on its new brand, Disney Double Dare You, which will release scary animated fare." Coraline, The Graveyard Book, and Twilight, anyone?

We've all noticed the surge in YA paranormal, evolving through a list that started with vampires, then moved on to werewolves and now zombies. Over on the urban fantasy side, psychics, witches, and fairies of all kinds have hit the YA stage, with pocket appearances by fairy godmothers and even godsisters. Middle grade fiction is finally getting in on the action with a slow upswing of scary, e.g., Greg Taylor's Killer Pizza, which I just read this morning (YA on Amazon, ages 10-14 at Macmillan). We're even seeing new horror picture books, like Ross Collins' Dear Vampa (see illustration above) and Michael Rex's Runaway Mummy.

A few years after the post-Harry Potter wave of fantasy began, readers started wondering if it was ever going to end. The answer? Not until something else comes along to kick it offstage. In the same way, the post-Twilight paranormal trend appears to be more robust than ever.

In Case You Missed It...

Don't get me wrong: I've read all four of Stephenie Meyer's books and even liked them in a guilty pleasure kind of way (well, except for Breaking Dawn, which lost me). But I'm also a big Buffy the Vampire Slayer fan, and in a pinch, I know who I'd vote for! For those of you who haven't seen this video mix, follow the link and watch what happens when Edward Cullen meets Buffy Summers!

On Vacation - Here's a Fun Link!

I will be on vacation out of town for the next week, in the land of Mac computers and family obligations. I'll be back posting next weekend. And for this weekend, here's a fun link, a fan-made anime version of back-to-back movie trailers for Twilight and New Moon. Yes, you too can see parts of Edward and Bella's story acted out by anime characters, with Japanese voiceover and English subtitles!

Sherwood Smith's Latest Books: Thoughts on Feminism and Romance in Children's Fantasy

A lot of girls and women I know really like Sherwood Smith’s Crown Duel/Court Duel (originally two books, now published as one): it’s a heady mix of swashbuckling, action-packed fantasy, court intrigue, and romance. In fact, I often recommend the book to young readers still pining over Twilight’s Edward. For better or worse, though, Sherwood Smith has to match the success of Crown Duel in every subsequent book with similar themes. I read A Posse of Princesses last fall and The Trouble with Kings last month—I was delayed in writing reviews, though, because my sister swiped both books and wouldn’t give them back!

I suppose I should backtrack for those of you who haven't read Crown Duel. Inspired by their father's dying wishes, narrator Meliara and her brother Bran set out to overthrow the evil king of Remalna, but the courtiers in the far-off capitol seem reluctant to aid their cause. Though Bran and Mel are Count and Countess of Tlanth, they are untutored in the ways of politics and bumble around, building their rebellion against the king on nothing more than courage and pigheadedness. They also fail to realize that they are complicating a much more sophisticated and well-planned attempt to oust the king. Soon Mel is a folk hero, and the two factions come to work together. But Mel is cranky and defensive toward the leader of the other faction, the Marquis of Shevraeth (Vidanric).

When the rebellion finally succeeds, Meliara reluctantly begins to educate herself in the ways of the court, trying to decide if she should support Shevraeth as the new king. She acquires a secret admirer, along with a little polish and tact, uncovering a plot against the new government in the process. Of course, she and Vidanric have a lot to work out before she can admit how she feels about him. Magic, devious enemies, and the mysterious Hill Folk round out the plot. One of the best things about the book is its moments of unexpected humor. Even more important, Mel and her opposite number are immensely appealing, both individually and together. Mel is constantly misreading situations, but she simply never stops trying, and she has noble aims. Shevraeth is polished on the surface, but is just as single-minded and good-hearted as Meliara in his own way. The moments of romance between the two are funny and subtle as well as tender.

So how do Posse and Trouble stack up? Neither is as good as Court Duel, but A Posse of Princesses is far more successful than The Trouble with Kings, which is a little, well, troubled. Before we talk about the two newer books, however, let's take a look at the larger context: the balancing act required of writers including romance in their books during this age of feminism. You may have noticed that today's children's fantasy boasts a surprising number of freckled, tomboy princesses who save the day on a regular basis. We could call this a PC trend, but I prefer to think of it as a genre evolution propelled by cultural shifts. (Say that three times fast!) Naturally, people in the children’s book community sometimes joke around about the feisty, feminist princesses who have taken over the realm of fantasy, not to mention Zena-like woman warrior characters such as Moribito’s Balsa (see review below).

Despite worries about glass ceilings, American girls growing up in the late twentieth and early twenty-first centuries are the most empowered women in history. Aside from the occasional matriarchal society, older models simply pale by comparison. However, fantasy often has a pseudo-medieval setting, which would seem to imply that the women are oppressed. The juxtaposition of strong women characters with a setting that suggests Europe in the 1400s sometimes strikes us as anachronistic, but only if we overlook the very meaning of the term fantasy, which is to say, a created world. Fantasy writers are partly judged on the success of their world-building. Taking a step back, I would suggest that the entire world of fantasy has been rebuilt so that strong female characters are the cultural norm in that larger space.

Another norm in the world of fantasy is "happily ever after," which means, in European fairy tales, a marriage at the end of the story. Detractors of Twilight and its sequels have their reasons for concern, but what the books’ success reminds us is that a typical part of being a tween or teen girl, if not a woman or even a human being, is to yearn for romance, for a happy connection with another person on this planet. Some of the best fantasy books have a touch or more of romance. The idea of wanting a prince or princess to love you, while often disparagingly called the Cinderella syndrome, is more than just a popular theme in literature; it’s still a key item on most people's life lists (George Clooney and Co. notwithstanding!).

Then there’s the related issue of romance novels for adults, which are often considered a tawdry blot on the face of literature in our society.

Romance, while not necessary included in every children’s or Young Adult book, shows up in many of them, perhaps more particularly in the fantasy subgenre, which does have roots in the European fairy tale tradition. Also, whether we like it or not, many tweens and teens are actively looking for romance in their fantasy and other reading. Twilight, however flawed it might seem, is water in the desert for that demographic! But when does the romance in children's fantasy fail, and when does it succeed?

In literary terms, I would say that the characters have to matter to the reader, and the romance can’t seem contrived or rushed. In reference to the idea of strong female characters, we can further ask how the romance flourishes in conjunction with the girl hero’s personal efficacy. In other words, how does the older model of romance in fantasy look when it plays out together with the equally strong idea of the self-sufficient twenty-first century woman?

As a contemporary feminist—meaning, an independent woman of my culturally empowered generation—I find Twilight irritating mostly because Bella keeps saying she isn’t worthy of Edward’s wonderfulness. (The movie, while kind of goofy, does less of that, thank heavens.) Stephenie Meyer can really write characters, in my opinion, but she has trouble with this romance-independence balance.

Of course, different writers handle the issue differently. For example, some books sacrifice romance completely on the alter of the main character’s independence—Libba Bray’s Gemma Doyle trilogy is perhaps the most well known, although I will point out that many young fans were frustrated by the last book’s ending for that very reason. (Then again, at least the love interest wasn’t demonized. Speaking of which, I recently came across a slightly irate sounding adult self-help book called Kill the Princess: Why Women Still Aren’t Free from the Quest for a Fairytale Life, by Stephanie Vermeulen.)

Other children’s book writers choose the path of compromise rather than sacrifice in their quest for balance. In Shannon Hale’s Princess Academy, main character Miri doesn’t end up with the cold and calculating prince, but she does connect with her social equal, Peder, another mountain villager who respects and values her. I’ve also started seeing more picture book fairy tales in which the prince proposes at the end, but the girl says no because she wants to go off in search of adventure. For example, Laura Krauss Melmed and Henri Sorensen’s book, Prince Nautilus, gives us this speech from heroine Fiona: “Prince Nautilus, I cannot marry you now. For years I have longed to see the wide world and its wonders. After this taste of adventure, I am hungry for more!” But Fiona graciously allows the prince to come along as her ship and crew sail off to seek their fortunes. Hudson Talbott’s book, O’Sullivan Stew, about a girl who saves the day by telling deceptively outlandish stories, ends like this: “Oh, it’s funny you should ask me today, Your Majesty. You see, I’ve just decided that after talking so much about the adventures of others it’s time that I go find some of my own.” She does let him know he can come back in five years if he’s still interested, however.

Then there’s The Well at the End of the World, by Robert D. San Souci and Rebecca Walsh. It’s really a very fun book, but a second look showed me that the ending is even more PC than I had remembered. Earlier in the story, readers learn that Princess Rosamond is far better at managing the kingdom than her inept father, who has to be rescued from her scheming stepmother by Rosamond. Then Rosamond puts the kibosh on a hurried wedding to a friendly prince. First she must get to know him better, discovering all of his character strengths: “And Rosamond realized that Egbert, as well as having a sense of fun, was kind and wise and even-tempered—the very virtues he found so appealing in her. They soon fell in love; and, in time, there was indeed a wedding. When he became king, Egbert proved no better at running a kingdom than Rosamond’s father. So she wound up helping them both keep accounts balanced and drawbridges in working order. And with the gold and jewels from her hair, Rosamond helped the needy in both kingdoms, and still had enough left over to buy her father a new set of royal dishes. People would often say what a handsome couple she and Egbert made, but they found their true joy reading good books to each other by the fire every evening, sharing a good laugh, and simply enjoying the pleasure of each other’s company.” Shades of Cinder Edna! Is that enough Role Model for you? (Note also the Homer Simpson syndrome, in which the heroine’s competence is further heightened by the male lead’s lovable incompetence.)

Books for more mature readers may take a different tack. In Kristin Cashore’s recent Young Adult book, Graceling, warrior-assassin Katsa concludes that she never, ever wants to get married, but might as well have sex with her hunky best friend. Tamora Pierce's warrior heroines aren't as averse to marriage as Cashore's Katsa, though they're pretty blithe about sex. There are more examples of this approach in the YA realm, but you get the idea.

For her part, Sherwood Smith achieves a pretty good balance between old-fashioned romance and new-fangled feminism. Her heroines are generally kind as well as competent and strong minded, while her heroes respect the heroines. The hero and heroine tend to team up to fight the bad guys, though often after an initial misunderstanding worthy of Hepburn and Bogart in The African Queen. There's little or no sensuality in the author's books for children/young adults, by the way: Crown Duel has a couple of kisses, while A Posse of Princesses and The Trouble with Kings merely touch on physical longing. A Posse of Princesses actually addresses the question of acting on those feelings in terms of loyalty and choices.

A Posse of Princesses has a Cinderella-inspired setup as Rhis and other princesses are brought to a month-long party intended to introduce eligible young royals to one another, and especially to the event’s host, the Crown Prince of Vesarja. Since princesses are often presented singly by authors, readers may get a kick out of being able to compare and contrast different personality types and approaches to being royal. Naturally, Rhis is kind to people of every station, but beautiful, popular mean girl Iardeth is not. Rhis must use her less obvious influence to combat Iardeth’s sway over the social group and bring out their better sides. There's also a whole lot of flirting going on, but who is sincere, and what does everyone really want?

Then Iardeth is kidnapped, and Rhis and a group of princesses ride to the rescue, pursued by a group of princes who also intend to help. The swashing doesn’t buckle one bit, and Rhis learns a unique lesson about love and duty. However, she and her love interest both acknowledge that they are too young to marry just yet. While undoubtedly true, this slows the book’s ending down a bit, and the well-meaning author is glimpsed here (as in The Well at the End of the World). Still, A Posse of Princesses is a terrific read for the fantasy/adventure/romance crowd.

The Trouble with Kings starts off with a lively premise: Princess Flian finds herself repeatedly abducted by three different royals, each of whom attempts to convince her that he is the hero and the other two are villains. This is partly a detective story as Flian tries to learn who is telling the truth. She is deeply suspicious of all three young men, which both helps and hurts her. Eventually she reorients her loyalties and works to defeat the greatest threat against her own kingdom as well as the rest of the region.

Premise and execution are two different things, of course. This book suffers wildly by comparison to Crown Duel. The biggest trouble with The Trouble with Kings is that the main character and her eventual love interest aren’t that appealing. As a corollary, their romance seems abrupt and unconvincing. Another difficulty is that the plot is so convoluted it’s hard to keep track of what’s going on—and good books, no matter how complex, must provide clarity for the reader. In addition, the multiple abductions take their toll: Smith seems to intend Flian to be a strong heroine, but it's hard to avoid the swoony victim thing when your book really does include that much swooning.

At any rate, while Sherwood Smith fans might still like the book, I would caution them not to expect to like it as well as her others.

I’ll just mention a third book by Smith that I read last summer, A Stranger to Command. This one is a prequel to Crown Duel, giving us the experience of hero Vidanric when he is younger and attending military school in a strange country. While Crown Duel will appeal primarily to girls, A Stranger to Command should appeal to boys, too. WPs (Worried Parents) will find that while the hero does have a girlfriend at one point, their physical relationship is handled tastefully. Still, it's a book I'd recommend for teens, not 9-year-olds. I do agree with the Amazon reviewer who suggested reading this one after reading Crown Duel, not before.

Smith has also written books for adults (and mature teens), featuring a whole lot of military training and pirate fighting on the part of the hero and his friends. Inda, The Fox, and King’s Shield, with the fourth and supposedly final book coming out this summer, are set in the same fantasy world as Smith's books for younger readers, although in an earlier era. They’re very good, but the level of violence and sex means they're shelved in a different part of the library or bookstore. Inda is especially well written, reminding me of a fantasy version of Orson Scott Card’s stunning YA/adult sci-fi book, Ender’s Game.

Sherwood Smith is a strong fantasy writer, and your 10- to 16-year-old daughter will probably like Crown Duel and A Posse of Princesses very much. You might also want to grab A Stranger to Command for your son--or for that same daughter. The Trouble with Kings is a little more iffy. The author's Wren books, an earlier series, are a nice read, though less polished. I do suggest you avoid the author's juvenalia, Senrid and Over the Sea: CJ's First Notebook.

Now, as you venture out to the bookstore or library in search of Sherwood Smith's books or any other children’s fantasy, consider that the world has changed, and the genre has changed with it. Wimpy heroines who simply sigh and pine, waiting to be rescued by princes, are pretty much out. How well authors tackle the delicate balance between romance and independence—and how well your daughter will handle the issue in her own life—is the real question.