Book review: ‘The Here and Now’ by Ann Brashares

The Here and NowSeventeen-year-old Prenna James knows the rules. In exchange for her freedom, she and her fellow travelers must not let anyone know where — or, more specifically, when — they come from. That a group of “immigrants” has found a way to open a portal in time to journey back to an illness-free Earth is a wonder . . . one that cannot be discovered.

The air is clean. Mosquitoes are nothing more than a nuisance. Prenna doesn’t take any of her freedoms from Earth’s ravages for granted — not after barely surviving a plague that claimed countless lives almost a century in the future. Though her arrival isn’t without suspicion, she manages to dodge the questions of other teens . . . and even those of Ethan Jarves, a handsome classmate linked to Prenna from the beginning.

When a chain of events cause Prenna to question everything she’s been told about how and why the travelers are there, she must decide for herself how to move forward. And is love, regardless of the cost, really worth it?

Ann Brashares’ The Here and Now the latest in a batch of young adult fiction with a dystopian angle . . . and, you know, it was pretty interesting. It’s no Life As We Knew It, but it’s certainly not terrible. Something about the story has me leaning toward ambivalence, though; I can’t pinpoint anything wrong with it, but it didn’t hold my attention the way I would have liked.

Prenna’s wit, intelligence and cunning carried the story for me, though. As it becomes apparent the elders aren’t exactly disclosing the truth to their “family” of sorts, I wanted Prenna to break away and do something bold — especially when we discovered something could be done. The suspense of finding out the significance of a date and the true identity of a friend kept the pace moving forward, and the story’s pivotal scenes were pretty compelling.

The Here and Now takes place in modern-day America — more than half a century before a mosquito-born illness wipes out huge swaths of the population. On the whole, the world-building was . . . sufficient? Okay? I would have loved more details about future America, actually, but I suppose that wasn’t the real point. The plan was to prevent the awful future, even if that wasn’t initially the goal. So to hear tons about a ravaged world would probably have been pointless.


Billed partially as a romance, the evolution of Ethan and Prenna’s relationship felt pretty realistic. I saw Prenna as the cute kick-butt type — and Ethan, for all his quirkiness, definitely had the hunk factor going on. I loved that he was sharp and clever and always willing to help, and learning his fate really added to his impact for me. Their first-love fumblings felt true-to-life and sweet, and I loved how supportive they were of one another without falling into unabashed “But I can’t live without you!” cheesiness. I don’t do cornball. (Well, most of the time.)

Fans of young adult fiction with a healthy dash of dystopian disaster will find an interesting — if not entirely unique — tale in The Here and Now, which was a quick and easy read. Brashares has earned her spot with YA fans through the beloved Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants series, and her latest is worth a read. It didn’t rock my world . . . but was certainly an entertaining escape.

3.5 out of 5!

Pub: April 8, 2014 • GoodreadsLibraryThingAmazonAuthor on Facebook
Audio copy borrowed from my local library

Book review: ‘The Mad Scientist’s Daughter’ by Cassandra Rose Clarke

Mad Scientist's DaughterA robot love story about the daughter of an eccentric scientist. Maybe not my normal bag — or your average run-of-the-mill plot for a dystopian story, eh? — but . . . that’s what I liked about the premise. And Andi recommended it, so.

This book? Addictive. Weird. Surreal. A little risque, a little off-beat and even naughty. But deeply emotional and thought-provoking and sad, too . . . such a complicated mixture of emotions in a book about a being who feels none.

Or does he?

Finn is brought into the Novak home as an assistant and tutor for Cat, the young daughter of a successful scientist. Under his guidance she learns, explores and grows into a lovely but insecure young woman — one unsure of her place in her family and the wider world. Finn is handsome, articulate, thoughtful, loyal . . . because he was built that way. A one-of-a-kind being who looks and acts human, he still remains incapable of returning the love he knows Cat feels for him. Heartbroken and uncertain, Cat shies away from Finn and builds a safe life elsewhere . . . for a while. But as the changing world begins to examine the rights of and responsibilities toward robots, the staid life Cat has constructed for herself begins to unravel.

Cassandra Rose Clarke’s The Mad Scientist’s Daughter is one of those books I couldn’t wait to finish but didn’t want to end. At points I was ready to clobber Cat for her foolish selfishness; other times I wanted to wrap her up in a big hug and tell her everything would be okay, though I wasn’t sure it would be. The world was just so unkind, and often unkind to her. But she was so determined not to feel — to be as blank as Finn, as her father — that she allowed everything to happen to her.

Finn, on the other hand, was hard not to love. How could you not fall for charismatic, steadfast Finn? What we’re to believe is his inability to love or feel or hope never felt quite right; it was obvious that, regardless of what his makers may claim, he was more “human” than they’d want to believe. His back story was fascinating and disturbing, and I found his affection for the Novak family as a whole to be very moving. As life became more chaotic, his moves toward autonomy were impressive and sad.

And his love for Cat? Crazy. Nonsensical, maybe . . . but definitely there. The stolen moments the pair share were steamy and complicated, but they were also romantic. Much more romantic than I would have ever expected. And as we get to know Finn better, I couldn’t bear the thought of Cat hurting him.

But could Cat hurt him? Can you really “hurt” a robot?

A robot doesn’t have “feelings.” It doesn’t harbor grudges. It doesn’t feel betrayed, tired, burnt out, scared.

Can you fall in love with a robot?  Is it perverse and strange to “love” someone who isn’t a someone at all?

It’s just such an interesting premise. One that hooked me from the start.

Set in a not-so-distant future, it was easy to imagine the America of Clarke’s description — and to consider how artificial intelligence will one day play a role in society. Though the outlook could seem bleak, there was still an undercurrent of hope and love to the novel. It was about family, loyalty, devotion. At her core and as the title suggests, Cat owns her identity as the daughter of a mad scientist — and lets her connection to Dr. Novak be the guiding force in her life.

Though I could get frustrated with Cat to the point of wanting to dramatically shut down my Kindle (the digital equivalent of slamming a book, you know), there was never a point at which I wasn’t dying to know what would become of the characters . . . and I was pleased — nay, delighted — with the ending.

It totally worked for me. And if you’re a fan of dystopian novels, offbeat love stories and/or science fiction without a ton of world-building (no serious societal descriptions here, though we do get glimpses of this broken Earth at times), The Mad Scientist’s Daughter is an engrossing, evocative and lovely read.

4.5 out of 5!

Pub: 2013 • GoodreadsLibraryThingAmazonAuthor Website
Personal copy purchased by Meg


Book review: ‘When She Woke’ by Hillary Jordan

When She WokeWhen Hannah Payne wakes, she might as well be in a nightmare.

Sentenced to life as a Red, one of many Chromes forced to scrape by in this new hardscrabble America, Hannah tries to process the weary path that’s brought her to an isolated cell before delivery to a cult — a stunning turn of events after a lifetime of loyalty and piety to God. Her bright red skin now broadcasts her crime to the world: murder. Murder of her unborn child.

In a world where disease has rendered many women infertile, abortion is seen as the ultimate sin against church and state. And now that the lines between religion and government are increasingly blurred, no one can speak freely — or defend the defenseless.

Life as a Chrome — a criminal whose skin has been genetically altered to match their offense — is a stunning, cruel wake-up for a serious young woman who never wanted to hurt anyone . . . least of all the ones she loves. But after a deep friendship turns into a passionate affair with a prominent and well-respected leader, Hannah carries the product of their passion alone . . . for as long as she can.

But where will that lead her?

Hillary Jordan’s When She Woke is a heart-stopping thriller raising countless questions about faith, love and loyalty. A dystopian novel set in the not-so-distant future, Jordan’s America is a stark, unforgiving and frightening place — but one that remains recognizable, making it all the more hair-raising.

Every time I caught a glimpse of our current world, I imagined a time at which our prisons would be too full for new inmates. Of what it would be like to have your skin altered to reflect a crime you could have committed ten, twenty years ago — and how it would feel to have every movement charted on a port for public consumption. Of violence against Chromes being the norm, and for racism to be all but eradicated in favor of hatred and misunderstanding for a new enemy. Friendships, relationships, family life, work . . . nothing can be pure for a Chrome. Nothing can be the same.

As a character, Hannah is a strong-willed, broken but determined young woman. So many times I wanted her to scream out the truth, reveal everything in the hope of saving herself, but I knew she couldn’t — wouldn’t — do that. Still in love with the man who fathered her child, she knows that exposing him will cause a tremendous scandal and wound for her community — and possibly make those who depend on him for spiritual guidance question their beliefs. Still somehow hoping to find her way back to God, Hannah simply can’t do that. Not even to free herself.

You have to commend her, really. For everything she endures, everything she suffers, Hannah never wavers in her commitment to guard the identity of her love — and to push forward despite it all, finding some way to return to her family and faith. After nearly everyone has abandoned her, including her own mother and sister, Hannah manages to summon the courage to imagine a life after the abortion. After Chroming. Even if it means disappearing from life as she knows it.

What makes When She Woke so compelling are the shades of current society in Jordan’s splintered future — as well as the dynamics between Hannah and her love as well as Kayla, a fellow Chrome she befriends in a harrowing place designed to purge them of their sins. I loved that the pair bonded in a hopeless situation, and it was their loyalty to one another that guided them through countless miseries.

And make no mistake: there were miseries. This isn’t a happy tale, friends, though I must say how pleased I was with the ending. Even when life seems unbearably bleak, tiny rays of hope crack through the darkness. I wondered at points if When She Woke was making a statement against the hold of the religious right over America, perhaps, or how easily swayed the people can be by the thoughts of man — not God. But in the end, I don’t think that’s so. Jordan had me questioning many aspects of modern society, but she didn’t belittle the Paynes’ faith. Wonder about it, certainly, but not cut down.

In the end, I found this novel deeply imaginative and incredibly interesting. The idea of melachroming was very unique, and it’s been a while since I read a work of dystopian or science fiction that captivated me so completely. By the conclusion I felt as though I’d spent days white-knuckle gripping a sinking life boat with Hannah, riding out the waves and hanging on as best I could. Though I wish certain events had gone differently, I was proud of her.

If you think this might be a book you’ll enjoy, it is.

4.5 out of 5!

Pub: Oct. 4, 2011 • GoodreadsLibraryThingAmazonAuthor Website
Audio copy borrowed from my local library

About the audio: Narrator Heather Corrigan had a voice dripping with just the right amount of curiosity, disdain, fear and youthful exuberance — a reader who captured the conflicting emotions and situations of Hannah’s existence quite well. I loved both her crispness and innocence . . . which made everything that befalls Hannah all the more powerful.

Book review: ‘The Age of Miracles’ by Karen Thompson Walker

The Age of MiraclesThe Earth is slowing. Days are no longer true “days.” Phrases like the “crack of dawn” lose all meaning, and everyone is taking a stand. The world’s citizens divide into those who follow “clock time” — and those who don’t. Our 24-hour days eventually stretch to 40 hours or longer, with days or weeks stretching with no sunlight. Weather patterns shift; birds begin to mysteriously fall from the sky. Gravity alters. Life begins to dissolve.

For 11-year-old Julia, her sunny life in California is forever altered — and not just by the government-mandated time changes. The Slowing affects everyone: her parents, who experience a sudden rift in their marriage; her friends, who retreat into religion or new acquaintances; her young love interest, who has already experienced a devastating loss and isn’t ready for more.

While some of Earth’s denizens wrestle with the Slowing as a harbinger of the End Times, others use it as the impetus to shake up their quiet existences — joining cults, switching spouses, leaving jobs. As a middle-schooler, Julia understands little of the world’s changes . . . but The Age of Miracles is told from an older, wiser and more broken-down Julia: a woman from the future who knows things don’t pan out well. But we never quite get there.

And that’s my biggest issue — and disappointment — with Karen Thompson Walker’s novel: we never quite get there. Wherever “there” is. We know Julia is reflecting on her youth in California from a decade or so down the line, but we never feel the true grips of despair because it’s all so . . . vague. Despite being a true scaredy-cat, I came into this book hoping for a repeat experience of Susan Beth Pfeffer’s Life As We Knew It. That book captivated me, terrified me, left me aching for more . . . and even when life seemed unbearably bleak, Pfeffer knew how to pull us along and save us at the very last moment.

There was no saving here. The tone of the book? Bleak. Confused. No one is redeemed; no one gets saved. Julia is lost in a quagmire of longing and uncertainty, but we never see the Earth deteriorate past a point of recognition. Where rural Pennsylvania turns into a minefield of desperation in Life As We Knew It, suburban California just feels so mundane in The Age of Miracles. I wanted something to really happen, and . . . well, nothing much actually happens. Nothing to satisfy me, anyway.

But here’s the rub: I liked Julia. Because the tale is told from her older, first-person viewpoint, she often comes across as absurdly mature for an almost 12-year-old — but that goes with the narration. Her maturity didn’t bother me . . . in fact, I liked that she was wise enough to discuss the beginning and results of the Slowing so clearly, even if it lacked any urgency.

That’s what was missing for me: that sense of foreboding. I tore through Pfeffer’s novel with my heart in my throat, unable to focus on anything that wasn’t about a lunar disaster, and The Age of Miracles — while well-written and lyrical — lacked any commotion or connection. Honestly, I found much of it boring . . . not something I’d expect when discussing the potential end of the world. (Though we know it doesn’t end.) It did provide some food for thought, especially about the potential breakdown of society, but it wasn’t enough.

Fans of dystopian novels and young adult, coming-of-age tales might find Julia to be a young woman with whom they can relate, but it lacked that urgency that keeps me reading. I didn’t need fiery explosions, volcanoes erupting, nuclear holocaust or a perpetual winter . . . but I did want something to ignite in The Age of Miracles. Like, um, my interest.

But alas.

3 out of 5!

Pub: Jan. 15, 2013 ♥ GoodreadsLibraryThingAmazonAuthor Website
Audio copy borrowed from my local library

Book review: ‘Super Sad True Love Story’ by Gary Shteyngart

Okay — I’m not even going to pretend like I understood what-all was going on here.

Lenny Abramov has issues. Fresh from a stint in Rome in the not-so-distant future, his attempt to re-enter the U.S. is met with suspicion and derision — especially as he finds America a changed place from when he left. No longer a super power, his homeland is under China’s thumb. The American dollar is so devalued it basically ceases to exist. Riots are exploding across the country, reducing the once-great nation to a disaster zone, and everyone exists in a virtual reality through iPhone-like devices that might as well be surgically attached to their hands. Oh, and they’re half naked while doing it — sex is as accessible as Coca Cola on every street corner in America.

Basically, things suck.

The only bright spot in 39-year-old Lenny’s failing existence is Eunice Park, a nubile first-generation American (like Lenny!) who manages to put up with him long enough to gain free shelter at his New York City apartment. Moderately grossed out by Lenny’s age, poor dental care and unfortunate balding pattern, Eunice sticks around long enough to lap up his obsessive care for her as the country goes to pot. And Lenny has to decide where and how to weather the storm . . .

Gary Shteyngart’s Super Sad True Love Story is the weirdest book I’ve read in ages. Alternating between Lenny’s diary entries and transcripts of Eunice’s online conversations with her sister, mother and best friend, the story depicts a frighteningly weakened America. And honestly, it stressed me out.

Look, I can get down with a good dystopian read. I enjoy thinking about how society will evolve in years to come and whether the world will someday be one I’d recognize. What’s creepy about Shteyngart’s almost-too-cool-for-school rendition of our homeland is that it’s . . . well, realistic. The nationwide obsession with “apparati,” the higher-tech version of a smartphone, is eerily familiar. Our dependence on China’s credit to bail us out of endless financial crises? The doing-away of separate political parties, leaving us with one scary and irresponsible “bipartisan” form of leadership? Skimpy garments like onion-skin jeans that leave nothing to the imagination?

We can see it all, of course.

I listened to Super Sad True Love Story on audio, and maybe that was a bad call. It seemed like a frightening radio broadcast, coating the interior of my car with wails akin to, “The world as you know it is ending!” Given I’m high-strung on a good day, Shteyngart’s novel — occasionally funny, usually creepy — left me with the sour, metallic taste of bad fortune in my mouth. It wasn’t hopeful or uplifting (not that I’d have expected that — you know, given the title). And though it’s just fiction, it’s not a stretch to imagine some of the more disturbing moments appearing as headlines on tomorrow’s news. (If newspapers exist. Which they probably won’t. [If I had a nickel for every time someone said that to me, a newspaper columnist . . .])

But beyond all the dystopian elements, we have the titular love story: presumably the one between Lenny and Eunice. If you can call it that. Eunice is young, shallow, sarcastic and hurtful, and Lenny is desperate, eccentric and emotionally stunted. Their union is obviously toxic, but Lenny is so physically attracted to lithe Eunice he can’t help himself. No matter that she barely lets him touch her, and when he does? It seems born of pity and boredom. Shteyngart’s intimate scenes are so factual and awkward.

Lenny, who works in the business of helping people “live forever,” is constantly grappling with a between-two-worlds mentality; his parents are hardened Russian immigrants who want to see their beloved Lenny settle down with a nice Jewish girl. When he shows up with Eunice, a far cry from the woman they’d imagined for a daughter-in-law, things don’t go as planned. And Lenny begins to understand that what he feels for Eunice, real though he feels it must be, isn’t quite real enough.

That’s a phrase that really jumped out at me, especially in the latter half of the novel: Lenny declaring that life — its experiences; its triumphs; its pains — is “real enough.” Not real as in an authentic experience, but real enough. Sort of a caricature of real life. What a sad state of affairs for us, a people increasingly dependent on devices to feel like we’re “living.”

Again: depressing.

Fans of contemporary fiction, dystopian stories, love stories gone awry and novels analyzing American society will find plenty to discuss, snort at and ponder. Though it ultimately wasn’t a story I could say I enjoyed, I did find the book interesting and listened to the end. Shteyngart’s brand of dark humor can be appealing, though it ultimately left me feeling cold and uncomfortable. Yes, it was “super sad.”

3 out of 5!

ISBN: 0812977866 ♥ GoodreadsLibraryThingAmazonAuthor Website
Audio copy borrowed from my local library

Book review: ‘Cinder’ by Marissa Meyer

You can’t bump around the reading world lately without seeing mention of Marissa Meyer’s Cinder, a new dystopian novel placing a pot of cyborgs, magical powers and evil stepmothers on simmer. If you’re a fan of “Cinderella,” that most classic of all fairytales (and Disney movies!), you’ll be intrigued by this one. But I’m not sure it lived up to the hype.

Cinder, a talented mechanic, toddles along the streets of New Beijing, China, trying to attract as little attention as possible. Her stepmother favors Cinder’s two sisters, Peony and Pearl, and pilfers the money Cinder makes working in a street market to enhance their lavish lifestyle. Relying on her own wits and savvy after her stepfather’s death, Cinder has no recollection of her mysterious past — or even how she arrived in New Beijing. But she’s about to find out.

Handsome Prince Kai, the future Chinese emperor, arrives at Cinder’s booth needing help with a royal android. Now on the prince’s radar, Cinder works to help repair the damage as a deadly plague begins to sweep Earth — and their city. When Peony falls ill, Cinder is blamed for her exposure to the sickness
. . . and must work quickly to save her sister’s life. What happens next changes the course of everything.

Cinder has a little bit of everything beneath its intriguing cover: romance; family dynamics; threat of annihilation; magical Lunar people. There’s all this talk of who Cinder really is and where she comes from and why she’s so special, so different from everyone else. There’s Prince Kai, who we’re told is all hottie hot (a rebellious Prince Harry, if you will). There’s all this talk of impending doom and disaster, and yet . . . I didn’t feel it.

I don’t know. I feel guilty. But I wasn’t crazy about this one.

First, the good: Cinder is the bold, stereotype-busting heroine we all love to see in YA literature. She’s not the demure young lady tucked away in a corner with her needlepoint. This chick is a mechanic, for goodness’ sake; she is hardcore. She’s up to her elbows in grease all day, fixing things that need fixing and building her positive reputation. Prince Kai comes to her because he hears she’s “the best” at what she does, and that’s pretty bad ass for a teenager.

But. But. I never really felt emotionally connected to Cinder. I felt for her and could sympathize with her plight, but as far as the twists and turns surrounding the discovery of her identity? I just wasn’t there. At many points I knew I should feel shocked or bamboozled, but I just never did. The whole thing was very tepid. I liked that Meyer changed up the fairytale, actually making Cinder very close to one of her “evil” stepsisters, but that wasn’t enough for me. I never felt engaged with the characters.

I just couldn’t get down with the Lunar people, either. Evil Queen Levana was a caricature, what with her wanting to take over the planet and all. Magical people living on the moon and threatening to screw up everything we’ve got going on here on Earth? Okay . . . I mean, I thought I could go with that. I started Cinder knowing it was a fairytale retelling, but the story never absorbed me enough to suspend my disbelief.

But you know what? I’m completely in the minority here. I’ve read positive review after positive review of Cinder, and all these fine and fashionable reviewers can’t be wrong. If you like dystopian fiction, fairytales turned on their heads or get down with fantasy, Meyer’s unique debut might just be for you.

3 out of 5!

ISBN: 031264189 ♥ GoodreadsLibraryThingAmazonAuthor Website
Personal audio book won in a giveaway from Capricious Reader

My thoughts on the narration: After getting my proverbial feet wet with audio books, I’m beginning to understand just how important a good narrator is to a production. Bad ones can completely ruin an otherwise great story for you, and I’m becoming much more discerning in the books I choose. That being said, Cinder’s narrator, Rebecca Soler, did a fine job voicing the titular character. As other reviewers have stated, it’s strange that Cinder — a Chinese character — would have an American accent, and I didn’t get much cultural flavor from the narration. But whatevs.

Book review: ‘Glow’ by Amy Kathleen Ryan

For Waverly Marshall and hundreds of other children and teens, life aboard the space vessel Empyrean is their entire world. Their days are spent assisting their parents with agriculture and attending school, learning about Earth and what life was like upon that mysterious planet of their parents’ birth. Fresh from a proposal from her boyfriend and captain-in-training, Kieran Alden, Waverly feels mostly content.

A few decades removed from the devastating events that made life on their home planet impossible, the Empyrean and a sister ship are bound for New Earth — a distant planet destined to be settled by the “chosen” aboard the Empyrean and New Horizon, a sister ship. While the Empyrean is a secular vessel, the New Horizon is a religious ship filled with those who believe God is giving them a chance to originate new life. Believing they are doing His will, the residents of the New Horizon are optimistic about spreading God’s love to an entirely new generation.

On their journey to New Earth, the ships have rarely made contact — until the day the New Horizon sidles alongside the Empyrean, disrupting everything about life as Waverly once knew it. A series of attacks change everything about life in deep space, and Waverly is left to spearhead a movement to keep everyone safe and reassemble the pieces of their tattered existence. If that can ever be done again.

Amy Kathleen Ryan’s Glow is a fast-paced, energetic and stomach-plummeting ride through the galaxy that dragged me into its orbit and refused to let me go. I was finished with this book before I even looked up, gobbling the entire story before I even realized I was reaching the end.

Glow, the first in a new series, is being likened to The Hunger Games — a novel I read years ago and loved. While I don’t think Glow has the emotional punch of Suzanne Collins’ stellar series, I can definitely see the similarities in terms of pacing and plot. Ryan drops us right into the action in Glow, successfully creating an entire universe for us without any of the boring world-building I sometimes associate with dystopian novels. We’re given enough puzzle pieces to understand what’s happening here, but not so much that nothing is cloaked in mystery.

In fact, mystery shrouds everything in Glow, keeping readers antsy and on edge. We don’t know who to trust or despise, who to love or fear. The enigmatic but dangerous leader of the New Horizon, Anne Mather, is a character that is both reviled and pitied. At various points in the novel, I struggled with whether to trust or hate her — though Waverly never faced that uncertainty. Our lead is steel-spined and, like Katniss Everdeen, a young woman called upon to shoulder so much burden at such a young age. And, despite everything, she handles it well.

But Waverly lacked the dimension of Katniss — or much dimension at all. I respected her and felt for her, but I never felt like I was really inside her head. How did she really feel about Kieran, for instance? His proposal within the first few pages of the book should have been a life-altering moment, but I didn’t feel the emotional weight of the question. As Waverly became immersed in the battles waging between the Empyrean and its sister ship, I knew that she was desperate to be reunited with him . . . but felt like I had little evidence of that. It was lots of telling and not enough showing. I didn’t know if she actually loved him or just felt safe with him, especially after losing her father at a young age. But as this is just a first book, I’m imagining that will be explored in detail down the road.

My overall feelings for Glow are very positive, however. Even though I wasn’t as close to Waverly (or Kieran, or Seth) as I would have liked, I found this book impossible to put down! There are plenty of unanswered questions in Glow and opportunities for back stories to be explored, which makes me eager for a publication date — but I can’t find one. And that makes me itchy.

Fans of dystopian reads and young adult fiction will find a fascinating, quick read in Amy Kathleen Ryan’s first novel in the Sky Chasers series, and the religious overtones of the book were very thought-provoking. I won’t go off on a tangent regular the secular versus religious vessels and how eventually everyone seems to switch roles, but that’s definitely a major theme of the book. Read it and see where you fall.

3.5 out of 5!

ISBN: 0312590563 ♥ GoodreadsLibraryThingAmazonAuthor Website
Review copy provided by Amazon Vine