From the inside flap:
Brandon Wilson anchors a television newscast that is regularly trounced by reruns of “The Facts of Life.” When a new producer, hell-bent on raising channel 13’s ratings, decides that his middle-class African-American anchor with a penthouse isn’t “black” enough, he has a brainstorm: Brandon is to redefine himself by doing a series from a new home in the inner city. There Brandon meets Nita, who manages an apartment building in addition to juggling three kids, night school, and a job.

Brandon sees his move as a Faustian bargain that allows him to tell the stories of “real folks.” But when the station demands something more sensational, Brandon and Nita find their loyalties caught up in a media circus that only Nita can find a way to tame.

Review:
Part of why I read Live at Five was that I am curious about the black experience, and it did make me think about things I hadn’t considered before. But it also made some points that I thought were oversimplified. Like Brandon, who’d expected to encounter thieves and criminals all over, being surprised to find instead so many decent, hard-working folks living in the inner city. Is that really shocking?

Brandon himself was a bland character. I found all of the TV station stuff to be pretty dull, honestly. Nita was much more interesting, with all of her responsibilities and insecurities. I also really liked building resident Mrs. Carter, a nosy, feisty old lady who reminded me a lot of someone at work.

A physical relationship developed between the two leads, but not a romance. Apparently, being really noticed and understood by a high-class guy made Nita realize that she was worth more than she’d been giving herself credit for (earlier she’d considered running off with a slightly shady character for want of better offers), though the whole time she’s thinking how Brandon’s different from other guys, he was cheating on his girlfriend and so was as much a dog as any of them. Still, I was glad it didn’t take the predictable route where they’d end up together.

All in all, it wasn’t bad. Except the editing. That was pretty bad. For the record, Milkweed Editions, since you seemed to have trouble deciding, the apostrophe in y’all goes after the Y. Might want to make a note of it.

From the back cover:
Stanley Yelnats isn’t so surprised when a miscarriage of justice sends him to a juvenile detention center. After all, his family has been plagued with bad luck ever since a one-legged gypsy put a curse on his great-great grandfather. He is told that the hard labor he must perform—digging 5 foot holes in the dried up soil where Green Lake once sat—is meant to build character. But it soon becomes clear to Stanley that the warden is really using the boys to search for something very valuable. The story of the hidden treasure, along with the warden, Stanley’s friend Zero, and the curse on the Yelnats family are all part of a compelling puzzle that has taken generations to unravel.

Review:
Harry Potter aside, this was the best children’s fiction I’d read in a long time. I really didn’t know what to expect going into it, but reckoned some sort of adventure would ensue. And ensue it does, but there’s also a multi-layered, cleverly-plotted story that manages to be both touching and surprising. Plus, Sachar manages to condemn racism without being preachy about it.

The fact that the story wasn’t predictable was a big plus. I was actually genuinely surprised on several occasions, and also had a few “ohhhhh” moments when things were explained after the fact (like why some carnivorous lizards didn’t seem to find Stanley and Zero too appetizing). And though one kind of does expect Stanley to break the family curse, the way that he manages to do it makes such perfect narrative sense that it doesn’t seem lame.

There’s a sequel to Holes that focuses on another of the boys from the camp. I find that I am relieved that it leaves Stanley and Zero’s story alone, since it ended in such a satisfactory place that to return there could only muck things up.

From the back cover:
You can’t help but feel sorry for Alice Thrift, who has recently tumbled from the top of her Harvard Medical School class to the probationary wing of her student internship. It doesn’t help that her social skills cause her mother to suggest she might be slightly autistic. So when Ray Russo, a social-climbing purveyor of carnival fudge, dedicates himself to winning her adoration, Alice finds him impossible to resist. Now it’s up to her two best friends to help her toward the path of enlightenment.

Review:
This is the second book by Elinor Lipman that I’ve read, and it was as entertaining as the first. It was also similar in that it managed to be interesting without some fancy plot gimmick, excelled in “show don’t tell” writing, and featured a rather obnoxious character stirring up the lives of mild-mannered folk.

I particularly liked how Lipman handled the revelation of the character of her first person narrator. Rather than have her proclaim that she is socially inept, for example, she’d have her say something bizarre and point out the flaw through another character’s reaction: “Why do you sound like an anthropologist?”

Lipman also created fully-fleshed out characters. A good example was Ray Russo, the obnoxious character du jour. He’s a thoroughly repugnant guy. Some of the things he said were so odious to me that I had to take a break from the book for a minute. And yet, he also had good points: he defended Alice, he helped her to make friends in her building, and he didn’t expect her to be more gregarious than she was capable of being. I could easily see how Alice, though repulsed on the one hand, had trouble completely writing him off as a creep.

The development of Ray and Alice’s relationship is well done, though I was impatient to know what ultimately happened, and consequently found the gradual pace of Alice’s realizations to be frustrating. Also, though I appreciate the realism of all the awkwardness, sometimes it was just too uncomfortable to be a fun read.

I plan to read more by Lipman, but I have noticed that several other of her books also feature a somewhat meek protagonist encountering and being impacted by a more flamboyant new acquaintance. I worry that this repeated theme is going to become annoying.

From the back cover:
Suze Simon finds it difficult to come across as an average teenager when she’s constantly visited by ghosts. Suze is a mediator, you see. And her boyfriend Jesse is, well, a ghost himself—from the 19th century!

Fellow mediator Paul Slater has figured out how to travel through time and alter Jesse’s future so he and Suze will never meet, leaving Suze in a conundrum. Does she let Paul succeed so Jesse lives an ordinary life in his own time period, leaving Suze with no memory of him? Or does she stop Paul and force Jesse to be a ghost forever? And all the while, Suze must cope with the perils of a normal teenage life.

Review:
This book was really ticking me off until the last hundred pages, but at least it ended the way it should have.

The problems:
1) Suze had never been more annoying. I swear I actually yelled at the audiobook when she was dallying in calling an ambulance at one point. She was also very slow to grasp the ramifications of stuff that’s happening.

2) Bits of the plot were super obvious. Fellow mediator Paul needed an artifact from the past to travel there. (Me: Gee, that random mention of a belt buckle found in Suze’s attic a few chapters ago totally makes sense now! La la la, wait for the story to catch up with my surmise.) Also, by the halfway point, I had completely guessed how the happy ending would be occurring.

3) Re-explaining. Two characters would be having a phone conversation, and something would be pointed out to Suze and she’d realize that it was true. And then she had to explain again why what has just been said was really true.

The good:
Pretty much anything Jesse, particularly seeing him in the past. The ending, though predictable and a little too convenient, was still satisfying.

Ultimately, I don’t really think the series lived up to the potential it showed originally. If Cabot could’ve resisted making Suze incredibly dense at pivotal moments, it would’ve gone a long way toward making this a truly stellar series. Still, even with its flaws, it is recommended.

From the inside flap:
Enter a dark and enchanting world of dreams and nightmares and meet the Sandman, master of dreams, and his kin—the Endless.

This first collection of Neil Gaiman’s unique and multi-award-winning Sandman saga introduces key themes and characters, combining myth, magic, and black humor.

Review:
This volume collects issues #1-8 of the Sandman comics. Morpheus, the Lord of Dreams, was inadvertently captured by some occultists who were attempting to trap and contain his sister, Death. They imprisoned him for 70 years and stole his stuff, and when he finally escaped, he wanted it back. He took the next few chapters to complete the quest.

I was occasionally lost when the story veered too far into mythological territory, and one story called “24 Hours” was incredibly disturbing, but on the whole I liked it. The best, however, was the last story, called “The Sound of Her Wings.” In it, Morpheus was a bit mopey because he’d completed his quest and his spunky sister came to drag him out of his doldrums. And throw bread at him.

As seems to be the case with comic books, the physical appearance of Morpheus was pretty inconsistent. I decided to think of him as Stephen Rea with blue hair, and that worked pretty well.

From the back cover:
Rukia Kuchiki, the ex-Soul Reaper responsible for Ichigo’s transformation, is on the lam. Her brethren at the Soul Society are quite displeased with the fact that she transferred the powers of a Soul Reaper to a human and have dispatched two of their strongest agents to neutralize the situation.

Their mission is twofold: to return Rukia to the Soul Society so that she may pay for her crime and to deal with Ichigo—permanently. But an unlikely third party is standing in their way: Uryuu Ishida, the Quincy!

Review:
In this volume, Ichigo tries to prevent Rukia’s return to the Soul Society and fails. His defeat is dealt by the very cool Byakuya, one of those silent types that I always seem to favor.

And so, the plot arc is launched. Rukia is incarcerated and the Soul Society is glimpsed. We learn that Ichigo resembles someone from her past. Some of the other characters decide they want to help, too. There’s a cute talking cat. Urahara, the proprietor of a store that sells Soul Reaper gear, becomes a much more active participant in events and begins to train Ichigo. I wasn’t too interested in him before, but now that more of his personality has emerged I find myself much more curious about his background.

Bleach is really fun. Uruhara was a standout in this volume, and the ending was such a cliffhanger that I am literally going to put in the hold request for volume 8 as soon as I hit publish.

From the back cover:
How can anyone describe this book? It isn’t a parable, a fairy story, or a poem, but rather a mixture of all three. It is beautiful and it is comic. It is philosophical and it is cheery. What we suppose we are trying fumblingly to say is, in a word, that it is Thurber.

There are only a few reasons why everybody has always wanted to read this kind of story, but they are basic.

Everybody has always wanted to love a Princess.
Everybody has always wanted to be a Prince.
Everybody has always wanted the wicked Duke to be punished.
Everybody has always wanted to live happily ever after.

Too little of this kind of thing is going on in the world today. But all of it is going on valorously in The 13 Clocks.

Review:
The 13 Clocks is a fairy tail with a fairly standard plot. A prince must perform a task to win the beautiful princess away from the control of a cruel uncle. There are a few unexpected twists, though, and the end is actually rather weird.

If one had a kid, it’d probably be fun to read this book aloud to them. The writing is amusing and clever enough to appeal to an adult. I’m an admirer of economical silliness, which Thurber exemplifies with lines like “One third of the dogs in town began to bark.”

I find I really have nothing further to say about it. It’s a cute, quick diversion and good for a giggle or two.

From the back cover:
Unable to forget her near-kiss experience, Mizuki finds herself drawing ever closer to Sano, and not in a “roommates” way, either. The tension builds when Nakatsu asks Sano point-blank: Do you like Mizuki? Can Nakatsu and Sano’s friendship survive the answer? Meanwhile, Sano’s old high-jump rival returns, along with a surprising new challenger!

Review:
This entire volume focuses on the love triangle between Nakatsu, Sano, and Mizuki, and that is why it’s so good. Nakatsu learns that Sano does indeed like Mizuki, and struggles with this knowledge for a bit. All of the pining and sighing and leaning one’s head back against a wall that the boys engage in is very entertaining.

Somewhat less successful is the segue back into Sano’s high jump career. I’m glad to see its return, but this is a little clunky, with a few long-forgotten supporting characters making random reappearances and stuff. And, of course, the identity of the “surprising” new challenger is not at all a surprise.

My only worry going into more of the high jump focus is that we’ll lose the relationship momentum that’s been building for a few volumes.

From the back cover:
The Autobiography of Miss Jane Pittman has sold over a million copies nationwide since its publication in 1971, making the fictional character of Miss Jane so real many people don’t know she exists only in the imagination of Louisiana-born author Ernest J. Gaines.

Miss Jane is over 100 years old when she is interviewed by an area high school teacher looking to teach his students more about plantation society in the deep South. Her story is not only a vivid picture of the South before the dawn of the civil rights era, but also a story of one woman’s survival against overwhelming odds—a stunning autobiography of a courageous woman who won her battles with grace and dignity.

Born a slave and freed when she was ten, Jane leaves the plantation of her childhood and heads in the direction of Ohio in search of a white abolitionist who once befriended her. Accompanied by Ned, a young orphan, Jane struggles to get out of Louisiana. What happens in the years that follow is a tale of loss and heartache and renewed hope, imprinted on its aged teller’s face like furrows in a russet field.

Now, in the racial upheavals of the ’60s, Miss Jane brings closure to one generation, and inspiration to the next.

Review:
When the blurb mentions loss and heartache, it really isn’t kidding! Although there certainly were funny bits, most of the tales involved tragedy, unfair treatment, senseless violence, or a lack of awareness about “how to live in this world.” When the protagonist is over 110 years old, one should probably expect to read about the deaths of all her loved ones, but I hadn’t given the matter much thought ahead of time.

Occasionally, a couple of stories were a little dull (like the one about a competition between women working in the field or how Jane came to get religion) but the majority of them were very good. My favorite was probably the story of Molly, an aging household servant, who felt threatened that the family for whom she’d worked for decades had hired Jane to help her out. She was sure Jane was there to take her place, and ended up leaving for another position, the two women never managing to become friends. The story of the white landowner’s son who fell in love with a mulatto schoolteacher was another standout.

Gaines did a great job making Jane’s tale feel authentic, so I can easily see why so many people thought she was a real person. I listened to this in unabridged format, and with the excellent, storyteller-ish narration by Lynne Thigpen, it sounded authentic as well.

I’ll be reading more by Gaines.

From the inside flap:
Is it fair to be mad, mad, mad at your boyfriend for being gay? Anything but straight in small town Maine won’t exactly be a walk in the park, even for invincible Dylan. But can’t heartbroken Belle whine just a little? What’s a girl to do when her perfect soulmate says Goodbye Belle, Hello Bob?

For starters, she makes a list on how to deal.

Review:
I was tempted to stop reading this after about twenty-five pages because there were two things that were annoying me significantly. After I decided to make a couple of assumptions, however, I was able to continue on.

#1: Belle claims to be okay with the idea of breaking up with Dylan when it comes time to go to college. After learning he’s gay, she remembers a time when they shared a bathtub, she saw his soul, and had decided that this obviously was a sign they were meant to be together. Although it’s not expressly stated, I decided to assume that this contradiction was the result of the character not really believing that the break-up-for-college would be permanent.

#2: The writing style is pretentious. Just one of many possible examples: “My voice is strong guitar chords sounding across the parking lot and into his soul.” Since it’s written in first person, I decided to assume that this was an intentional choice to capture the voice of the angsty twelfth-grader protagonist.

There were also a couple of annoying editing mistakes: a you’re where it should’ve been your and a reference to Belle and her best friend as juniors instead of seniors.

Even with all this, though, it turned out to be pretty decent. It presents a fairly accurate depiction of adolescent breakup reactions, especially the urge to continue to write notes to someone even though you’re mad at them and the sorrow at realizing that you’re kind of breaking up with a whole family. There’s a lot about trying to be what other people expect you to be, and Belle is ultimately proud of and happy for Dylan that he’s finally able to stop pretending. In turn, she realizes she’d also been doing some pretending in their relationship, and begins to find her real self again.

Sometimes with books like these, the anti-gay reaction from fellow students is over the top, and this book’s no exception. There was also a lot of community and student support, though, so it wasn’t as bad as it could’ve been. What was bloody awful was the ending. I think I sprained something what with all the strenuous eyerolling.