Therefore, in the best tradition of what I do best, I’ve made a list of books culled from my TBR pile and prepared my very own YA Summer Reading List. Best of all, it’s not teacher-assigned . No deadlines or book reports for this summer reading list.

• Matched by Ally Condie
• Deerskin by Robin McKinley
• Chime by Franny Billingsley
• A Song for Summer by Eva Ibhotsen
• Bachelor Girl by Roger Lea McBride
• Lock and Key by Sarah Dessen
• Prisoners in the Palace by Michaela MacColl 
•  Rampant by Diana Peterfreund
• Wildwood Dancing by Juliet Marrilier
• Runemarks by Joanne Harris
• Withering Tights by Louise Rennison
• and the rest of the Mortal Instruments series to be checked out from the library

I am not a particular fan of vampire novels, but every little bookshop I browsed through during my trip to St. Augustine had copies of Nancy Haddock’s series, so I was curious enough to download a copy to my nook. La Vida Vampire is the first in the Oldest City Vampire series, paranormal romance/mysteries set in Old St. Augustine. Overall, the novel combines the feel of a Sookie Stackhouse novel with the fluffiness of a cozy.

The series follows the misadventures of recently unearthed, 200-something year old vampire, Francesca “Cesca” Marinelli as she tries to find her place in modern St. Augustine by working as a tour guide for Old City Ghost Tours. In Cesca’s world, vampires are part of everyday society, but are registered and tracked via a GPS device implanted in their arms. Other paranormal creatures abound, including warlocks, ghosts, and shapeshifters, but vampires steal the scene in this installment.

A reluctant vampire at best, Cesca blends in well, living with her human sponsor and making friends with other members of the ghost tour company, but a visit from a member of the local, anti-vampire Covenant and a couple of strange French tourists rattles her quiet afterlife. Murder, misleading evidence, and a sexy detective soon bring Cesca’s world on its head.

This is a quick, beachy kind of read. It’s fluff with a side of local history, and made for a fun way to remember my mini-break in St. Augustine. Haddock does a good job of tying loose ends, while also setting up the premise for the next installment in the series, so it can be read as a standalone without the cliff-hangery feeling you get with some paranormal romance series.

My copy of Wives and Daughters rested on my shelf for years. Mostly, I was concerned that I would feel the sort of disappointment I felt when I read Jane Austen’s unfinished Sanditon. Would I come to love the characters and then feel a sense of unfulfillment when I reached an abrupt non-ending? I waffled on the decision to read it and just let it keep gathering dust; but last month, the Victorians group on Goodreads started a W&D reading challenge and I was finally tempted to dive in.

I initially wanted to write a section summary and reaction, like I did for Bleak House and Cecilia, but several life emergencies made it impossible for me to stick to the group’s reading schedule, much less post periodic updates on my reactions.

Because this is quite a tome, I feel a regular review can’t possibly do it justice, so I’m just going to focus on some of the things I most admired about the novel.

• I loved the dynamic between Molly and Mr. Gibson in the first part of the novel, before he remarried. It so reminded me of the relationship between Maggie and Mr. Tulliver in The Mill on the Floss and really endeared me to the characters.
• Mrs. Gibson’s flaws and views on society make for a great social commentary in the style of Jane Austen’s best social upstarts.
• Actually, Gaskell’s epic domestic novel often reminded me of Austen and Eliot.
• It’s a contradiction in terms to call it epic and domestic, but it’s the best phrase I can think of to describe the scope of a book on just about every aspect of country society.
• While I did feel a bit let down by the missing conclusion, the novel felt nearly complete and clearly laid the foundation for a satisfying ending.
• Some of Mrs. Gibson’s lines are fantastic. Like this one: “My dear, if you must have the last word, don’t let it be a truism.”

I regret not being able to take part in an active discussion on the book, as that was my main reason for taking part in the challenge, but feel quite a sense of accomplishment now that I’ve read it. I was also left with a burning desire to re-read The Mill on the Floss.

I was number 138 on the hold list when I requested this book many moons ago. It could not have arrived at a worst time. I was dealing with a family emergency and barely had time to pick it up before it was returned to the hold queue. Then, I had to deal with several other issues that made it nearly impossible to sit down and read it. As a consequence, my enjoyment of the book was marred by my need to read it during stolen moments, which seemed few and far between during the last month. At one point, I toyed with the idea of just returning it and waiting to check it out again (you can’t renew a request when there are hundreds of holds on it). But I really really wanted to finish it, especially when I got to the circus and fell in love with the whole concept of the book.

It’s such an immersive sort of book. It’s incredibly sensual in its narrative–in the true sense of the word. The narrative invokes all your senses, drawing you into the circus and making you feel/see/hear/touch/smell the magic of the circus. A scene or description that might seem disconnected at first, becomes clear as the stories continues, each chapter coinciding with the idea of the tents as individual, self-contained realities and experiences within a greater whole.

It’s hard to describe the book. It’s about magic, but it’s more than that. It’s about love, loss, reality, illusion, death, transcendence, power, perception, obsession, time, Shakespeare, myth…

It’s a heady sort of book. I almost felt like a rêveur in the end.

I love a good British mystery novel, but I always have trouble deciding which one to pick up. Not being familiar with most of the authors, it’s usually a hit-or-miss affair based on a random selection or recommendations. So far, I’ve discovered a few gems, but the genre is over-saturated and making a good choice is a daunting task. No Mark Upon Her was a definite hit and makes me want to find the rest of Crombie’s series post-haste!

This is the 14th novel in the Duncan Kincaid and Gemma James series, so I was somewhat ambivalent about delving into a series so late in the game, but I soon found that there were enough details to establish the history between Duncan and Gemma. Moreover, despite being part of an established series, the plot works well as a standalone mystery, so familiarity with the specifics of the series was unnecessary to follow the novel’s premise.

The novel opens with the sudden, suspicious death of Detective Chief Inspector Rebecca Meredith, a former rower trying to make a comeback who is found floating in the Thames after being reported missing. Assigned to the case just days before he is set to take a family leave, Duncan Kincaid finds himself drawn into an investigation that goes deeper than expected, laying suspicion on a high-ranking former member of the Metropolitan police and a possible connection to a series of unsolved assault charges. The pace is fast, as Crombie lays clues that hint at more than the reader imagines, producing a plot that is complex and very engaging.

Like all great mystery writers, Crombie knows how to play with her reader’s perception. She introduces every possible suspect, exposing their flaws and connections with just enough detail to draw suspicion but never reveal the culprit. The dynamic between Gemma and Duncan and their easy ability to exchange information and follow each other’s lead adds to the narrative tone and makes the reader feel like an active part of the search for the killer.

As I said, I wasn’t sure I would be able to get into the novel when I learned it was such a late entry in the series, but this was not an issue once the case was set and the action started. It was a fast-paced, engrossing read and (best of all) not the least bit predictable. Loved that. I hate a predictable mystery but Crombie kept me guessing ‘til the end when that “aha!” moment happened and it all became clear. This is a great read for anyone who likes a good mystery where it’s all about the process of finding the culprit, not the gory aspects of murder.

I received my copy from William Morrow.

My Nook is still trying to figure out what I like, so I’m trying to give it a push in the right direction by searching for books similar to my favorites. Susanna Kearsley’s The Winter Sea turned up as a Diana Gabaldon read-alike, so I was duly intrigued. I love Gabaldon and eighteenth century Scotland (when it was still a bit wild and rebellious), and I had been experiencing some serious withdrawal with regards to both. The Winter Sea did not disappoint.

The story moves swiftly  between the lives of writer, Carrie McClelland, and Sophia Paterson, a young woman who is sheltered by the Countess of Erroll at Slains Castle. Working on a new novel, Carrie is drawn to Slains during a weekend trip to Scotland, feeling that there is something about the place that will make her new novel come to life. Centuries before, Sophia is also drawn to Slains Castle after the death of her uncle leaves her without a guardian. A newcomer in a strange place, Sophia soon finds herself welcomed by the Castle’s residents and becomes enmeshed in a series of events that have both personal and political implications as loyal Scots, and friends to the Count and Countess of Slains, take part in a plot to restore Prince Charles to the thrown.

Initially, I questioned the dual time frame, but when the connection between Carrie and Sophia emerged, I found myself enjoying the novel more and more. Both timelines are fully realized, as are the characters that people them, so neither plot feels lacking. While not as fast paced as Outlander, Kearsley’s narrative style soon had me craving more (hello, Nook wishlist).

Clementine Pritchard has it all figured out, down to the last detail. She’s over the deadening meds and the personal dramas, it’s time to depart. And that is exactly what Clementine sets out to do, choosing the means to end her life with as little mess as possible and leaving all her baggage in order. Counting down to the day when she’ll settle in for good, she starts on a 30 day journey to pick her poison, make her mark final mark on art, and resolve all the little issues left over from a childhood gone wrong.

Suicide is a delicate subject, so this review starts with a caveat–whatever your views on the matter, if you don’t want to read about suicide, don’t read this one. That said, Ream manages to take a generally morbid subject and turn it into something witty and engaging. Clementine is a great character; fully realized and colorful, she adds snark as much as poignancy to the story. This could be a very dark novel, dealing with extreme depression, abandonment, and personal fears, Clementine’s narrative has the potential to become an existentialist playground, but it just manages to steer clear of that as Clementine finds meaning in the madness.

This is an oddly entertaining novel, if you don’t mind a bit of dark humor. Clementine’s constant need to pee, her renewed sense of flavor after dumping her cocktail of antidepressants, and her unapologetic determination to do things her way, including leaving her car as the tip after a lavish last meal to ensure it does not become a loose end after her death, add a tragicomic element that make the story more than just a manic depressive’s final manifesto.

I received my copy from William Morrow.

Hugo Petrus’s illustrations just scream classic, fanboy comic world. As one amazon reviewer put it, “Other than Lizzy and Mr. Darcy, the girls look like 80s porn stars and her mom looks like Granny Goodness from the animated JLA series.”

They do. The hair is big and the expressions are fierce, while the color palette applied to the first half of the series is extremely harsh and orange. It just made me cringe. Great cover art, disappointing story art.

That said, the holidays seemed like the perfect time to read Marvel Illustrated’s adaptation of Sense & Sensibility by Nancy Butler and illustrated by Sonny Liew. Given that SS is one of Austen’s longest novels, adapting the text into a comic book format, speech bubbles and all, could not have been an easy feat. Butler’s text manages to retain the essence of the original, while Liew’s illustrations help reveal complexities of character and plot that might otherwise be lost in the simplified narrative.

My only complaints are that a few of the characters, especially Colonel Brandon, reminded me a bit too much of the actors in the BBC’s 2008 adaptation, and that Lucy was presented as a much more sympathetic character than she was in the book.

Nevertheless, I like it as a graphic novel and can see this being a great way to engage students in a class on visual-textual literacy.