YA Book Impressions

Sometimes I like to get a bunch of YA books from the library with the noble intention of reading them and reviewing them for my blog and the not so noble intention of checking out a bunch of books I can read in a day or two, but I don't have the time or the inclination to do a full review. So here are three YA books I read recently and my brief impressions of them! 



True Confessions of a Hollywood Starlet by Lola Douglas
A quick, predictable read about a former child star who goes into hiding an disguises herself as a "normal" teenager after almost dying from an overdose. The journal-entry style of narration was annoying from the beginning because the narrator is annoying, judgmental, and shallow.  I wanted to know more about her healing process and see her get real help for the issues that are uncovered (rape, neglect, etc.) than about what shoes she wore or which actors she used to party with. I also think that this book will not age well, as it's pop-culture references to will be completely out of tune with modern teens in only a few short years. It's saving grace  is the character's growth through the course of the story, which, though predictable, seems sincere. I probably won't bother reading the sequel.

Catalyst by Laurie Halse Anderson
I'm a big fan of several of Anderson's other books, but I felt that this one fell a short of her usual.  The main character is too frantic and her single self-inflicted problem isn't even the focus of the story. Instead, the drama and action all revolves around her horrible, unlikeable neighbor's tragedies and how they impact the main character. I felt like Anderson was pulling the punch by giving the story through the main character rather than the tragic neighbor, shielding the reader from having to deal with the awful realities of life too closely. Well written, but not up to the standard I was expecting from this author.

Livvie Owen Lived Here by  Sarah Dooley
I almost couldn't finish this one. From the first-person narration from an autistic girl to the frequent mention of her dead orange cat (I have two orange cats, thanks!) it was too much. I couldn't help but feel like the narration was from a slightly-older  Junie B. Jones rather than a truly autistic girl. I've worked in a variety of special education classrooms and I've known several autistic people and children closely. I applaud the author for taking on such a difficult topic, but it wasn't dealt with in a way that I could relate to. I managed to finish it, but I wasn't glad that I did.