Skim, by Mariko Tamaki & Jillian Tamaki

I had never read a graphic novel until I picked up Skim, but I was definitely interested in doing so. I initially started with The Watchmen, which I found terribly hard to follow (the boyfriend informed me after this first futile foray that it is a particularly difficult graphic novel). Having come across some of Mariko’s writing recently and having been completely sucked in by it reminded me of the highly-praised Skim, so I decided to give it a try.

I’m happy to say it was much easier than The Watchmen. Part of it was that it was slipping back into a familiar (if equally dark and perilous environment) — high school. I may not have been a Goth or an budding Wiccan, but the Tamakis have tapped in to something most people felt in high school — different, baffled, and often alone. The cast that Skim wears from the page one until near the conclusion is a perfect metaphor for those difficult years — we’re fragile, reforming on the inside, protected by a hard shell we are always trying to refashion to signify what we would like to be within.

In Skim, the Toronto high school has been shaken by the shocking suicide of one of their classmates, and the widest range of reactions is represented from the phony  public exhibitions of sorrow to the quietest grief. But this is only one of the many things Skim must grapple with. Skim’s parents are separated and bitter, she kisses a teacher — a female teacher at that, she is a perpetual outcast, and her only friend seems to be changing. This is perhaps what resonated most with me — how Tamaki depicts the shifting allegiances that of high school, that can be both exciting and painful. Skim’s narration is concise, often scathingly funny, and completely honest, making it a pleasure to read. (“Swiss Chalet = Social black hole.”) And even as a graphic novel beginner, I could tell that Jillian Tamaki’s illustrations added a whole new depth to the text, with the size and detail of the illustration well-suited to the tone of the moment, and using varied angles and layouts on the pages to maintain interest.

Though a short book, Skim cuts right to the heart of all so many of the trials and the tribulations of the high school years, making it a good gift for a teen, or just for an adult who may need a reminder that despite uncertainty, tragedy, and social upheaval, we soldier on. Towards the end of the novel, Skim expresses the heart of the teen years and of life perfectly: “When people in the movies talk about Tarot cards, they always talk about the Death card and say it doesn’t necessarily mean you’re going to die. It’s change. But almost all the cards = change.” And so, in the end, we just try to deal with what we’re dealt.

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Word Nerd, by Susin Nielsen

I’ll admit it, despite a couple of English degrees, I’m a pretty lousy Scrabble player. Like anyone who’s ever been disembowelled by the use of a word like “QAT”  or a well-placed prefix, I realized long ago that lacking Scrabble strategy is the quickest route to failure and constant gloating from your roommate’s dad.

But I love words, and I love nerds, so when I espied Susin Nielsen’s Word Nerd, I felt like I’d just thrown a ‘Q’ down on a triple letter score. Ambrose is a twelve-year-old social outcast who is bullied to the point of near-death-by-peanut, and pulled from regular school by his overprotective mom. He turns to home schooling, but quickly gets bored of long days in the apartment, and looks for new ways for human interaction.  These include scoring invites to dinner with the Greek couple upstairs, trying to befriend their ex-con son, and eventually, joining the neighbourhood Scrabble club.

Ambrose is the kind of kid lots of a  nerds could identify with — he’s a bit of a fashion victim (I wore Northern Getaway duds longer than it was cool I think), he has a propensity for putting his foot in his mouth, and he’s not so popular in the schoolyard. And while the bullying in this book was fairly cookie cutter, it was still realistic, and I liked that Nielsen didn’t look for an easy solution — there was no befriending the bully or somehow becoming more popular.

And as much as Word Nerd is about embracing who you are and what you’re good at (not unlike a certain group of Gleeks that are taking television by storm), I also appreciated that Nielsen didn’t go for a straight up you’re-perfect-with-as-you-are message. Lose the purple cords. Think before you talk.  Whether we like it or not, growing up isn’t always about complete independence, and sometimes if you really want to fit in, you have to make a few concessions (otherwise I would fully wear my pyjamas to work every day).

I sometimes wished that Ambrose’s mom wasn’t such a paranoid mess, but I felt Nielsen gave a well-founded reason for that. On the other hand, the relationship he develops with Cosmo could reek of after-school-special, but their banter is genuine and their relationship rang true.

To wrap up:  Sharp, observant, and often funny, Word Nerd is a meangingful depiction of the painful pre-teen years, and likely to resonate beyond its target audience. And while YA shouldn’t have to teach something, and certainly shouldn’t pound in its pedantry, here the  rules of Scrabble were a nice reminder of some of the rules we live by: nobody likes a sore winner or a sore loser, work hard and you’ll improve, and most of all, especially in the teenage years,  just try to make the most of the jumble you’re given.

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Eclipse and Breaking Dawn, by Stephenie Meyer

I was about 18 pages into Eclipse and after Bella had been going on and on about Edward’s perfection (as per usual), I thought of the 1300 pages ahead and thought, “I don’t know if I can do this.” I couldn’t remember how I could possibly have enjoyed the first two as much as I did. But I turned my brain off and continued on. Once again I entered the seemingly drug-induced haze of the Twilight saga. The congested subways disappeared (good thing I’m subconsciously programmed to know when my stop is) as I waded through the angsty vamp drama.

Now, though I generally try to avoid too much plot synopsis, I’m going to end up giving it all away here, so if you don’t want to know, pick another lovely review. In Eclipse we find ourselves back in Forks where not much has changed – Bella loves Edward, Edward loves Bella. Oh and Jacob loves Bella. The main source of conflict is that a strange vampire has been in Bella’s room, and nearby in Seattle, dozens of people are being killed by vampires. It appears someone is assembling an army of uncontrollable ‘newborn vampires’ and they are after Bella and the Cullen family. The novel works up to the big battle scene (as per usual) where this time, vamps and werewolves fight together. In the romance department, the biggest developments are that Jacob forces Bella to acknowledge her love for him (team Jacob undoubtedly went wild), and Edward proposes to Bella (team Jacob got awfully quiet).  She says yes, while expressing the same apprehension about becoming a vampire.  In some ways I felt that this should have been the end of the story; however, Meyer feels the need to push the story to its final limit.

And so in Breaking Dawn we get the long-awaited nuptials, and the good, christian honeymoon, which leads to er…natural pregnancy. But of course, since Bella is still human, this is no ordinary child, and it starts growing at an unprecedented rate, putting her very survival in danger. CUT TO: an entire section in Jacob’s perspective. Though the appearance of this third of the book made me less annoyed at Meyer’s abrupt shift to Jacob’s perspective in the epilogue of Eclipse, it was somewhat jarring, and I thought, amateurish. That said, admittedly it was kind of a relief to be in Jacob’s head. We get a better appreciation of the werewolf experience, and at least there’s no fawning over Edward. I imagine this switch was partially a concession to that rabid Jacob fan base that would have been disappointed by Edward’s victory in the romance department. In this perspective, we see Bella getting sicker as the blood-drinking baby gets larger, and the violent delivery which of course, necessitates Bella becoming a vampire and the birth of the bundle of joy, whom conveniently, Jacob “imprints” on – falling madly in love with Renesmee (the baby) and conveniently out of love with her mother. CUT BACK TO: Bella who’s become a vamp. To be honest, I wasn’t sure that Meyer would do this, because newborn vampires are supposed to become bloodthirsty killers with no self control, and that’s certainly not where you want your protagonist to go at the end of four books. But conveniently, Bella just has more self-control than any vamp in history, and can avoid killing humans (including her own half-breed child).  But immortal children (vampire children) are against the strictest of vampire laws, enforced by the Volturi (the vampire rulers, whom Bella, Edward and Alice have a run-in with in the second book). And so, as Bella gets used to being a vampire (which, as with Jacob’s perspective, was interesting enough, with the exception of the fact that now with her heightened senses she can ever better appreciate Edward’s beauty…oh boy) they assemble an army of international vampires for the last stand against the Volturi. Of course they all live happily ever after. Too happily really, which reminds you that the dark edge of the book is really just a contrivance to add some dimension to a fluffy love story (Although of course, my less-critical self, was happy enough with this rom-com ending).

It’s hard to look at these books critically (due to the similar drug-like daze I mentioned earlier). I think it’s fairly safe to say that I liked the books progressively less through the 4 volumes. As the novelty wore off, the often bad writing became harder to ignore, and the plot and characters more repetitive.   The dripping sexual tension that drives the first two novels also didn’t seem to work as well (at least for me) in the last two books, though the sexual content actually increases. What drives me the most batty is that with a more ruthless editor, many of the inconsistencies and annoying tics of the books could have been eliminated. When all is said and done though, they’re still good entertainment value, and I don’t regret reading them. It IS a good story, hence the complete absorption mixed with abject self-loathing that I’ve never experienced with books before. Furthermore, they’ve now outsold Harry Potter, and while HP are the far better books, any phenomenon that gets people reading again, is a good one.  So would I recommend it? (the KIRBC was, afterall, all about recommending books) Yes, even with my reservations, I still would – join the phenomenon and I guarantee you’ve got many animated love/hate discussions ahead of you.

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