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Not Your Mother's Book Club Blog
Books Inc., the West’s oldest independent bookstore, started Not Your Mother’s Book Club™ with one big idea: to bring the best writers in the world to the best readers in the world. And we're not REALLY a club. That's just our name, and really, what's in a name? We're actually just an inclusive bunch of PASSIONATE readers who get to hang out with the coolest authors on the scene!
We throw parties, eat snacks and read, read, read, read, read...
We also have a lot of fun ... and we invite you to join us.
Here is another fairytale world that has evolved into a modern industrial society. Once upon a time everything ran on fairydust, but the fairies disappeared from their floating cities; factories crank out synthetic substitutes that support industries and on the street it is used as a drug. Henry Whelp is a wolf, a despised minority, living in a boarding school for “troubled youth” because his old man is the actual Big Bad Wolf in the slammer for killing Little red Riding Hood and her grandmother. This novel is all about the seedy underworld of this fantasy city and the plot twists and turns looking for the truth behind fairydust. There is a hard-boiled noir feel here, heavy enough to be nominated for the 2011 Edgar Award, usually reserved for serious adult crime novels. (Ages 13+)
Reviewd by Chris from Compass Books SFO
I absolutely hated the cliffhanger ending of Eve, so when I didn’t have to wait long to find out what was going to happen next I pretty much jumped for joy. Once starts right where Eve left off, with Eve in Califia mourning over her loss of Caleb. As much as I loved Eve, Once really sucked me in while Anna Carey twisted the plot into so many different shapes I felt like there was no way I could predict what would happen next!
The relationship between Eve and Caleb is as passionate as ever and it really broke my heart whenever they were forced to separate. I won’t spoil anything for you, but I will let you know that I cried on way more than one occasion during this book! And the King! We finally get to meet him and he is as evil and manipulative as I ever imagined! I know a lot of people have been asking me what he wants with Eve, but there’s no way I’m telling, it’s way too good!!
I absolutely loved the way Carey continued Eve’s story. Sometimes, when I read the second book in a series or trilogy I end up with that “bridge novel” feeling, where nothing really happens in the book but the character moves from one point to another, only to set up the next book. Once was far from that! Every other chapter held a major twist or plot turn, and I was absolutely amazed by what was happening!
I loved Once way more than Eve, and I’m so happy I didn’t have to wait long! Sadly, now I have to wait twice as long to find out what else is going to happen!! Not once did I even think I knew what was going to happen next, and the story moved so quickly I was able to finish it in one sitting. I could not put it down!! If you loved Eve, you’re going to love Once even more! If you didn’t love Eve, or you haven’t read it, then here’s your chance to fall in love with Anna Carey and all of her wonderful characters! Lovers of dystopias, romances, mysteries, thrillers, and adventures will want to get their hands on this one!
--Anna of Literary Exploration
Every morning, A wakes up in a different body and a different life. The novel EveryDay starts on Day 5994 of A’s life. For this story, I wanted to go back to a day in A’s life before Every Day. Think of this as A recounting a few passing moments from his past.
As a child, I am baffled by inconsistency. Not my own inconsistency—I am used to waking up in a different body and a different life every morning. This makes sense to me. It is everyone else’s inconsistency that throws me.
It is a Saturday morning, and I am seven years old. I know it’s a Saturday from the quiet of the morning, from the fact that it’s nine in the morning and nobody is rushing me off to school or to church. I like Saturday mornings because that is when I am allowed to watch cartoons. Even in houses that don’t have all the channels, I can still find cartoons.
I stumble from room to room, looking for the TV. At this age, I don’t bother to access any memories of the house. I am happy to discover everything by wandering through. My mother is in the kitchen, talking on the phone. My father might be outside, or still asleep. The TV is in the den, which has a shaggy rug and wood walls. I am late for my nine o’clock show, but I can watch the end and then see the whole nine-thirty show. This is what I did last week, and the week before. I was in different houses, but once the TV was on, it was almost like they were the same place. Last week I had brothers and sisters, but this week I don’t think I do.
I switch on the TV and it’s too loud. I find the volume control and turn it down. It’s a commercial. I don’t really care about commercials, because even if I get things, I don’t have them for very long.
I sit on the shaggy rug and lean against the couch. This show has talking animals, and when it comes back on, the moose is arguing with the aardvark about the price of a ferry ride. The parrot keeps repeating the things they’re saying in a really funny voice, and I laugh.
“What are you doing?”
I have only been watching for five minutes, but already I’m so absorbed in what’s happening that I don’t hear her at first. Then she grabs my arm and pulls me up, and I know right away I am in trouble, big trouble, and I don’t know what for. Was I laughing too loud? Was I not supposed to sit on the carpet?
Now that I’m up, she lets go and slaps the TV off. The room is suddenly silent, and there’s nowhere to hide in that silence.
“How many times have I told you not to touch that? Did I even say you could leave your room? You are not allowed to watch such garbage.”
I have so few words at age seven. I don’t know stern or enraged or sanctimonious. All I know is mad. My mother is mad at me. Her face is mad. Her posture is mad. The sound of her words is mad.
“Go back to your room.”
I don’t hesitate. I don’t want to be in the presence of her anger one moment longer. I go back to my room and sit on the bed, waiting for her to come by, to tell me what my punishment is. But all she does is come by and shut the door. There is enough light coming in through the window to make everything in the room seeable, but the air still seems tinged in shadow.
I sit there and sit there. Time feels horizonless.
Feeling someone else’s anger is bad; being left alone is worse.
At first I am too afraid to move. But eventually I have to. There are very few books in my room, and all of them are for little kids. So I pick up the dictionary, because it is the longest book in the room, and I know it’s going to be a long day.
I learn a few words. I would rather be outside the room, using them.
There’s no reprieve until lunchtime. When my mother opens the door, she eyes the dictionary in my lap with suspicion. I’ve had time to close it, but not the time to put it on the shelf. At the very least, I don’t look comfortable.
“Have you learned your lesson?” she asks.
“Well,” she says, “we’ll see about that.”
I don’t know where my father is. His things are all around the house, so I know he has to be somewhere. He’s just not here right now.
I don’t feel I can ask where he is.
She gives me a chicken sandwich—leftovers from dinner last night, put between bread. I know to eat it all, and not to ask for more. Not because I access the thoughts of the life I’m in, but because my mother is so easy to read.
We don’t talk. We stare at other parts of the kitchen. I try to find things to read. Buttons on the microwave. The brand of the refrigerator.
I rarely feel like I’m a prisoner in a body, but I have felt like a prisoner in a house. I definitely feel like I’m a prisoner here. And I am a prisoner because, as my mother’s expression makes clear, she feels she is a prisoner to me, too.
I am not allowed television. I am not allowed to go outside. I am not given conversation. Eventually I am given dinner, but that is silent, too. My father never comes home.
The only thing I am allowed, the only thing I am given, is myself. It is enough, but only barely.
Some days are like this. And the only way to get through them is to remember that they are only one day, and that every day ends.
Text © 2012 by David Levithan.
YOU CAN MEET DAVID ON OCTOBER 12th, ALONG WITH MAGGIE STIEFVATER and ELLEN HOPKINS at BOOKS INC. OPERA PLAZA! This event will be in conjunction with TEEN QUAKE, SF's Favorite Literary Festival!
Teen Book Club - If You Make Cookies, They Will Come
Last fall, my son was a freshman at our local high school. We’re not a wealthy district – we’re very diverse both racially and socioeconomically, and we’re very proud of doing what we can with what we have. At open house that first week, I found myself in the hallway with the principal, talking about volunteer opportunities – she suggested I monitor the hall doors at lunchtime, which honestly sounded helpful but not all that fun, so I countered with starting a book club. The principal paired me with Ms. Campbell, an awesome English teacher at the school, and we put together the first meeting of our lunchtime book club.
We had almost no expectations – we hoped to get a few kids who loved to read and turn them on to some great new YA books. On the advice of the Balboa High School librarian, I made chocolate chip cookies and we put a few posters up around the school. That first lunchtime we had almost twenty kids (including four boys) and basically sat around and talked about the books we liked (and some of the books we didn’t – teens are nothing if not honest about their literature), what kinds of things they wanted to read that year and authors they’d love to meet. We decided on the first three books we wanted to read and by the next class meeting had acquired twenty copies of the books, which we passed out to the kids to take home. We met every Thursday at lunchtime and the kids ate their lunch (and their cookies) while talking books and watching book trailers online. Because the crowd sometimes swelled to almost thirty, we often broke into smaller groups with the kids who wanted to talk about the books we’d read, passing out new titles about once every three weeks or so. Over the course of the year we read ten books – everything from Holly Black’s Red Glove to Gone by Michael Grant.
One of the most popular things we did was ARC day, and it came about totally by accident. I was on Twitter one night when Maggie from Not Your Mother’s Book Club tweeted that she had a ton of ARCs and did anyone want them? I messaged her that they would be perfect for my book club and I arranged to go to their warehouse and pick up some boxes – the kids were beyond thrilled when I spread them out and let them pick whatever they wanted. Several of them looked up at me in disbelief – these were their books to take home? We did this every six weeks or so and it was a real treat when Maggie came and brought ARCs in person!
As we talked about reading, I realized that none of these kids had ever met a real author before (except me, and trust me, the novelty of me being a writer wears off before the first meeting is over) or been to a booksigning. Ms. Campbell and I got permission to do an after-school field trip and brought about fifteen of the kids to a signing with Barry Lyga and Robin LeFevers. They got to attend one of the fabulous NYMBC parties, listen to the authors speak and get autographs on bookmarks and copies of their own signed books. It was a magical night and more than one came up with tears in their eyes, telling me that it was one of the best nights they’d ever had
If you have a little bit of time and a lot of passion, you can easily start a book club of your own, either at your local high school or library. Here are a few pointers I’ve learned from this past year:
· Keep it casual. We set the same time every week, but didn’t take attendance or monitor who came and went. We wanted it to be fun, not ‘school’.
· Pick books that they’ll want to read. We tried to keep it to newer books and things that interested them. We’d often look at trailers or read synopsis to introduce the kids to an author.
· Partner with a teacher or librarian. By working with someone in the school we were able to have a place to meet where the kids could eat lunch every week. Having a teacher as part of the club also helped with fundraising…which is my next point.
· Getting class sets of books can be difficult (and expensive). We relied on private donations and used Donor’s Choose(which has to be done by a teacher) to buy class sets of 20 of each book we chose to read. Hardbacks are best because they stand up to repeated readings– we hope to use many of the same books for several years. We used an easy ‘check out list’ to keep track of who had which books.
· As much as you want to let the kids choose the books, don’t - it can get crazy. We’d let them ‘booktalk’ books they loved and see what kind of books each kid liked and then chose the books ourselves to keep it pretty diverse – we’d alternate a fantasy title with a contemporary and made sure we had titles that sparked the boy’s interest. Nobody was required to read any of the books, but many kids found they liked something in a genre they thought they hated. One of my girls told me she refused to read any book that had a girl in a dress on the cover. After losing a casual bet with me, I got her to read Matched by Allie Condie – she loved it so much she got the sequel Crossed out of the library before the next meeting.
· Mix it up with some fun things – Skype visits by an author, watching book trailers, ARC days or fieldtrips to see an author’s visit.
· Don’t be afraid – all of the kids in my club were absolutely wonderful. Nobody comes who doesn’t truly want to be there, and they’re all grateful that you come and help.
Make cookies. Seriously – that’s the best way to spark interest in the club and bring the kids in at first. But be warned, once you start, you need to make cookies every week or you won’t be able to stand the disappointment on their faces.
The last meeting of the year was bittersweet – in our district, the tenth graders to on to the main high school campus and I’ve decided to stay behind with the new crop of ninth graders. The kids surprised me with a wonderful handmade card and a cake to thank me for spending time with them - but I was the real winner. I got to spend an hour every week talking to a group of teens who are passionate about reading and introduce them to some books and authors they may not have heard of otherwise. They told me what they loved and what they didn’t and every minute I spent with them made me a better writer. I can’t wait for this fall to start all over again!
On the morning of her high school graduation, Kylie Flores wakes up hung over and
a little confused on how she ended up on the other side of the border in bed with Max
Langston, the most popular boy in school. With such a cinematic opening scene and the
authors’ background in the movie industry it’s no surprise the rest of the book reads like
it was made for a movie. From chasing after thieves that stole Kylie’s laptop to getting
trapped in a truck full of stolen goods headed to Mexico to meeting lost-long friends of
Kylie’s Mexico-born father – everything is slightly too unbelievable, but that was the fun
of it. The quick pacing and the over-the-top adventures made it a great breezy, summer
read. One to wile away the summer days.
- Reviewed by Connie from Books Inc. Opera Plaza