Michael L. Printz Award 2010 Going Bovine by Libba Bray (Delacorte) review

Printz Honor Books

• Tales of the Madman Underground: An Historical Romance, 1973 by John Barnes (Viking) review
• Charles and Emma: The Darwins’ Leap of Faith by Deborah Heiligman (Holt) review
• Punkzilla by Adam Rapp (Candlewick) review
• The Monstrumologist by Rick Yancey (Simon) review to come

How the Horn Book reviewed the winners

Libba Bray  Going Bovine
      Delacorte
      Reviewed 9/09
When sixteen-year-old Cameron was five, he jumped ship on the “It’s a Small World” ride at Disney World and nearly drowned. “The thing is, before they pulled me out, everything had seemed made of magic . . . But the minute I came to on the hard, glittery, spray-painted, fake snow . . . I realized it was all a big fake. The realest thing I’d ever experienced was that moment under the water when I almost died.” This sets the theme for the even wilder ride that follows, when Cameron’s erratic behavior leads to a diagnosis of Creutzfeldt-Jakob (a.k.a. mad cow) disease. With the student body that used to ignore him throwing a save-Cameron pep rally and decorating the gym with paper cows, Cameron and his friend Gonzo, a hypochondriac dwarf, flee the hospital on a mission (as detailed by a punk-rock angel named Dulcie) to save the world from “dark energy” — or do they? Bray gleefully tosses a hallucinogenic mix of elements into the adventure — snow globes, fire demons, a talking yard gnome, a demon-fighting New Orleans jazz musician, and more — but their origins can all be found in Cameron’s mundane pre-diagnosis life. So is his trip “just a ride,” as his Mom once told him about “It’s a Small World”? Readers will have a great time trying to sort everything out and answer the question at the heart of it all: even if Cameron’s experiences are all a dream, are they any less real? C.M.H.

John Barnes  Tales of the Madman Underground (An Historical Romance 1973)
      Viking
      Reviewed 9/09
“I had developed this theory all summer: if I could be perfectly, ideally, totally normal for the first day of my senior year, which was today, then I could do it for the first week, which was only Wednesday through Friday.” Karl Shoemaker relates his heroic efforts at such an attempt over the first six days of the school year, but as his narrative frequently meanders into flashback scenes, it becomes abundantly clear just how difficult this is going to be. Karl is part of a long-running high school therapy group, the Madman Underground, whose moniker is inspired by Catcher in the Rye and On the Road (and, not surprisingly, this novel captures something of the essence of those classics — the mesmerizing, acerbic narrative voice of Salinger and the verbose stream-of-consciousness prose style of Kerouac). Every type of dysfunction known to humankind seems to be represented in the Madman Underground, and yet these eclectic, eccentric, and endearing characters navigate their troubled lives not so much with typical teenage angst as with youthful insouciance and gallows humor. The pacing is leisurely, almost nonexistent, but the real draw of this novel lies in the brilliant character study of Karl Shoemaker. J.H.

Deborah Heiligman  Charles and Emma: The Darwins’ Leap of Faith
      Holt
      Reviewed 1/09
In 1838 Charles Darwin, then almost thirty, drew a line down the middle of a paper and listed the reasons for marrying on one side and the reasons for not marrying on the other. After much consideration, he opted for the former, and from his prospects he wisely chose his cousin, Emma, who was open-minded but devoutly religious. She supported her husband, even editing his work, but she feared for his eternal welfare should he follow his revolutionary theories to their logical end. Charles, in turn, was equally tortured, wanting to please his wife, wanting to believe in religion, but not at the expense of science. With great empathy and humor, Heiligman’s lively narrative examines the life and legacy of Darwin through the unique lens of his domestic life, an inspired choice that helps us understand that for all the impact his theory would have on the world, nowhere did its consequences resonate so loudly as within the walls of his own home. Here is a timely, relevant book that works on several levels: as a history of science, as a biography, and, last but not least, as a romance. A bibliography, an index, and notes are appended. J.H.

Adam Rapp  Punkzilla
      Candlewick
      Reviewed 5/09
Nobody writes about the disposable, marginalized youth of America with the same sense of uncomfortable, voyeuristic fascination as Adam Rapp, though his novels, featuring characters ill-equipped to deal with life’s problems, can feel gratuitously brutal. Still, with several years having passed since the publication of his last YA novel (Under the Wolf, Under the Dog, rev. 10/05), fans will be eager to read this new one — and with good reason. Rapp’s quirky idiomatic expressions, striking word choices, and stream-of-consciousness prose style are ample evidence that his facility with language remains as impressive as ever, while his use of an epistolary format adds a degree of narrative sophistication. Fourteen-year-old Jamie feels a strong connection to his gay older brother (both of them black sheep in their family), and writes him a series of letters while traveling from Portland, Oregon, to Memphis for a visit. These are interspersed with earlier missives written to Jamie from various friends and relatives. Gradually, Jamie’s history emerges: how he felt disconnected; how he ran away from military school; his time on the streets, the ennui punctuated by drugs and sex and crime; and finally his long, strange trip. That his brother is dying of cancer adds urgency (not to mention poignancy) to Jamie’s race to beat the clock. J.H.

Rick Yancey  The Monstrumologist
     Simon
review to come

2010 ALA awards