Wildwood is a book that had so much potential but, like a toddler trying to run, ends up flat on its face. In terms of characters, settings, and prose, there were glimmers of solid writing, but for the most part, the book disappoints.

Our two main characters are Prue and Curtis. Prue is a shy, introverted girl who spends most of her time sketching animals and watching her baby brother Mac, who's happened to be abducted by crows. Curtis is a lanky, unsure pacifist who hasn't outgrown drawing superheroes and doesn't have many friends—but unlike Prue, he would really like some. We see some development for these characters as the novel progresses, but neither Prue nor Curtis are particularly likable at the start, and get little better. For a girl who's shy and introverted, Prue has quite a mouth on her, and she uses it _often._ It's not even clever sass, much of the time. [Actually, many of the side characters also constantly spout 'witty' one-liners that soon get old] Prue is said to be afraid of confrontation, but she rarely shows it. When such a situation for character growth presents itself, she'll think to herself about how uncomfortable she is for a sentence, and then do something that contradicts it. It's not much of a build-up or progression. Curtis, on the other hand, is somewhat endearing in his naivety, but he's terribly inconsistent as a character; for a self-proclaimed pacifist, he very quickly resolves any moral quandaries about war and battle.

The saving grace in terms of characterization comes from the main villainess, not those two-bits that make up a minor plot point about a third of the way through this paperweight. The Dowager Governess has clever dialogue and body language that gets a sense of unease across that progressively strengthens as the novel continues, and when she's witty, it's actually funny (most of the time). While certain parts of her character arc, like her motivation, could have been strengthened, her tragic backstory and interactions with the main characters is definitely one of this novel's assets.

As for the setting, it truly was a two-edged sword. Portland is a beautiful city with many natural forests, gardens, and parks. The Wildwood clearly draws its inspirations from the state forests surrounding it, including a clever cameo from Pittock Mansion. However, the hipster eccentricities of the people, and verdant allure of the backgrounds, are only as strong as the writing, and soon felt like they were included just to remind the reader, "This is Portland!" rather than give a sense of a cohesive world—because the world also contradicted itself quite often. The society within the Wildwood, for example, is supposedly completely eco-friendly and has little to no contact with the Outside... but everyone drives cars. It's never explained why some of the animals can talk and others cannot. The size of the place is hard to grasp as well; in one instance, Prue and a friend drive from the north to the south of the Wildwood over a day and a half, but in another, an army marches that length within several hours.

Lastly, the prose itself was beautiful and very descriptive. As mentioned earlier, the setting is only as strong as the description, and for the first parts of the novel, the beauty of Portland—city and forest—translate very well. As the novel progresses, however, the writing remains overly flowery and descriptive in instances where it isn't necessary, and in certain cases is redundant, using the same phrases to refer to separate situations. (The word "pastoral" was the worst offender in this regard) The prose started to drag, and I had to stop myself from skimming. The prose was easily the best and worst thing about this book.

Furthermore, there was a very dramatic and sudden tone shift from a fairy tale-like adventure into a dark and ambiguous political drama, especially when it's found out who took Mac and why. There are children's book series that do this well—Keys to the Kingdom starts off with a remarkably whimsical, 'what-the-heck-let's-go-with-it' tone that slowly matures into a dark and complex atmosphere. Deltora Quest was light-hearted, if with high stakes at times; compare that with Dragons of Deltora, featuring gut-wrenching complex villains and genuinely horrific moments. Wildwood does not do that. It does not spread out hints of the darkness to come across seven books, or even seven chapters. It just arrives and expects everyone to welcome it in, like some sort of literary vampire.

The author does, in this darker tone, have an interesting examination into competing factions that make up the Wildwood political scene. However, this book is meant for children, and combined with the sudden shift in tone and dragging description, it's not hard to expect these nuances to fly over the reader's head.

This novel has a hard time figuring out what it wants to be; for children, it's too long and suddenly dark, but for adults, the plot is bare-bones, and the whimsy soon loses its appeal.

PS: One DEFINITE point in this book's favor is the gorgeous illustrations. They help bring the setting across in a way that complements and enhances the prose, and they're truly well-rendered pieces.

This book is a mixed bag. It's not scary—the author has stated that wasn't her intention anyway—and the plot is flat, with melodramatic characters that are told more than shown, but it was entertaining. Most of that is due to Okiku's narrative; of all the characters, she is perhaps the only developed one. A vengeful spirit, but only to those who have harmed children, she has interesting quirks and abilities derived from the Himeji legend surrounding a ghost of the same name, and at times her story is truly heartbreaking. The rest of the time, it drags.

The book really slowed down midway through; it went from kidnapping and supernatural fights to long stints of researching everybody from the first half, including Okiku, and large info-dumps about Japan. In the first few chapters in which the characters are actually in Japan, nothing particularly happens; our two human MCs Callie (mom-figure) and Tarquin ('moody' teen boy with 'innocence' fighting against an evil spirit sealed inside of him) e-mail each other about how they're adjusting to the culture shock, and Callie goes sightseeing at Himeji. Okiku just follows them around. There's a point where she even detaches herself from them and extracts revenge, almost as if she too was getting very bored. (That chapter, however, was well-written)

To be honest, as I was reading, I wondered why the author just didn't put the entire novel in Japan. Tarquin is half-Japanese, so kudos to the representation, but since the plot hinges on Japanese elements that are hard to find in small town communities like Applegate, where half the novel takes place, why not just move it all there? I think the answer is that if the characters are Americans, the author can be justified with having them 'learn' about the culture, and thus justify the info-dumps for the reader. It feels contrived. (Also, Yoko did not think her child's name through. 'Tarquin' is not exactly the easiest thing to write in katakana)

There was a fight with the 'Big Bad,' but only after reading several mind-numbing chapters of purification rites. Mikos and purification rites are entertaining, but not when they're just listed out like Okiku's hitting the checklist. Something needs to *happen* other than watching them chant sutras and set up the shrine. It's called "set up" for a reason; it should be the means, not the end.

That said, there are genuinely thrilling portions that kept me turning pages, and Okiku's narration, while odd and perhaps needing some time to get used to, is clever and fresh. It's also faithful to cultural details, with the exception of the gripes I have above. All in all, it's an interesting examination of Japanese ghost stories, but it falls flat and misses the elements that might make this a truly good book.

Frequently, trilogies suffer from "middle book syndrome," where the second book needs to have something happen, but can't really resolve anything because that's what the third book is for. "Ice Like Fire" hits some common middle book syndrome pitfalls, including a rather lackluster cliffhanger ending (nice as those action sequences were). However, it *does* resolve some plot points raised within its pages, so it doesn't feel like a waste of time; in fact, its solid pacing delivers goody after goody.

This book is a superb improvement over the first, and fixed a lot of its problems (except for explaining limits to the conduits or why Primoria has such weird naming mechanisms... those are still unresolved, and just as annoying). Many characters see quite a bit of fleshing out. Nessa, for example, becomes a better and better character in almost every scene she graces in the latter half of the novel; her speech to Meira was pure awesomeness at its finest. Unfortunately, I still can't tell the difference between Conall and Garrigan, and the introduced 'Children of the Thaw' might as well have been three characters instead of six, but we also see great development for Sir, Dendera, Allyson, Theron, and Mather, who is both annoying and enticing at the same time—the way only a three-dimensional character can be. Raasch's writing seems more fluid, natural, and less purple, as a whole, as well; there's a lot of genuinely pretty description and dialogue!

Meira shines again. There's something about her that makes me like her a lot more than other YA heroines I've read. Maybe it's because she's both hotheaded and willing to die for those she cares about, while still remaining coolheaded enough to think through those implications. She has her moments, but she learns from them. She's come a long way from the dense, impetuous girl in the first book. Granted, she's still a little dense where the plot demands, but it's *loads* better.

In terms of plot, the twist at the end is clever, subtly foreshadowed enough to make it believable but not so obvious that it's coming from a mile away. Ceridwen's subplot was also refreshing and served more than to simply pad the word count, as did Meira's interactions with various kingdoms' monarchs. (I'm a little sad we couldn't spend more time in Steam Punk Rhythm... though as awesome as it is, the question of why one country has elevators and central heating and electricity and the others are standard medieval Western fantasy is merely hand waved away...).

However, Raasch loses points for killing off a character right after having a Moment (oh, do I hate that trope), and for using brainwash as a partial villain motivation. Villains are more interesting when they have to own up to their guilt and make excuses for it with their own sense of morals, not when the author and the characters can ignore their issues and say it wasn't really their fault. That's why Noam, who sets out to control Winter just because he wants to, for his own kingdom's benefit, was more intriguing than Angra, who destroyed the place and threw its citizens in work camps because... the Decay was clouding his mind and telling him to. Sadly, this problem hits the other new villains introduced in this installment as well. More of the Decay clouding people's minds, rather than people showing depth or Machiavellian tactics towards what they believe is an honestly good future.

No. Just... no. Brainwashed villains by some dark, evil, miasmic force is a crutch, and I'm getting rather bored of seeing authors use it.

Three stars because the worldbuilding is gorgeous (despite some weird names for countries and the proliferation of the "Aerith and Bob" trope... also, I can't take the MC seriously when she shouts things like "We are Winter!"), but some of the characters are dense as lead. When you capture a Winterian going for their stolen magic locket, do not tie them to your horse and put the locket in a satchel *right next to them.* Is it a big shocker when they manage to escape with it, then?

The plot is intriguing surprisingly dark in places for a YA novel. Winterians have lost their homeland, their traditions, and even their hope, because really, when the future depends on eight refugees, two of whom are hormonal teenagers, and a MacGuffin, I'd have lost hope too. Though the prose can get purple at times, Meira, our MC, describes this setting with just enough regret to make it truly heartbreaking in places. I genuinely liked Meira. She was whiny in places, and delightfully selfish—and I say that because she actually puts aside her "normal" problems when the situation calls for it, and even has a "Get a grip, girl!" moment when she tells herself that really, she has better things to worry about. I loved it. It was refreshing to see a YA heroine who realizes her biggest issue is *not* which boy to marry (though, sadly, the love triangle persists).

She's also not too bright and should have seen the big twist a mile away, but ah well. We can't have everything. Despite most of the main characters being surprised at obvious foreshadowing's conclusions, they're rather likable, even if a few are cardboard cutouts. They're cardboard cutouts with potential, though, and I look forward to seeing how they'll be developed over the next two books.

Usually I don't continue 3/5 star book series (sorry, Legend and The Maze Runner), but this one has me intrigued enough to continue on.

Standard YA dystopia- nothing more, nothing less. Not bad, but not good.

Riveting! I kept turning pages to see what'd happen next; I was seriously invested in Goldeye, Ninde, Drum, and Ella's struggle for survival.

The characters were all believable and experience great, subtle development as the story progresses. Even Shade. Who is, for all intents and purposes, a computer. The teens felt like teens, and the Overlords were kept distant, alien, and inhuman until the very end; in fact, we learn little about them personally other than that it's all a game, and that actually makes them even more compelling in their childlike, egoistic and non-empathetic desire to simply win.

(Though I must note... *seven* Overlords, four male and three female...? Gee, when has that motif been done before in a Garth Nix book? Jk.)

Foreshadowing is great, and though there was the occasional "head-hopping," the writing for the most part is crisp and vivid.

The world building was tight too, with just enough revealed to let the reader know what's going on, but also the minimum to allow them to fill in the blanks, making the world feel even more expansive and broad.

There are some slight unexplained logistical concerns (How'd the Overlords show up in the first place? Are they all in one restricted area of the world, since all seven and the MCs are within 100 miles of each other at all times? If that's the case... are there small but multiple free societies out there like Doc's in "You Won't Feel a Thing"?). For the most part, though, they aren't so bad that it throws the reader out of the story. The Lottery and resulting subplot is completely unnecessary, and I feel actually cheapens Ninde and Goldeye's relationship. They've already got plenty of reasons to fall in love that aren't as shallow as the physical (saving each other's lives, for example), which is actually why Drum and Ella's relationship seems cuter and more tragic.

Despite some slight grievances, it's overall a solid work of science fiction about fighting and succeeding against enemies seemingly greater than the self. 4/5 stars.

I give it kudos for having a pretty interesting concept, but unfortunately, for a book called "The Maze Runner," main character Thomas spent precious little time in the Maze. Most of the book is spent with Thomas either getting accustomed to the Glade, breaking the rules of the Glade, or mulling over the secrets of the Maze inside the Glade. That said, the scenes in the Maze were pretty interesting to read and rather enjoyable- unfortunately, it was at a smaller percentage of the book than I hoped it would be.

Besides the 'withholding important info' way of progressing the plot and Thomas's complete Marty Stu affliction (complete with his instalove with Theresa- yeah, they knew each other before, but weren't they both amnesiacs who knew nothing about THEMSELVES, much less their romance?), Dashner has an annoying method of telling rather than showing. I kid you not, there was one scene where he writes, 'Thomas helped out a bit, then asked Minho if he could assist. Minho told him to get busy because he had a special mission to do, and Thomas felt hurt.' I'm paraphrasing a little, but that's exactly how it went down. Why didn't he just write that dialogue? It could have taken four sentences, and it could have been something as simple as this:

"Hey, Minho, can I help out?"

"Buzz off, Greenie. I have something else to do- a special mission- and you can't be hanging around ruining my concentration."

"Sorry," Thomas huffed, skulking away.

I'm sure other people could write better dialogues of the same scene. But still. The fact that in this scene and others, dialogue is summarized when it could be easily written, was grating and repetitive.

One of the worst moments, stylistically speaking- and I won't even mark this as a spoiler because it's so insignificant (and predictable) in the way Dashner writes this- is when Thomas figures out the code to the Maze and needs the maps to show his enlightenment to everyone else. But GASP! The maps are all destroyed! Thomas gets upset and tells everyone he had figured out the secret... and then DOUBLE GASP! The other kids admit they lied and the maps are fine. That sort of scene could have had potential, except for the fact that were was no tension throughout since there was almost no space between thinking the maps are destroyed and realizing they aren't. The 'fact' the maps are gone is blown away before the reader can even process what that means, and it's even worse considering that the book gives absolutely no context why the boys would hide that from Thomas- another character they hid it from makes sense (due to context), but Thomas?

Overall, an average read. Three stars because it kept me interested enough to finish reading it, but the horrible ending and the problems above made this merely 'okay' at best. I probably won't be reading the rest of the series; since all of the characters feel and talk exactly the same (seriously- try replacing a dialogue tag with another character and see if it changes anything; it doesn't), I'm not remotely interested how their struggle will end.

The Knife of Never Letting Go made me think it'd be a settler saga about this New World (which is actually a planet; very sci-fi feel) where all the men can hear each other's thoughts, and all the women died out. And in a way, it is, but to say that's ALL it is would be miscontruing.

The story follows Todd Hewitt, who is due to become a man soon. One day, he's out at the swamp collecting apples for his uncles when he finds *gasp* a girl! And suddenly he has to leave his town behind to run for his life with this random girl he just met, who we later learn is named Viola. Why? We don't know. Is it because he met the girl? Because he's close to becoming a man? Because no one really wanted him to bring back apples from the swamp in the first place?

The book is written in a strange sort of dialect, with intentional misspellings to show Todd's way of speaking. I had a bit of a chuckle when he tried to correct Viola for her English, since she was speaking the closest thing to what we would consider 'proper' English nowadays. But everyone thought she was weird for it. I really enjoy the way Ness has made Todd's voice shine through like that, though, and I like the different fonts that indicate different men's Noise, or thoughts.

However, the book feels a little repetitive at times. Run from the bad guys, Todd and Viola argue, they make up, the bad guys show up, they pull some escape by the skin of their teeth, run some more, feel they're safe, and then... rinse and repeat. About the third time this happened, I was starting to feel quite a bit of deja vu. But at least there are plenty of plot twists and revelations to keep you guessing (even though some of them are fairly predictable, especially once you get at least halfway through the book; for example, no one really stays dead, so I stopped marvelling at each 'But I thought you died!' encounter Todd had).

Even with the deja vu feel of it, however, I was really enjoying this book. It had a nice, grasping rhythm, and Todd and Viola were absolutely adorable together. I was going to give it four stars- until I got to the end. Without spoiling too much, it was a terrible cliff-hanger and made me feel like I just wasted all that time reading it. I'm a little mad about it, but I suppose there's nothing for it but to read the sequel if I really want to know what happens next in Todd and Viola's little saga. Unfortunately, the cliff-hanger trick makes me wonder if the author might pull a similar shenanigan in the next one...

Yet another treat by author Garth Nix.

The first story is a short novella about Nicholas Sayre. It's an interesting take on Old Kingdom creatures in Ancelstierre, a formula that definitely made for interesting reading (but sadly meant we didn't see much of Lirael until the end of the novella...).

The collection also has two takes on Arthurian mythos, each with a slightly different angle than one might expect, a retelling of Hansel and Gretel in a modern setting, and other pleasurable shorts such as that of a boy in Australia whose father wants to sell the family Hill, a Choose-Your-Own-Adventure style short, and a science fiction twist on your typical Western, not to mention the prologue of his New Really Epic Fantasy Series. The collection is overall very enjoyable if a bit short, but that's why they are, after all, short stories.

Each story is introduced with a short note explaining when and why Nix first wrote the story, as well as some miscellaneous information about it. These provided rather useful at times for those who might be interested in that sort of information.

All in all, a quick read that somehow still retains enough detailed world-building to hint at worlds that could be explored if Nix just chose to, this collection will definitely delight a die-hard Nix fan, or even a more casual reader looking for something enjoyable to while away the time.

This was okay. I am a reader who likes puzzling through prose--I firmly believe novels should take full advantage of the medium and do something beautiful with it, the same way a filmmaker plays with shadow and color to not only convey the story but to do so with style. This book did not do the equivalent with its prose, which isn't an indictment so much as a statement of something that could have, but didn't, rescue the other parts of the novel.

The plot is the most interesting portion, and the development of a society of blind underwater aliens was also a point in the book's favor. Most characters, however, have little skin on their metaphorical bones and act stupidly to get the plot-ball rolling. None of them are particularly relatable, except Broadtail (though I am rather well-disposed towards characters who just want to Do the Science). I am convinced switching main character status from Rob, whose entire personality is cheesecake, pranks, and anime, to his girlfriend Alicia would have greatly improved the feeling of flat characters. She spends 99% of the book working to fix Rob's messes while he decides to commit further international (intergalactic?) incidents.

In all, the plot was neat even if characters and most of the setting (except the underwater aliens) were lacking, but in a way, that's damning it with faint praise.