Every high school has its cliques: there are the jocks, the nerds, the preps, the gangbangers, and so on. In Generation Dead, Daniel Waters introduces a whole new subculture - the undead. He's not talking about goths, or even secretive Cullen-ish clans, he's talking dead kids who have come back to life. Like the freaky pets in the Stephen King novel, these re-lifers are not exactly the same, but close approximations. Pretty much. Call them zombies, call them corpsicles, call them living impaired, call them whatever you want, they've invaded the town of Oakvale and they're not leaving. In fact, they're blogging, playing high school football, and lobbying for equal rights. What's a real, live person to do? If you're Phoebe Kendall, you try to hide the fact that you're crushing all over one of the wormburgers. Especially since your friends find the idea creepy as, well, hell. And when you can no longer disguise your attraction - then you better just watch out.

Phoebe, a black-wearing, metal-listening, poetry-writing Goth girl is used to life on the fringe of Oakvale High society. So, when she finds herself drawn to Tommy Williams, a handsome zombie, she figures why not? She can't get any more ostracized than she already is. But even in a world where the dead walk amongst the living, befriending a "differently biotic" kid is not quite kosher, and dating one is enough to cause a serious stir. The more she gets to know Tommy, however, the more Phoebe begins to wonder why live people and zombies can't get along. Tommy's more empathetic, brave and kind than most of the guys at Oakvale High - what's wrong with getting to know him better? A lot, apparently.

While Phoebe's friends are concerned about her growing obsession with the zombie community, one person is downright livid. Pete Martinsburg, a beefy football player, will stop at nothing to keep Tommy away from a living girl. In fact, he'd be happy to see the whole corpsicle population disappear. And he has a plan to make it happen. The only person standing in his way is wimpy Adam Layman, who doesn't even have the guts to tell Phoebe how he feels about her. If the zombie lovers think they're going to win, they've got another think coming.

With Oakvale divided on the explosive zombie issue, it's no wonder things escalate quickly. As tempers flare and violence mounts, things are rapidly getting out of hand. Can Phoebe brave it all to be with Tommy? Does she even want to be more than friends? Will her friends stand by her? Or will she lose everything by siding with the undead? Can anyone stop Pete before it's too late? Or will the zombie rights movement end before it ever gets a chance to begin? The answers come fast and furious as this pageturner guns to its surprising conclusion.

For some reason (maybe because of the cover?), I expected Generation Dead to be a lighter, funnier version of Dawn of the Dead, so I was surprised to find that it actually has a lot of depth to it. Too much depth sometimes, as it tends toward preachy, but still ... it packs a powerful message about the dangers of intolerance. Didacticism distracts from the storyline a bit, but not too, too much. I still managed to get pretty darn entangled in the characters and plot - enough so that I had a hard time putting the book down, especially toward the end. I cared enough that I breathed a sigh of relief when I realized I didn't have to wait for the sequel, because my pal (Hallie) at Disney had already sent me a copy. Phew.

For a book that looks like so much teenage fluff, this one turned out to be enjoyable on several levels. Now, don't get me wrong, it's no Twilight (it's not nearly as detailed or compelling), but still - Generation Dead's a sneaky little book that just might get under your skin. And make you think. After you've just about bitten your nails to the quick trying to figure out what's going to happen, of course. It should win over Stephenie Meyer fans who don't mind a little bit messier story (this one's not exactly a clean read, although it's not filthy either). Vampire, zombie, whatever - I get the feeling (maybe I'm "telepathetic," like Phoebe) kids are going to eat this one up. I sure did.

Grade: B

Wow, so the lazy days of summer have already taken over here. We've been sleeping in, wearing our pajamas until noon, swimming and laying on the couch like slugs. I've been neglecting the ole blog a tad, but it's not all my fault: I'm waiting for a couple of emails before I can announce a new giveaway and a reading challenge; I've been reviewing a manuscript for a friend of my husband's; and, well, I've been trying to keep my kiddos from going insane with boredom. Believe me, that is a full-time job.

What if the answers to all the world's problems could be found between the covers of a book?

... to announce the winner of Bad Girls Don't Die by Katie Alender. Indigo - it's all you! Drop me an email (blogginboutbooks[AT]gmail[DOT][COM]), and I will get it out to you ASAP.

Thanks to Disney Publishing for the giveaway copy. Thanks to all who entered. If you didn't win this time, don't give up - I have lots more books to give away this summer. I really do have a whole pile, so stay tuned!

Remember Shirley Jackson's short story "The Lottery?" (I thought it was required reading, but when I mentioned it to my husband he just stared at me blankly - so, if you're unfamiliar with it, click here.) Anyway, if that little tale of macabre sent shivers down your spine, just wait. The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins combines the subtle horror of Jackson's classic story with the challenge and excitement of a Survivor episode. What results is a completely absorbing story that will eat you up and spit you out only after taking you on a heart-pumping, nail-biting, edge-of-your-seat thrill ride. It gives "unputdownable" a whole new meaning.

The story takes place in Panem, a futuristic world built on the ruins of what was once known as North America. It consists of a glittering Capitol and 12 surrounding districts, each of which specializes in a certain industry - agriculture, fishing, factories, etc. Sixteen-year-old Katniss Everdeen hails from District 12, an area once known as Appalachia. Like its ancient inhabitants, residents of the district labor in the coal mines. Like their earlier counterparts, the general population is poor, underfed and diseased from the black dust that never quite dissipates. Working in the mines can be perilous, a fact which Katniss knows all too well - the job put her father in an early grave. His death paralyzes her mother, forcing Katniss to keep the family alive. This means sneaking under the city's electrified fence to hunt, trading her spoils in the black market, and risking her life for a meager amount of grain.


The novel opens on Reaping Day, a grim holiday where 2 kids from each district are chosen to participate in The Hunger Games. Having traded entries into the Games for grain - multiple times - Katniss' chances of being chosen are dangerously high. As are those of her best friend, Gale. Her only solace is that all of her entries should leave her beloved younger sister virtually risk-free. Through a cruel twist of fate, Katniss becomes District 12's female "tribute." The "honor" means Katniss will compete in a Survivor-style game against 23 other tributes. Only it's a fight to the death. Winning means honor, but more importantly, it means the winner's family will have food, money and shelter. It also means 23 people will die. Just like last year. And the year before. And every year. The Games are a gruesome, televised bloodbath - a gory reminder of who's really in charge in Panem. Participation is mandatory. It's also suicide for a scrawny, undernourished girl from District 12.

Before she knows it, Katniss is fighting for her life in an arena fraught with danger, much of which is manufactured by Games officials for the entertainment of Panem viewers. Katniss can't afford to feel any affection for her fellow competitors, but there's the little girl who reminds her of her sister, the boy from her own district who once showed her an immense kindness, and all the others who are just as terrified as she is. But it's kill or be killed in the Games. Katniss has no choice. She must use every brain cell, every skill, everything she possesses to save herself and her family. Her journey will be fraught with danger, betrayal, loss and her own grim determination. In a battle that defies logic, Katniss must do the impossible - survive.

So much has already been written about this novel that I doubt I can add much. I'll leave it at this - you must get your hands on a copy of this book. It's gripping, it's consuming, it's one of the best books I've read this year. What are you still doing here? Beg, borrow or steal (well, maybe you shouldn't go that far) - do whatever it takes to get yourself a copy. You won't regret it. Or forget it.

Grade: A

(Book image from Suzanne Collins' official website.)

When I was in high school, I attended a writer's conference at which I heard true crime writer Ann Rule speak. I found her so fascinating that I immediately checked out several of her books. Although gritty and raw, the books fascinated me, especially from a psychological point of few. Her experience with Ted Bundy (chronicled in her first book The Stranger Beside Me), especially, made an impact with its underlying question - How well can we ever really know the people around us? As compelling as her books are, their gruesome details soon got to be too much for me. I abandoned Rule years ago and never re-visited the genre she made popular. That is, until Hachette Book Group sent me a copy of After Etan by journalist Lisa R. Cohen. Like Rule's books, Cohen's is interesting and well-written (although Rule's style is less clinical, more readable), but also filled with so much human nastiness that it reminded me why I quit true crime books in the first place.

The book discusses the case of Etan Patz (pronounced AYTAHN PATES), a 6-year-old who disappeared from New York's SoHo neighborhood on May 25, 1979. The first-grader had been begging his mother all year to let him walk the 2 blocks to his bus stop. She had finally relented. But Etan never made it to school. He vanished, plunging his family - and parents all over the country - into a terrifying nightmare that jolted them out of their innocence. Suddenly, families became all too aware of the acute danger posed by sexual predators who preyed on children, an increasing problem that until then hadn't received enough attention. Fear made parents more vigilant - for a time, anyway. As the months wore on, all the Missing posters, neighborhood canvassing, televised pleas and police interviews came to naught. Blonde-haired blue-eyed Etan didn't turn up. Neither did his corpse.

As the case slowly went cold, new atrocities hit the news, burying the story of Etan's disappearance under fresh horrors. His parents still dutifully recorded every phone call they recevied, traipsed down to the police station for interviews and polygraphs, and investigated every "look alike" the detectives found, but one thing soon became obvious: The case was at a stand still. Federal prosecutor Stuart GraBois knew he couldn't let the case stagnate, couldn't let the Patzes down - determined to figure out what happened to Etan, he spent years in a dogged pursuit of the truth. After investigating several possible suspects, including the parents themselves, he honed in on a drifter with a history of violence toward children. GraBois refused to give up, even when Jose Antonio Ramos denied knowing Etan Patz. Although he never got a full confession out of Ramos, and never learned exactly what happened to the missing boy, the prosecutor's tenacious investigation of other of Ramos' victims put the dangerous predator away for the better part of his life. Maybe GraBois didn't crack the Etan Patz case wide open, but he did the next best thing - made sure Ramos could never again hurt a child. Without solid evidence to prove Ramos killed Etan, the child's case remains one of New York's unsolved mysteries.

Now, you're probably saying, "I guess there's no point in reading the book - Susan's just told me the whole plot." Well, that's correct, although the truth is that although this book chronicles the Etan Patz case, it's almost more about what happened because of the case: Because of Etan's disappearance, parents everywhere got a wake-up call about sexual predators. Because of his parents' ability to turn their own grief into something worthwhile, systems and laws were created that better protect and serve children. Because of young boys who bravely told their stories, a monster is behind bars. What started with man's inhumanity to man (although we don't know exactly what happened to Etan, we can assume it was nothing good) grew into something powerful, something important. It may have been too late to save Etan, but those whom he inspired have worked tirelessly to bring justice for all abused children. And that's what this story is really about.

Curiously, the thing I find most interesting about true crime stories - the psychological history of the perpetrator - was almost absent from After Etan. I think we all want to know what turns an innocent child into a person capable of committing unspeakable acts against another person. The book really didn't go into Ramos' history, which made the story seem incomplete. Maybe the investigators were just never able to turn up much information, but I would have liked to know (or maybe I'm better off not knowing) what made this guy tick. Other than that, I have no real criticisms. After Etan is certainly raw, it's definitely graphic, but it's also powerful and compelling. It's really a tribute to the dedication of law enforcement professionals, the bravery of victims courageous enough to speak out, and the plight of grieving families who allow their lives to be doubly torn apart in pursuit of justice. The fact that this book was published at all speaks volumes about the ability of one child to slip under our skin and into our hearts, pushing us harder to protect the most vulnerable among us - our children.

Grade: B

P.S. Interestingly, After Etan contains a couple of literary references. It includes a quote by Anna Quindlen, who worked for the New York Times between the late 1970s and early '90s. It also talks about Beth Gutcheon, who interviewed Julie Patz (Etan's mother) as part of her research for Still Missing. When the book came out, Julie was startled to find that the story mirrored her own so closely. Although she was grateful to Gutcheon for keeping the issue of missing kids in the spotlight, the novel "felt invasive to Julie, who also worried that readers would confuse the novel's fictional details - the disintegrating marriage of the boy's bereft parents, for example - with the real-life story of her family" (68). Interesting.

(Book image from After Etan's website)

Abby does have one slight problem - okay, two. For starters, Jason's not too happy about the time she's spending with Dante. The truth is, she's beginning to wonder if her "safe" relationship with Jason is really worth hanging onto. But hurting the guy she's known since childhood in favor of a wild card like Dante doesn't seem like a great idea either, especially since weird things seem to happen whenever he's around (that's problemo numero dos, if you're counting). Maybe she's crazy, but when she's with him, time literally seems to stand still. She knows there's a rational explanation. She just can't figure out what it is. Dante's cryptic answers to her questions just make things more confusing.

When she finally lands on the truth (well, Dante spills the beans), her world tilts a little. His confession changes things, but how much? Can she still trust him? Even when his secret may put her and everyone she loves in danger? Exactly how far is she willing to go for the one person who can take her away from her safe, predictable life? Is that even really what she wants? With time warping all around her, Abby's got to trust her heart - wherever it may lead.

The Hourglass Door starts with a bang; the prologue is taut, otherworldy and mysterious. It seems to promise an intriguing thrill ride with a little romance, a little sci. fi and a lot of suspense. It definitely left me wanting more. So, when Chapter 1 plunged me into the bland world of teenage Abby, I was a little disappointed. Pacing slowed way down, minutiae crowded out the mystery, and stale characters made it all a little ... dull. The middle of the story dragged, then picked up toward the end, but by that time it had become confusing and unrealistic. I mean, the blurb on the book's back cover states that Abby is "drawn into a mystery whose roots reach into sixteenth-century Florence," so I didn't expect reality reality, but still ... you know how Stephenie Meyer makes us actually believe that there are vampires running around Washington State? Mangum doesn't quite do that. Here, Dante's big secret just feels completely unbelievable. The story also let a lot of things dangle - I didn't understand why Dante bothered going to school, why he chose Abby out of all the other girls, or why no one (like her parents) cared about her obsessive relationship with a virtual stranger. Plus, the ending bugged big time. I guess what I'm trying to say is that this book just didn't work for me. I thought the idea behind the story had a lot of potential, but it just didn't quite deliver. I wish it had, because I really, really wanted to like this one, but it was just okay for me.

Now, once again, reviewers on Amazon and Barnes & Noble disagree with my assessments, so check those out before dismissing the book completely. Just because it didn't work for me doesn't mean it won't for you :)

Grade: C

(The Hourglass Door will be available on May 13)

I had big plans to bring you all kinds of great reviews today in celebration of Mother's Day. I'm especially excited about reading Dr. Laura's In Praise of Stay-at-Home Moms. However, I was too busy receiving flowers, getting my nails done, eating breakfast in bed and sleeping late to get around to it. It's a rough life, I know!

I do, however, have this sweet story - Along Came You by Karona Drummond (illustrated by Estelle Corke) - to share with you. With bright, whimsical pictures and simple prose, the book highlights the impact a child makes when she comes into her mother's world. With before and after comparisons ("Before you, I used to watch the rain/After you, I like to dance in the rain;" "Before you, eating out included candlelight and soft music/After you, eating out includes art and entertainment."), it celebrates the exuberance of childhood and the joy of motherhood. Does it say anything new? Not really, but it's sweet - a simple, upbeat read for Mother's Day.

Grade: B

(Book image from Amazon)

To all you mothers, grandmothers, birthmothers, mothers-to-be and mothers-in-waiting, I hope you had a wonderful day!

It's rare that I praise a sequel over its predecessor, but what the heck? I'm going to go ahead

One of the first questions people ask me upon spying my newly-adopted daughter is, "What on Earth are you going to do with her hair?" As rude as it may sound, this seems to be the natural first response of white women undaunted by their daughters' silky straight tresses, but completely perplexed at the sight of the thick, black curls my baby inherited from her African- American birthfather. As a card-carrying member of the clueless white woman club, I share their bewilderment. I've asked myself the same question a thousand times a day - "What am I going to do with her hair?" It doesn't help that my suburban city isn't exactly bursting with racial diversity or ethnic hair salons. My confidence also withers when I read how central a black woman's hair is to her sense of self-worth; or hear that my bi-racial nephew's been teased for having a "white boy's haircut;" or that "A black woman will judge you - often out loud - if you don't take proper care of your child's hair" (this from an African-American woman in an adoption class I attended).

So, with my (admittedly overactive) imagination flashing images of my impending public dressing-down, I have done what any self-respecting Internet addict would do - I trolled through cyberspace desperately clicking on any website that promised to teach me what to do with my daughter's hair. I did find some excellent information, including a Yahoo! group specifically for hair-challenged parents who have adopted transracially. This is all well and good, but I'm the kind of person who needs a simple, but obsessively-detailed and preferably fully illustrated Clueless White Woman's guide to bi-racial hair. So, finally, I'm doing what any self-respecting bookworm would do - checking out every book I can find on the subject. While most of you aren't dealing with this situation, maybe some of you are, so here, for your reading pleasure is my assessment of the hair guides I found at the library, bookstores and on the Internet. I'm going to dish about the volumes I found Very Helpful, Kinda Helpful and Downright Useless. Here we go:

While I learned a little bit from Wavy, Curly, Kinky by Deborah R. Lilly, I'm not going to be adding it to my personal library anytime soon. Lilly, who works as a beautician, obviously knows her stuff, but she also assumes that readers know theirs. Since I definitely don't, I'm putting this one in the "Kinda Helpful" category.

The book gives basic care information for hair at different stages of childhood, with specific instructions for wavy, curly and kinky hair, as the different hair types require different products and techniques. She also gives step-by-step directions for hair pressing, using relaxers, and even trimming hair. Most of the chapters focus on girls' hair, although there's a small section on boys' styles. Probably the most helpful part of the book is the Appendix, where pictures of products like rattail combs are clearly identified. Throughout the text, Lilly emphasizes nurturing the hair by using quality products, avoiding damaging practices and even eating a balanced diet. Overall, the tone is upbeat and encouraging.

Although Lilly explained some basic terms (finally, I know what locs are!), I really needed the entire book to work like the Appendix. Instead of describing "nappy" hair, I could have used a nice, clear picture. Or two. Or three. I think the book provides a fair overview of caring for African-American hair - it just didn't give me the details I needed. Others must have felt this way, too, because the book garnered pretty poor ratings on Amazon. Oh well. I checked this one out of the library, so no harm, no foul.

Grade: C

(Book Image from Target)

I enjoyed my second pick, It's All Good Hair by journalist Michele N-K Collison, a lot more than my first. For one thing, it offered some fascinating insight into exactly why hair is so important to African-American women, the old good hair/bad hair debate (which I don't think I'll ever understand, me being a white woman and all), and how to establish a hair routine that teaches young girls to feel confident about their hair, whether it's curly, kinky, nappy or straight. In fact, the book's title is taken from something one of Collison's friends said: "If there's hair growing on top of a person's head, that is good hair. Now if there's no hair growing, that's bad hair and we have a problem. Otherwise, all hair is good hair" (xx).

Collison, who says she's writing for an audience of African-American women who, like her, have no idea what to do with their daughters' tresses; white women who have adopted black or bi-racial children; and single African-American fathers who haven't a clue what to do with their girls' hair, keeps things pretty simple. She describes basic hair care from pregnancy through toddlerhood and into young womanhood. Again, the book focuses mostly on female hair, with only a small section on what to do for boys. The author gives plenty of ideas for girls' styles, complete with clear pictures and diagrams. I only wish It's All Good Hair came in a spiral-bound edition, since I have a feeling I'm going to be propping this one open on the bathroom counter while I practice with my daughter's hair. The book also includes information on pressing, relaxing, locing and using hair extensions.

While I still feel a little (okay, a lot) clueless, this book definitely helps. I love the step-by-step style instructions, the clear pictures and the chat about black hair in all its glory.

Grade: B+

(Book Image from Target)

While my next selection is not a how-to book, it's definitely a hair book. I Love My Hair by Natasha Anastasia Tarpley (illustrated by E.B. Lewis) is the sweet story of Keyana, who hates having her thick, curly hair combed. Even though her Mama tries to be gentle, it still hurts. To soothe Keyana's hurts, Mama explains why she's lucky to have hair that can be woven into a "puffy bun;" braided into cornrows; fashioned into an empowering Afro; decorated with colorful beads; or enjoyed down, free and natural. As Mama explains each hairstyle, Keyana learns a little bit more about her heritage, her family, and herself. A luminous book, I Love My Hair! celebrates the importance of accepting yourself, thick hair and all.

Grade: B+

In short, I found some useful info, but I'm still on my quest for the perfect hair book. I'll keep you posted on my findings. In the meantime, does anyone have any suggestions - either for good hair books or just advice on how to handle a bi-racial baby's soft, but very curly hair? Help a clueless white woman out here, wouldja?