The Australian Library and Information Association has realised a campaign kit for its members outlining advocacy opportunities for the upcoming federal election.  It’s aimed at achieving some admirable goals, both in terms of support of the profession and work of librarians, and in ensuring Australians’ rights to free access to information are upheld.   ALIA has previously come out swinging on the issue of internet censorship, partnering with the likes of Google and Yahoo! to release a very sensible statement on the issues surrounding the proposed filter.

That said, it is a little disappointing to see that internet filtering is listed as the eighth of ten lobbying priorities, given that the issue has the potential to be not only broad reaching, but destructive of what we as librarians try to do, and given that it’s been a major promise (or as I prefer to think of it, threat) of the Labor government, with the Liberal unsurprisingly offering no opposition or alternative, and Steven Conroy’s facile comments about not supporting child pornography being given a lot of airtime.  Although Labor has wisely shooed the filter to the back of its media blitz for the time being, given its lack of popularity with the public, it will not be forgotten about or rejected any time soon.  Now is a great time for librarians, and our industry body, to really take part in discussions about the future of free access to information in Australian society.

The campaign kit is comprehensive and well put together, and I urge library types to take a look at it.  ALIA may not always get it right, but the issues they raise are important, and now is the perfect time to raise them.

Q: HOW MANY ZOMBIES DOES IT TAKE TO RUIN A SOCIAL LIFE?
A: NOT MANY.

Megan Berry is a Zombie Settler by birth, which means she’s part-time shrink to a whole bunch of semi-dead people with killer issues. All Megan really wants is to go to homecoming, but when you’re trailed by a bunch of slobbering corpses whenever you leave the house, it’s kinda hard to score a date. Let’s just say Megan’s love life could use some major resuscitation.

Megan’s convinced her life can’t get any worse – until someone in school starts using black magic to turn average, angsty Undead into scary, hardcore flesh-eating Zombies. Now it’s up to Megan to stop the Zombie apocalypse. Her life – and more importantly, the homecoming dance – depends on it.

In a lot of ways, You Are So Undead to Me is Buffy with zombies instead of vampires.  Whether or not that’s a good thing will, of course, depend on your perspective.  And while Buffy has spawned a slew of outright imitators and just generally a lot of interested in the kick-arse-girl-fights-monsters genre (yay!), this is one of the better kinda-homages I’ve come across for a while.

Megan Berry is a high school student, aspiring cheerleader, and Zombie Settler – not that she remembers that last part, until an undead turns up on her doorstep right before a hot date and needs to be settled.  Megan has Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder as a result of being attacked by Reanimated Corpses as a child, which are the evil beings more often associated with zombism.  She doesn’t remember her powers or anything about the Settler world, until her powers begin to re-emerge and it becomes apparent that someone is out to get her.  That’s when gore starts to hit the fan and Megan is assigned a bodyguard/teacher in the form of Ethan, a dishy older guy who used to be her best friend before the Reanimated Corpse attack.

One of the things I really enjoyed about You Are So Undead to Me is the book’s zombie lore – while Reanimated Corpses are the relentless, brain-hungering monsters we’ve come to know and love from movies, actual zombies, the kind Megan settles, are more like traditional ghosts – folks with something to get off their chests before they can finally rest.  The fact that zombies are drawn to Settlers around their own age adds a tint of pathos to what is otherwise a frequently frothy book, particularly when Megan remembers her powers manifesting as a young child, and visitations from pre-school zombies.

Jay’s writing makes the story bounce along, with just the right amount of genuine horror and reality mixed into an otherwise humourous, bubbly story.  Megan isn’t given to a great deal of introspection, but she’s smart in her own way and likeable regardless; she reminded me a little of both Louise Rennison’s Georgia Nicholson and Legally Blonde‘s Elle Woods.  Her “realness” is frequently what gives the story both its pull and its humour – like her anxiety about getting rid of an inconvenient undead not because he’s a dead guy in her loungeroom, but because she’s about to go on a high school popularity-defining date with a hot guy from the football team.

You Are So Undead to Me is the first book in a series; Undead Much? has recently been released, and My So-Called Death will be released in Australia later this year.  I’ll be looking forward to both.  I suspect that “high school zombie novel” is a trickier genre to get right than it appears to be, and Stacey Jay does it very well.

It feels kind of pointless to write about travels having not having uploaded any photos, but this gives some indication of how behind I am in simple tasks.  It’s also why I’m not posting about the libraries I visited just yet – illustrations are good!

It was my first time on the east coast of America – my husband Stuart and I travelled to Washington DC (him for a conference) and New York.

It is a small point of pride for me that we spent our first wedding anniversary in New York, eating amazing Mexican food in Chelsea before going to see the Dwarves at Bowery Electric.  That show was one of the best I’ve been to in a long time – I’m only a casual Dwarves fan, but they were fantastic live, and the energy in the crowd (and the pit) was electric.  I would’ve danced the night away with the rest of the crowd had I not been feeling less than brilliant; however, I got almost as much beer spilt on me as I would’ve dancing anyway, so it’s a wash, really.  As for the wedding anniversary aspect, I like to think that we’ve started as we plan to continue – and when you run away to Vegas to get married by Elvis, you kind of set yourself a precedent anyway.

My favourite way to structure a holiday is to do touristy stuff that interests me during the day (and since I love museums and galleries, there was a lot to keep me entertained), and try to sample the local nightlife of an evening.  This trip I was also able to catch up with some old friends, which was absolutely fabulous and I’m so pleased we were able to arrange it!  We also managed to view karaoke performed with a live band in the East Village, Amanda Palmer and Jason Webley’s gig in DC (I would say the Evelyn Evelyn gig, but we actually managed to miss that part of it), and a taping of the Letterman Show that proved the man is even more smugly loathsome in the flesh.

America, I have to say, does museums really well.  It also does diversity in museums really well.  Shamefully, I did not get to nearly as many of the Smithsonians as I’d planned, but I adored the Natural History museum; Stuart suggested that I should seek work as a museum guide.  If anyone from the Smithsonian Institution is reading this, and you want to liven up your guided or audio tours with a guide who declares things like “Fuck yeah, MASTODONS!” and “Hey look, it’s the Starbucks logo chick!” (admittedly that was about a siren statue at the Metropolitan Museum of Art), contact me!

It was two slightly unusual museums that really stood out for me, though.  We took a day trip to Philadelphia to visit our friend Steph, who very kindly took us to the Mutter Museum, the College of Physicians’ medical museum.  Dead things in jars are my favourite type of museum exhibit, but many of the exhibits were still…challenging, to say the least.  Challenging and fascinating, of note for many reasons but partly, I think, because so many of the items on exhibit would have been collected in ways that would be considered unethical today.  The wall of skulls (exactly what it sounds like), for example, had a number of Eastern European and gypsy skulls that I suspect may not have been attained in the most wonderful of ways.  Another big challenge were the books bound in human skin; interestingly, this was done as a sign of respect for the deceased, rather than with the horrible intentions later evidenced by the Nazis.  That said, the one that still had a tattoo visible completely creeped me out.

As to the title of this post…given that I’ve read that syphilis is making a comeback, I think it would be very educational to send people with a laissez faire attitude towards sexual health for a visit, where they could see casts of faces affected by sores, and skulls damaged by late-stage syphillis infections.  Having also seen pictures of what syphilis microbes look like, I feel like I’ve followed the damn disease from its conception, as it were, to its bitter end.  And recalling some of those casts and skulls kind of makes me want a shower.

While You Were Away…

Posted by Aimee under Uncategorized

Well.  Exciting times in the ol’ homeland.  Of course, we would have a leadership spill that results in a new Prime Minister – and Australia’s first female PM – the one time I’m overseas for a holiday.

I’m still trying to catch up on all the news; my husband Stuart and I returned home yesterday, and most of our time was spent sleeping off jet lag.  I mostly kept up with what was happening while I was away through text messages and emails from friends, and Twitter, with the occasional peek at the Age website.  Hooray for living in an age of digital communications!

So I’m not as well informed about Julia Gillard’s rise to the role of PM as I could be, but since that’s never stopped anyone from forming an opinion about anything, I’m going to post about it anyway.

I am…cautiously optimistic, but I’m witholding full optimism until a Gillard-lead Labor government is put into place by the people of Australia.  I think it’s worth noting that, even though we don’t directly elect our PM in the way that Americans elect their President, a lot of people seem to consider that we do.  And I don’t think that’s just ignorance of how the Westminster system works (although that probably accounts for some of it) – both Tony Abbott and Kevin Rudd have referred to the Australian people electing their PM, and one would think that they’re both pretty well-versed in how the system works.  It’s an acknowledgement of how much Australian politics is a game of personality, of good-old-boyness and appearing to be a Top Bloke.  John Howard played that game well enough and long enough that he had a enough voters convinced of his Top Blokeness, even as he put actions into place that would shaft a large proportion of the public.

So I guess that Gillard still needs to convince voters of her Top Nonblokeness, although there seems to be a lot of goodwill aimed her way.  I am certainly excited at the prospect of having a female, unmarried, non-religious Prime Minister.  I don’t think Gillard’s success is necessarily a blow for feminism though; if women getting into positions of political power were always a sign that we’ve achieved all the goals of our movement, then Margaret Thatcher would be a feminist icon. 

That said, part of the Top Blokeness of the past has relied upon pollies convincing voters of their squeaky-clean, upstanding personal lives, with faithful wives and 2.3 kids and blah blah whitepicketfencecakes.  The fact that we’ve got a leader who quite openly does not have those things, and who has weathered criticism from her opponents about not having those things with a great deal of grace, makes this recently married but cheerfully “deliberately barren” woman quite happy, because I think it’s a step forward regardless of gender.  Yes, we want our elected representatives to be upstanding people, but a person’s upstandingness does not hinge on whether they’re a “family” man or woman who’s done the marriage and children thing.  I’d like to think that maybe, this is a small step forward in moving away from so much political pandering to families at the expense of others.  I’d also like to think it’s perhaps part of a cultural shift away from traditional values about a person’s worth, when the Shadowy Figures who helped support Gillard’s rise to the top think that an unmarried, female, childless atheist with a unionist background is what the country wants.

Personally, I’m waiting for What Gillard Does Next (presumably not become a professional travel companion).  I’d like to see the internet filtering shenanigans ditched once and for all, because as a person who likes freedom of information and, for that matter, as a professional librarian who likes the same thing, DO NOT WANT.  I’d like to see a government that doesn’t pander to Big Mining (you may say I’m a dreamer…), and I’d like to see Gillard use her status to work towards improving the status of all women, which is what would make hers a feminist Prime Ministership.  And about a million other things.  I don’t ask for much.

In the meantime, I will continue for now to enjoy the little frisson I get when I’m listening to the radio and hear the words “Prime Minister Julia Gillard”.

Conference Aftermath

Posted by Aimee under Uncategorized

I’m currently sitting on a couch at SLQ’s The Edge, and had every intention of writing a comprehensive rundown of the 12s-24s@ Your Library conference while it was all still fresh in my mind.  I even have my bulgingly full notebook with me.  However, several weeks’ worth of sleep deprivation are getting the better of me (although I’m going to try to sleep away as much of the Sydney-LA flight as possible to make up my sleep debt).  I am feeling distinctly manky, at least in a mental sense, although the cold I’ve been having an off-and-on affair with for the last few weeks is threatening to settle in, right in time for the long-haul flight to DC.  Lovely.  So an actual meaty entry about all this will have to wait until I’m in a better mental state to unravel things (not to mention read my own handwriting, which is so appalling that I’ve been accused of writing with my feet in the past).

Presenting and attending the conference were wonderful experiences (and now I think I’ve got a taste for this kind of thing, which would bring the percentage of people in my household who write papers for and present at conferences up to 100%).  Leonee and I have met so many wonderful people and had such a good time.  It was great to meet new faces, and put faces to names I’d seen on e-lists or heard glowing things about.  It was also fantastic to be in an environment with so much enthusiasm and energy for library youth services provision; an absolute blessing, in fact.

There was a reasonable amount of live Tweeting happening (although I didn’t get around to much of it myself); if you’re curious, the hashtag is #12to24.  Leonee has also finally bowed down to the pressure to join Twitter; you can find her at @LeoneeAriel.

One of the things I’m planning to do when I get back, along with writing up a report about it all and thinking further about how I can turn what I’ve learned this weekend into concrete planning for my own library service, is to make a page on this website with the collection development information we shared in our presentation.  The slides we had were only a small sample of what we use for youth-focused collection development, but several people suggested that it would be a great thing to have easy access to, so I figure it will be good to have it as a working document here for anyone who’s interested, perhaps with a broader focus than our rather Melbourne-centric one.  If you’d like to have some input, feel free to contact me via email or twitter.

I jump on a plane tomorrow afternoon, and it looks like I’ll be meeting with the youth services manager of the DC Public Library while I’m in town, which is very exciting.  No rest for the wicked(ly nerdy librarian).

One of the things I find embarrassingly exciting about flying overseas is picking which books to take to read on the plane.  I’ve got a fair bit of YA on my TBR pile at the moment, including Karen Healey’s debut novel Guardian of the Dead, which I’m ridiculously excited about reading.  Expect some further reviews when I get back.

I’m about to head off to Brisbane (well, Logan City via Brisbane) with my colleague with whom I’ve co-authored a paper on engaging urban youth with public libraries.  After months of preparation, it seems strange that it’s finally come around, to be quite honest.  This is my first conference paper, and also my first time presenting anything like this (although I like to think various public speaking arrangements across the years, and my regular Storytime gig have prepared me somewhat – at least none of the conference delegates are likely to tickle my knees or express affection by drooling on me).  Hopefully, however, it won’t be the last, in either case.

Our paper is second up tomorrow morning, the first day of the conference, and I will be bringing my best game face and trying not to talk too fast (quite the challenge as I normally speak at a rate of kilometres per hour at the best of times).

After I get back from the conference, I head off almost immediately to join my husband in Washington DC, where he’s also presenting at a conference, and then we’ll be taking a small holiday in New York City.  Posting may be thin on the ground around these parts until we return, but I’ll see how I go.

I’m planning to visit the Library of Congress in DC and the New York Public Library at the very least; there may be some others in there too.  I take my duties as a professional nerd very, very seriously.

See you on the other side!

So there’s been a bit of stuff in the news lately about the mother from Florida who decided she didn’t want her daughters reading the Gossip Girl books, and decided that the best, smartest and most sensible option to go with was to steal the books from her local library and keep them.  For three years.

Tina Harden is on record as saying “It’s not that I lost the books or I didn’t feel like turning them in,” she said. “I want us to work together. Hopefully they have the same goals as I do.”  I think she’ll probably find that libraries rarely have the same goals in mind as censorship-happy wowsers who steal public property.

The sense of entitlement in her comments boggles my mind.  Sure, parents can and should play a role in deciding what they want their children exposed to (although I’d argue that, by the time they hit their teens, you should be giving them a liiiiittle bit of freedom to make some of these decisions themselves).  How on earth can someone possibly think they have the right to decide what other people’s children should read?  As a librarian, I should probably be used to this kind of thing by now, given that I’m an avid fan of the ALA’s Banned and Challenged Book Lists, although fortunately my own career has so far been free of these kind of challenges.

She is also on record as saying that she hopes the library will waive the paltry $85.00 in fines she accrued while making her point.  I think she’s lucky she’s not being charged with theft; a similar stunt from a bookstore would no doubt result in charges, regardless of whether the stock was recovered, and rightly so.

On a similar note, Dan Gutman, the author of the My Weird School series of short children’s novels, has a great article about novel content and censorship.  Gutman’s starting point is a letter from a concerned/outraged parent who accuses him of committing a “literary abomination”, which is a little harsh, and also makes me suspect that the parent in question has never read any of Dan Brown’s books.

Gutman makes many excellent points in his article, most strikingly to me:

“Nearly all the complaints I receive inform me that it’s my responsibility as an author to promote positive messages and moral lessons in my books. Honestly, that never even crossed my mind. I always thought it was the parent’s responsibility to raise their children.”

Well played, Mr Gutman.  The idea that every book for children and young adults should contain Important Messages or moral guidance is well-meaning but completely misguided, and has lead to the publication of some bog-awful books.  Children and young adults read for the same reasons that adults do, and should be allowed to do so without the wringing of adults hands concerned with whether they’re learning something or gaining moral guidance from everything they rake their eyes over.

The idea that we should ban or keep books away from children and teens because they might “get ideas” is a furphy.  The whole thing with books is that they’ve got ideas in them – it’s like banning them on the basis of that humourous euphemism “contains language”.  Of course it contains language.  It’s a bloody book.   But worrying that books alone will Corrupt Our Youth ignores the positive functions of literature, while ignoring that you can’t control the host of other factors that will influence children and teens, like, oh I don’t know, being a member of society.  One of the functions of literature is that has the potential to both complement and expand our experiences of the world.  Censoring books takes away people’s freedom to engage with that experience.  It generally doesn’t work in the long run (does Tina Harden really think that her daughters couldn’t read Gossip Girl anywhere else, or that the library couldn’t replace its copies of the books she stole?), and on the rare occasions when it does work, we are all poorer for that lack of intellectual freedom.  Especially those of us whom censors would seek to protect – children and youth, for whom books can be a fantastic tool for making sense of the world.

Forget everything you ever knew about unicorns…

The sparkly, innocent creatures of lore are a myth. Real unicorns are venomous, man-eating monsters with huge fangs and razor-sharp horns. And they can only be killed by virgin descendants of Alexander the Great.

Fortunately, unicorns have been extinct for a hundred and fifty years.

Or not.

Astrid Llewelyn has always scoffed ather eccentric mother’s stories about killer unicorns. But when one of the monsters attacks her boyfriend in the woods – thereby ruining any chance of him taking her to prom – Astrid learns that unicorns are real and dangerous, and she has a family legacy to uphold. Her mother packs her off to Rome to train as a unicorn hunter at the ancient cloisters the hunters have used for centuries.

However, at the cloisters, all is not what is seems. Outside, the unicorns wait to attack. And within, Astrid faces other, unexpected threats: from crumbling, bone-covered walls that vibrate with a terrible power to the hidden agendas of her fellow hunters to – perhaps most dangerously of all – her growing attraction to a handsome art student… and a relationship that could jeopardize everything.

This review contains minor spoilers.

I am having a particularly good run with young adult fiction lately, in that I keep picking up books that make me read them compulsively, sometimes furtively, until I’m done.  Out of that already excellent selection, Rampant is a particularly notable find.

I have to admit, unicorns are a mythological beastie I have a prejudice against, because I tend to like my beasties dark and nasty and not farting rainbows (or sparkling in sunlight, ahem).  Too much rainbow farting and no horn-impaling makes Aimee something something.  Until now, my favourite unicorn appears in a few of Terry Pratchett’s Discworld novels, as the pet of the Queen of the Elves.  And he was only a bit player anyway.

No one could accuse the unicorns in Rampant of farting rainbows.

Borrowing from folklore that posits that unicorns are more likely to spike and devour you than take you on their back to a special land of fairies and cake, Rampant’s unicorns are venomous, bloodthirsty, and fairly revolting in general, but also at times amazing, and even sympathetic.  They are not at all a creature with whose pictures you would decorate a child’s bedroom, unless you wanted to traumatise the child in question.

But enough on unicorns.  What really makes Rampant sing, and what makes it stand out in a sea of stellar YA fiction, are the characters, particularly the main character, Astrid Llewelyn.  Astrid is smart, snarky, brave and a little neurotic – pretty much what you’d expect from someone who’s just discovered that a mythological being exists and she’s descended from a line of people who are powerful enough to kill it.  The supporting cast of characters, from Astrid’s American schoolmates to the fellow hunters she meets in the cloisters in Rome, are convincingly drawn, right down to the briefest encounters.  The dialogue is realistic, fast, fresh and occasionally hilarious, and Astrid’s inner monologue is part Buffy, part Daria, and part something else entirely that makes it unique.  She’s the kind of girl you’d want to hang out with because she’s so awesome and cool, and not just because she could save you from being gored and eaten.

Peterfreund remains faithful to the unicorn folklore that states that only virgins can tame them, and I loved how she used this; in the hands of a lesser writer, it’s the kind of thing that could potentially make me want to throw a book across the room.  The topic of sex and virginity in YA novels can always be counted on to get folks raging on all sides of the sexual politics spectrum.  Peterfreund’s unicorn hunter characters are all discovering their powers – and how conditional they are – right at a point in their lives where they’re also discovering their sexuality, and deciding what they want out of their relationships with boys, and the confusion that all this causes is pitch-perfect.  Astrid does not meekly accept that her powers are fully dependent on her virginity, and her resulting internal conflict provides some tense and dramatic moments.

Likewise, I was very impressed with how Peterfreund dealt with the issue of rape; again, a topic that many writers struggle with and cop out on, she deals with it coolly and compassionately, with a sneaky, kick-arse dismissal of the idea of “grey rape”, and a sensitive understanding of self-blame and survivor psychology.  I wish more novels – not just YA but fiction in general – dealt with this topic with the same level of compassion and humanity, rather than lazily using it, as is often the case, as a convenient plot point (motive for revenge!  The character development you have when you’re not actually developing a character!  Just random filler!  Whatever!), or treating it as something that inevitably happens to female characters, particularly in situations where there are other types of violence.

I could probably write an essay on how much I like this book, and why.  Quite easily, in fact.  I will be recommending it to people regardless of their age and their stance on the Zombies vs Unicorns debate (like I mentioned on Twitter, I’m a staunch Team Zombie girl, but Rampant has almost swayed me).  The story moves at a cracking pace, there’s a lot of intrigue, some of it out of left field at times, and, really, how many folklore-based, well-written feminist action novels do you get to read?

Oh Australia,

I love you, and I’ve lived in you all my life, but sometimes I think I don’t understand you very well.  There’s a lot of aspects of your culture that confuse and enrage me, like Luhr from the planet Omicron Persei 8 and the concept of “wuv”.

So, Age columnist Catherine Deveny has lost her job, over Logies-related tweets that were considered offensive.  Particularly, from what I gather, those about Bindi Irwin.  I wasn’t following Deveny’s live tweets at the time, so I’ve only read what’s been reproduced in the media.  I didn’t think the comments were out of character and, while they may have been a little off-colour, I can see the point that Deveny was trying to make, because it’s a point I’ve often made myself, and I’ve done so in similar ways; apparently, however, dark humour and irony aren’t allowed in discussing the sexualisation of children in the media.

There’s a lot of commentary flying back and forth from all sides.  Some of it is well-reasoned and thoughtful and some…not so much.

I think Deveny’s general fearlessness when it comes to tackling controversial issues in her writing is admirable and much-needed.  Yes, she sometimes deliberately courts controversy, but this doesn’t make her arguments ingenuous.  Criticisms of her work are often far more ingenuous than anything she might do to draw attention to said work anyway; the problem is actually that often they’re not criticisms of her work, but her, personally, as a woman and occasionally as a mother.

Part of the angst about Deveny seems to be that she is apparently part of the “elite”; she makes no bones about her dislike of many aspects of Australian culture, and this sort of thing rarely makes one popular.  If you want to be a woman and popular in the Australian media, it helps to be perky and inoffensive, rather than a smart, mouthy, atheist feminist.

But, Australia, what worries me about you is that, as you’re baying for Catherine Deveny’s blood (as you’ve bayed for Germaine Greer’s before her – at least she’s in good company), and writing mean-spirited blog posts, tweets, and comments on mainstream media websites, you’re revealing your own blind spot.  You’re revealing your vicious streak, the anger you harbour against women (especially of the feminist stripe), the resentment that they won’t stay in their place and do what you want them to.

Because while Catherine Deveny loses her job, Matthew Johns gets a TV show, Sam Newman continues his stronghold in the mainstream media, and Kyle Sandilands is somehow still employed doing anything at all but commercial radio more specifically.

One of these people wrote some things on Twitter.  One of these people was accused of taking part in a pack rape, which the media gleefully referred to as a “group sex scandal”, and has apologised in the media for, essentially, the fact that he was caught out.  One of these people used a segment of his popular sports-related TV show to dress up a mannequin to recognisably resemble a female sports reporter, and then beat the mannequin to pieces.  One of these people brought a fourteen-year-old girl on his show to grill her about her sex life, and when she broke down and revealed she’d been raped at twelve, asked her if that was her only sexual experience.

One of these things is not like the others.

One of these things is out of a job, and the others aren’t.

Catherine Deveny doesn’t need me to defend her; she is quite capable of that herself.  But while she gets roasted over an open fire (mmm, delicious scapegoat), your culture, Australia, gets to pretend that it’s fighting the big fights, and that nothing is wrong.  She’ll be right, mate.

Except she won’t, because she isn’t.

I love you, Australia, but I think you’re going about this all wrong-headed, and frankly you’re coming off like a bit of a git in front of the other countries.

Love,

Aimee

Richard Feynman was a Nobel Prize-winning physicist.  Catherine is a science-loving fifteen-year-old.  Richard helped build the atom bomb.  Catherine’s just trying to survive school.

When your life is falling apart around you, is talking to a dead physicist normal?

Catherine thinks so, but it isn’t until her life begins unravelling that she learns who she can really trust.

In Loving Richard Feynman, her debut novel,  Penny Tangey has revealed that she has a gift for touching on the old with enough of the new that it feels completely fresh.  The narrative takes place as a series of letters that Catherine writes to Richard Feynman, self-consciously at first, and eventually completely openly.  Given that letters and diary entries such a well-worn form of telling a story, particularly in YA, this could have gone badly or just blandly, but having one of the greatest physicists the world has ever known as the focus of Catherine’s unrequitable letters works really well; Catherine learns more about Richard Feynman as she learns about herself, and uses his life and times (as told through biographies and Feynman’s autobiography) as a one-way sounding board for her own angst.

Catherine is such an awesome main character.  It’s still unusual in YA to have a female character that is so unabashedly nerdy, witty, smart and brave.  Catherine’s cousin refers to her in one scene as a “box of nerdish delight”, and this is absolutely spot on.  Catherine is smart, headstrong and hilarious, with enough emotional fragility that she’s still easy to relate to; her insistance that she doesn’t care what others think (inspired by Feynman) is more of a mantra than a verifiable fact.  It’s also nice to come across a teenage female protagonist who isn’t  afraid to indentify – loudly – as a feminist.

Catherine’s school life feels very realistic; possibly particularly so to me as, like her, I went to high school in a small Victorian country town, and the party scene in the paddock is all too familiar.  But the travails and trails are well-referenced here without seeming stale or cliche, which is an absolute boon.

As Catherine’s own life begins to change, she leans more heavily on her imagined relationship with Feynman, only to discover, as she learns more about his life, that he is just as human and fallible as the people around her.  Although the letters begin as a way for her to retreat from her life for a moment to make sense of it, she becomes more self-aware about the relationship she imagines and the ideals she is projecting onto Feynman.  It’s a clever in-text critique of the novel’s own structure, and it drives the narrative smoothly to its crisis point.

Loving Richard Feynman should be read by every current and former high school nerd, and by anyone who loves fresh, funny YA fiction with strong female characters.  Penny Tangey is a writer to watch.

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