A Review of The Iron Thorn by Caitlin Kittredge

This author isn't the first adult writer to cross over to YA, but so far she's one of the best. Steampunk, urban fantasy, alternate history, dystopian fiction, romance, gothic novel, you name it: The Iron Thorn combines the best of all these subgenres, throwing in one of those genetic ticking clocks plus an actual ticking clock that's the nerve center of an entire house made of magic-infused gears. Which is to say, if you liked Fever Crumb, Leviathan, Lament, and Twilight, you should take a look at Kittredge's new YA offering.

As the jacket flap puts it, "Aoife's family is unique in the worst way." Her mother has gone crazy and is in an insane asylum, while her beloved older brother lost his mind, too, nearly killing Aoife before running away.

Aoife lives in the dark city of Lovecraft, where she studies in the strict school of engineers, applying reason and science to practical problems as the city's great Engine beats like a malevolent heart beneath it all. Her fellow student and best friend, Cal, stands by her, but even he is uneasy when it appears that Aoife herself will lose her mind when she turns sixteen. The city authorities, as represented by the Proctors, also have their eye on the girl, which is a very bad thing.

Then Aoife gets a cryptic message from her brother Conrad and sets off to find him, presumably at their father's home in a village to the north. Crossing the city, let alone the countryside, is a dreadful prospect, considering the threat of death or capture from monsters like the nightjars and government spies in the form of clockwork ravens. Fortunately, Aoife and Cal find a scruffy guide named Dean, who has secrets of his own. He knows a guy with an airship, and it appears he won't sell them out to the monsters that live in the sewer system, so off they go.

The little company eventually reach the house where Aoife's father lived, only there's no sign of him or of Conrad. Of course, Aoife has never met the man. And his house turns out to be very strange indeed. That's even before Aoife has her first encounter with the fairy realm, whose denizens—most notably a fey named Tremaine—may prove to be the greatest threat of all. But Aoife, despite her growing attraction to Dean and her loyalty to Cal, will do anything to get her brother back. Anything.

This book is a thoroughly marvelous tale, one of my favorites so far in 2011. In fact, I felt that my experience of YA horror/steampunk/dystopian fantasy was refreshed by reading The Iron Thorn. I also appreciate how the main plot thread comes to a satisfying conclusion, even as new problems set us up for the next volume in this series. In addition, for those of you looking for romance, Aoife's interactions with Dean aren't cliché in the least; they're clever and bumpy and real (with Cal acting sweetly jealous, to boot).

I guess about the only thing that threw me off even a little would be the logistics of Aoife's role relative to the fey, especially her use of magic in the book's climax; however, close enough. The rest of the book more than makes up for a bit of trouble in that regard.

Here's part of Aoife's description of the marvelous clock in her father's mechanical house:

On the opposite side of the long narrow room was a leviathan clock—a full-bodied, intricate machine, much different than a pocket chronometer. As I watched, the hands swung in a parabolic arc, their wicked spiked finials grinding to a halt at twelve midnight. The chimes let out a discordant, muffled bong.
The hands swung again, and I stepped closer, watching them trail across the clock face like compass needles that had lost north, the unearthly ticking echoing loud enough to vibrate my skull. Each numeral was actually a tiny painting, wrought in delicate ink. A naked girl lying sleeping on a stone. A great goat with the body of a man sitting on a throne. A circle of figures in a dark forest who wore the sign of Hastur, the heretical Yellow King, whom cultists worshipped before the necrovirus. According to Professor Swan, and who knew where he got his stories from?
...Friendly as the library was, the clock was a monstrous thing, a machine of bloody teeth.

I know you're all wondering how to pronounce the main character's name, so I looked it up: that would be ee-fa.

Now, please get your shivers on and enter the alarming world of Aoife's Lovecraft!

Note for Worried Parents: This is a book for teens. The horror elements are pretty horrific, and there's some teen attraction with eventual kissing.

Update 8-17-11: Check out this interview with the author on The Enchanted Inkpot!

A Review of The False Princess by Eilis O'Neal

This book reminded me a little of Palace of Mirrors by Margaret Peterson Haddix, which also deals with the idea of decoy princesses. Here we meet Princess Nalia the day after she turns sixteen, when she learns that, despite her upbringing and training, she is not really a princess, let alone the heir to the throne of Thorvaldor. Because of a dire prophecy, she has been merely a placeholder until the real Nalia can be brought to the palace.

The king and queen scarcely do right by Nalia, now known by her birth name of Sinda. They send her to live with her aunt, who turns out to be a dyer in a small village. Sinda's aunt can hardly stand her, and that's even before Sinda turns out to be inept at the smallest task involved in creating dyes. Aunt Varil's hostility is only one of the reasons Sinda suffers in her new life: she misses her best friend, a young aristocrat named Kiernan. But she is so miserable about her suddenly-low status that when he comes looking for her, she turns him away with harsh words.

For a time it seems that Sinda will be comforted by a village boy named Tyr. Ultimately, however, what changes is that Sinda learns she has magical ability. She returns to the capital, hoping to study in the college of wizards. Instead she winds up working as a scribe/apprentice to an eccentric magic-maker named Philantha. In time Sinda reconnects with Kiernan and even meets her replacement. In doing so, she discovers a conspiracy so convoluted that it will require the help of her friends as well as her own efforts to untangle all the skeins. Along the way, her peril grows greater, as does the danger to everyone else involved—until the day comes when she must face the entire court and tell the truth without losing her life.

This is a good story, a sort of fairy tale for teens. It's interesting to see an inversion of that childhood fantasy, "Am I really a misplaced princess, adopted by these commoners?" Looked at the other way round, the question seems especially pertinent for teens, who worry, "Am I really anything special?" By the time this story is over, Sinda has made a new place for herself in the world, though not one she would have anticipated a few years or even a week or so earlier, when she was struggling to get along with her resentful aunt. In fact, she plays at least five distinct roles in The False Princess, reminding me a little of the way young adults change their college majors, let alone their life plans. I doubt this is what the author specifically had in mind, but I do think the book is well suited to representing the kind of transitional uncertainty often felt by, say, sixteen- to twenty-three-year-olds.

Because Sinda is pretty unhappy for large chunks of the book, she is sometimes a bit depressing to hang around with; however, she guts it out, and that makes her rather appealing. Here's Sinda arriving at her aunt's cottage:

My aunt was a tall, thin woman with an angular set to her bones. Her hair was light brown, with strands of gray running through it, and her nose was long and sharp. I didn't see much of myself in her. We studied each other for a moment, and then she exhaled a puff of breath through her nose.
"You look like her," she said. "Your mother."
In my mind, I saw the queen, who was all softness and grace, whereas I had always been small and dark.
As if she could see my thought, my aunt pursed her lips. "I mean your real mother." It was a dry voice; it reminded me of reeds clacking together.
"I hope..." I licked my lips to wet them. "I hope that I have not inconvenienced you too much. It seems that you are my only living relative, and they could not think where else to send me."
My aunt looked at me for a long time, then barked at the footman, "Bring her things in, if she has any." Then, to me: "Well, you might as well come inside, too."
She turned, the light from the lantern suddenly hidden behind her body, and I followed, wanting whatever scrap of brightness I could find to push back the dark.

Solving the mystery behind Sinda's role as a substitute princess takes us in various surprising directions, some of them more fast-paced than others. (The part about researching the prophecy dragged a little for me.) In general, one of the best things about this book is the plot twists, but I also enjoyed Sinda's friendship with Kiernan, which is obviously heading toward something more. Though I wasn't completely surprised to see it, I was still pleased to note that Sinda's change in station had absolutely no affect on Kiernan's loyalty and affection.

In addition, I was intrigued by Sinda's relationship with her adoptive mother, the queen, who must give Sinda up without looking back after raising her for sixteen years. The glimpses O'Neal chooses to show us of the queen's feelings are poignant, all the more so because the queen tries so hard to keep her struggles in this regard to herself. There's some nice character work in The False Princess, alongside pleasing dollops of magic, adventure, and romance.

Note for Worried Parents: You'll find a little oblique talk about sex and some kissing at one point in this book for teens.

A lot of bloggers have weighed in on this one. Here's a review at Charlotte's Library that provides links to a few other reviews.

A Review of The Big Crunch by Pete Hautman

I've seen this one recommended by a couple of bloggers and was intrigued by the idea of an "ordinary" high school romance. As the jacket flap puts it, "Jen and Wes do not 'meet cute.' They do not fall in love at first sight. They do not swoon with scorching desire. They do not believe that they are instant soul mates destined to be together forever. THIS IS NOT THAT KIND OF LOVE STORY."

Except—it is. But first I'll just mention that at least in this printing, someone screwed up: Throughout the actual book, the girl's name is not Jen, it's June, whereas she's called Jen for the entire flap copy. Thankfully, the boy is in fact named Wes on both the flap and in the book itself. Now...

1. The "meet cute" doesn't happen when Wes and June first meet; it takes place later, when they crash into each other during a late-night run to a convenience store and June's glasses are broken, giving her a black eye (hence the heavy makeup in the excerpt below).

2. I acknowledge that they don't fall in love at first sight. However, when they do make out, I would argue that they "swoon with scorching desire." Here Wes simply touches her face:

June nodded. She was having trouble breathing. His hand reached out and touched her cheek, a touch as soft as a breeze. She became acutely aware of her body, of every square centimeter of her skin, of the sound of air molecules striking her eardrums...
[This is Wes a few sentences later.] What was it about this girl, this fish girl with her fake aqua eyes too far apart and that thick layer of makeup? Wes could feel the pressure building in his throat, his chest, in his
groin, as if he was about to explode. Spontaneous Human Combustion. He had never felt this way around Izzy. His fingers still tingled where he had touched her cheek.

3. And if they don't feel like they're soul mates, why do they both pine so when this Romeo and Juliet are separated, to the point where Wes borrows a car (illegally, as it turns out) and drives all night to see her, feeling, well—driven?

Still, all evidence to the contrary, very late in the book June points out that they might break up at any time, and then their relationship will just become a nice memory. (Thanks for that, June! We were trying not to think about it!)

All this may sound like I didn't like this book, but you know what? I did like it. Very much! Because one thing the jacket flap gets right is that June and Wes seem like real people, which is the true strength of Hautman's book.

As a bonus, I love the cover; don't you? You will also find the artwork showing Wes and June in each of the four seasons used as section breaks inside the book (in black and white).

The Big Crunch is a leisurely examination of how two people slowly get to know each other, become attracted, and deal with creating a role for the new relationship in their less-than-cooperative lives. The random thoughts they have along the way are one of the things that make this book feel so real. That's where the "ordinary" factor comes in, giving the book a nice sauntering pace, a satisfying unfolding feeling. (Oh, and in case you were wondering what the title refers to, the "Big Crunch" is apparently the opposite of the universe's Big Bang. I know you can see the symbolism there!)

The villain of the piece, if there is one, would be June's dad, who moves his family randomly and frequently because of his work. It's especially funny seeing June's father, a motivational speaker, through Wes's eyes. June becomes a tiny bit more sympathetic toward her mother during the course of the book, or rather, more aware of her mother as a person with problems of her own. Her dad does show a touch of compassion at one point, which is nice.

A side plot about Wes's friend Jerry, who wants to be class president and whom June ends up dating more out of guilt than anything else, is fun because the guy is such a weirdly fresh character. Hautman's humor is one of the best things about this book. For example, when June and her friend Phoebe are watching Phoebe's crush in track practice, Phoebe yells "Go, Josh!" right as he jumps a hurdle, causing him to wipe out. Josh is angry, but as Phoebe later explains to June, "We made up. I just had to promise not to yell his name at any track meets." Subtle, perhaps, but funny. Plus it reflects the author's theme that young love is a bumpy road, every time.

Bottom line: I really enjoyed getting to know Wes and June and watching them flail around trying to figure out their relationship. I think you will, too!

Note for Worried Parents: This is a book for teens. There's some teen drinking with the requisite vomiting afterwards and the use of words like "bitch." No actual sex, but characters ponder the possibility.

A Review of Prisoners in the Palace by Michaela MacColl

When you picture evil regent types trying to wrest control of kingdoms from sweet young princesses, I don't think Queen Victoria instantly springs to mind. Yet that's exactly what this book is about. And while the inclusion of an intrepid maid as narrator and a rakish reporter and young thief as allies is an invention, apparently the young Victoria really did have to battle her mother and Sir John Conroy for control of her country and her future. See the Author's Note for all the gory details!

Now, on to the book proper. And, my, is it proper! In case you weren't aware, being a teenage princess in the 1800s would be like being a prisoner even if your mother and her comptroller weren't trying to keep you on a tight leash—a leash so tight that Conroy even gave it a name, the Kensington System. This meant that Victoria slept in the same room as her mother, was hardly ever allowed to see anyone, never got to be alone or talk with peers, and had to follow a strict schedule of schooling.

I had to double-check to see if this book was written in first person, but it is not. Even in third person, Liza Hastings gives us a strikingly strong narrative viewpoint as we read her tale of being suddenly orphaned and making her way by becoming the maidservant of 18-year-old Princess Victoria. (See chapter titles like "In Which Liza Confronts a Newspaperman and a Fallen Woman.") Liza's own position is precarious to start with, and then she enters into a politically perilous household. Victoria is dependent on her loving but highly protective governess, Baroness Lehzen, and is restless over the restrictions placed on her by her mother the Duchess of Kent and her mother's secretary and comptroller, John Conroy. Soon the Baroness is asking Liza to spy on Conroy and the Duchess, and Conroy is asking Liza to spy on the princess. Besides which, Conroy looks at Liza in a lascivious way, and there are rumors that he had something to do with the previous maid's departure. The Duchess of Kent's enmity with her brother-in-law the king makes everything all the more complicated. Meanwhile, Liza must navigate the hostile environment belowstairs, where she is distrusted because she was a lady before her parents died.

As for Victoria, the princess is spoiled and immature. Liza tries to befriend the girl for her own purposes; besides which, she feels sorry for Victoria. Unfortunately, it's hard to trust the princess, and Victoria is rarely able to converse with Liza. But little by little, Liza manages to find out more about what's going on, and she is even able to offer the princess her help.

In doing so, Liza has two allies: first, a scruffy boy she discovers is actually living in a little nest inside the royal rooms. (This, too, is based on real events, though from somewhat later in Victoria's life.) Inside Boy introduces her to a second ally, a reporter who publishes broadsheets hinting that Victoria is unfit to rule. Liza rightly suspects that Conroy is behind the stories and initiates a counter-offensive.She also finds herself being attracted to the journalist, Will Fulton.

The intrigue gets intrigue-ier, till finally Victoria is trapped in the palace with Liza, the Duchess having left her daughter in Conroy's hands so that he can force her to sign a promise to put him in charge of England's treasury when she becomes queen. It is only thanks to Liza and her friends that Conroy's plot is defeated. Then Liza must choose whether to stay with the princess or pursue a future with Will.

This is a lively adventure as well as a fascinating look at a time in history that I thought I knew, but got to know better thanks to Liza Hastings and Princess Victoria. For example, the contrast between Lisa's view of Prince Albert and Victoria's is a hoot. Another nice thing about Prisoners in the Palace: How Victoria Became Queen with the Help of Her Maid, a Reporter, and a Scoundrel (A Novel of Intrigue and Romance) is that we get to see some of the struggles of the servants and lower-class Brits, especially women. I should note that Victoria's diary entries are apparently all authentic, and the author incorporates them seamlessly into her story. Prisoners in the Palace is a thoroughly enjoyable read!

Note for Worried Parents: This is a book for teens. There's a thread about an unplanned pregnancy and fallen women here, with hints about rape. Of course, the context is how few options women had during this era in history.

Also: I requested a copy of this book from the Amazon Vine program.

A Review of Dash & Lily's Book of Dares by Rachel Cohn and David Levithan

I feel like a romance cliché: I fell in love with this book at first sight and never fell out. Which is ironic, since Dash & Lily's Book of Dares is pretty much dedicated to being anti-cliché when it comes to romance.

At first glance, it seems that this inspired pairing of authors, Cohn and Levithan of Nick and Norah's Infinite Playlist fame, are simply telling another lively tale of two young Manhattanites meeting cute and falling for each other. But it shouldn't take long for you to realize that the authors' true intentions involve shredding our culture's ubiquitous romantic comedy conventions and leaving us, not with answers, but with questions—or rather, with the endless question of the individual human: "Can I ever truly be understood?" Their answer seems to be, "No, but you can nevertheless be loved."

I recently had a conversation with one of my students, a teenage boy who just broke up with his girlfriend and was feeling bad about it. He said, "Everybody's a stranger, and always will be." This seemed to frighten him. I told him I was going to loan him Dash & Lily's Book of Dares. "It's all about that," I said. "But it still manages to have a happy ending."

As our story begins, it's Christmas time in the Big Apple, and Dash has fooled each of his divorced parents into thinking he's with the other one so he can spend Christmas in surly Grinch-like solitude. Well, perhaps not solitude, though he's definitely a young Grinch in the making: Dash discovers a red notebook incongruously shelved in a grand used bookstore called the Strand. (It's real! With an alleged eighteen miles of books.) The notebook challenges Dash to a little scavenger hunt in the bookstore, managing to embarrass him almost immediately. Dash picks up the gauntlet and returns the favor by issuing a dare of his own. Cynical Dash is pleased to realize that the notebook is obviously from an equally sardonic teenage girl trying to see if she can meet her male counterpart.

Only it's not. Dash doesn't know this for pages on end, but the girl, Lily, didn't start the notebook, though she does quickly enter into the spirit of things and keep it going. The notebook is actually the brainchild of her older brother, who is hoping to keep her entertained and out of his hair so he can enjoy spending the holidays with his new guy. (Their parents have disappointed Lily by going on a second honeymoon.)

Lily is about as far from a Grinch as you can get, a starry-eyed idealist who love-love-loves Christmas. She even drops her atheism annually so she can sing the religious Christmas carols with proper enthusiasm. While she's a little off the wall, Lily is not a major risk-taker, partly because she has a huge, overly protective extended family.

Yet this is not exactly a book about opposites attracting, either. It's more the story of assumptions and yearnings, the way no one can ever be the fulfillment of another person's romantic daydreams. You'll find that Dash is quite the philosopher-prince. His musings get a little over-the-top in spots, evoking the spirits of thirty-something authors past and present—but it all pays off, I assure you.

I'm afraid I'm making the book sound serious, whereas it's just as much a cheerily frenetic sleigh ride through New York City. The dares in the red notebook are creative and often funny, many involving field trips to urban landmarks. There's a spirit of friendly one-upsmanship, just as you would expect from a series of dares. For example, after Lily sends mall-hating Dash to Macy's at the height of the holiday shopping season to look for reindeer gloves, he retaliates by making her go to a matinee showing of a film called Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer with a horde of moms and toddlers.

Speaking of movies, the absolute funniest thing in the book, hands down, is the spoof of a Pixar movie and how Dash and Lily respond separately to having seen it. I laughed my head off.

A running joke is that Lily has colorful relatives working all over town whom she enlists to facilitate her dares. More than one of these relatives describes Dash as "snarly," which leads to the creation of a muppet-like creature that Lily names Snarly. (Lily's own historic nickname makes an appropriate pairing.) When Dash sees the critter, he says, "It looks like Animal and Miss Piggy had sex.... And this was the spawn." His best friend Boomer responds, "My eyes! ...My eyes! I can't stop seeing it now that you've said it!" Boomer is a great character in his own right. He tends to talk in exclamation marks.

"Cinderella was such a dork," Lily writes in the red notebook. This from the girl who dons a contemporary version of the glass slippers and loses one shoe at a ball (okay, nightclub). We also get dog walking, soccer goal-keeping, wax celebrities, ex-girlfriends, snowball fights, militant mommies, police cars, and Internet video scandals of the baby-catching variety. Not to mention marvelous secondary characters, including an extremely cool Bohemian great-aunt. (Best quote I've read recently: The late Eva Ibbotson said that whenever she was having trouble writing a book, she just added an aunt. Not that I'm biased in favor of aunts or anything.)

Keep an eye out for a couple of extra romances (or divorces) that play out around the edges of the tale, further embellishing the authors' book-length riff on the unpredictable nature of real-life relationships. As Dash's ex puts it, "I was never the girl in your head. And you were never the boy in my head. I think we both knew that. It's only when we try to make the girl or boy in our head real that the true trouble comes."

Dash and Lily begin to matter more to each other than they're supposed to as the dares continue, and in a way, that's because they haven't met. When they do finally run into each other, it's a disaster, but not for the reasons you would think. Turns out Dash, in his own way, is just as idealistic as Lily, and perhaps less resilient. After that encounter, they take turns being fearful and fearless, until eventually they come to a sort of truce that bodes well for the future. Because there's more to Dash than being snarly, just as there's more to Lily than her affinity for Christmas carols.

This is teen romance writ large, irresistibly so. It's romance over-scripted, over-analyzed, and yet, somehow, played out like a nice long game of Monopoly between two basically nice people. Seems pretty apt in today's world. I give you: Dash & Lily. Read their Book of Dares. And then watch for Book Two—apparently the authors fell hard for these characters, too, and are planning to make it a series. They've got a great cast to work with!

You might also like Let It Snow: Three Holiday Romances by John Green, Lauren Myracle, and Maureen Johnson.

Note for Worried Parents: You'll probably be concerned about the occasional use of the F word and a few crude remarks from the teenage boys. Also, there's some teen drinking, though the results are not appealing. It's mentioned here and there that Lily's brother and his new boyfriend are sleeping together, but Dash and Lily don't have sex with anyone in this book.

A Review of My Invisible Boyfriend by Susie Day

Unlike the sister in the review above, Heidi's boyfriend is invisible because she invented him. Thanks to the wonders of the Internet, however, she does a pretty good job of convincing her friends he's real, a long-distance love that she met during the summer break while they were all out of town.

Heidi attends boarding school, though she lives at home—her father works at the school as a night security officer. Now summer has ended, and Heidi is dismayed to find that her cozy little group of fellow students-on-the-fringe has changed: all of them are pairing up except her. Chirpy Ludo, goth Fili, and even former fatman Dai (who's gay) have found love. Leaving Heidi on the outside looking in, with only the parents she calls the Mothership and Dad Man, or, more important, her imaginary friend/crush Mycroft Christie, the main character in a now-defunct TV series that resembles Dr. Who, left on her side.

Heidi also works at a cute little tea-and-pastry shop with a very nice lady and her son, Teddy, but Teddy has a girlfriend and it seems the shop might be closing down. Another subplot deals with Heidi and her friends' involvement with the school's 80's-style production of Shakespeare's Twelfth Night.

Heidi has a strong first-person narrative voice that reminds me a little of Georgia in Louis Rennison's series (Angus, Thongs, and Full-frontal Snogging, etc.). Heidi's quite a character, and it took me a few pages to get into this book. But once I did, I enjoyed it. Here's a sample:

Boarding school Dining Halls are not what you imagine. I've seen six, and put all Hogwarty thoughts from your mind. There will be no mahogany paneling, or portraits of old dead guys, or feasting on roasted wild boar by candlelight. The Finch Dining Hall is strip-lit, smells of beans, and looks a bit like a posh McDonald's. The food is just as enticing: Oil Pie, Lettuce in Soup, and the ever-popular Armored Pizza. (If the Mothership's Red Peppers stuffed with Red Lentils, Red Onion, and Red Cabbage don't kill me, their Fish Surprise will.)

Once Heidi invents Ed Hartley, she has to back him up, which includes putting him on the Internet. "Ed" ends up having e-mail conversations with Heidi's friends, which gets a little complicated, especially when Heidi sets out to solve their problems: Ludo and Peroxide Eric are having relationship troubles, Fili is desperately unhappy and won't say why, and Dai keeps doubting rich-boy Henry's love. Then someone who calls himself "E" and "a real boy" starts e-mailing Heidi, saying he knows Ed's a fake and why doesn't she choose him instead? Heidi tries to guess who "E" is, selecting just about everyone in sight and getting it wrong every time.

You, the reader, will probably figure out who "E" is right away, as I did, but it's sort of fun watching Heidi flounder. You might even appreciate her ongoing conversations with "Mycroft Christie," or watching the gingerbread man who represents Ed Hartley slowly going stale. (Um, symbolic much?) This book is very post modern and self-conscious, but it's also very funny. If this kind of style doesn't drive your teenage daughter crazy, she'll probably like My Invisible Boyfriend!

Be sure and check out the book jacket, or rather compare it to the cover—the full jacket shows three couples on a couch, including Heidi with a ghostlike figure, while the cover shows Heidi sitting alone. Nice design.

Note for Worried Parents: There's quite a bit of kissing going on, also teen angst and some mention of teens smoking and drinking.

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.