'Scythe' by Neal Shusterman

Imagine a world where humanity has conquered death.  There's no more disease, hunger, poverty, ageing, or death by accident.  Sounds really neat, right?

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simonandschuster.ca

Until you consider there's also no pain.  Or joy.  Or any intense feelings.  People sort of drift along in life, "turning the corner" (resetting to a younger physical age) every so often, marrying and remarrying.  Just living their lives.  The only possible wrinkle in someone's life is when a Scythe drops by.

If a Scythe shows up in your home, school, or office, it usually means someone is going to die. You see,  a Scythe is tasked with "gleaning" -- killing -- people, in order to keep the population under control.

Every so often, a Scythe takes on an apprentice, in order to teach them the ways of being a Scythe and how to glean according to their moral codes.  One just doesn't take a life indiscriminately.  There's a method to the madness.  Honorable Scythe Faraday raises more than a few eyebrows when he takes in two apprentices.  Usually a Scythe only takes one apprentice.  For the next year, Citra Terranova and Rowan Damisch will endure training in the physically and mentally demanding art, science, and philosophy of ending another person's life.   Whichever one of the two succeeds in passing a test at the end of the year will become a new Scythe.  The other will go home.

At least that's the way it's supposed to work.  Until Scythe Goddard  proposes a resolution at one of the Scythes' conclaves that the successful apprentice must glean the unsuccessful one.  This sets the rest of the book careening toward it's suspenseful conclusion.

Neal Shusterman never ceases to impress me with his world building.  At first glance, this is a perfect world, until Shusterman reveals, the levels of corruption roiling under the perfect surface. Everything Shusterman creates -- from nanites that heal every injury and cure diseases to the Thunderhead, which has evolved from the Cloud (thanks, Apple!) into a benign, omniscient presence that governs society -- are just within the realm of possible, so you aren't grappling with the science of science fiction and are able to dive into the knotty philosophical questions that come with being a Scythe: is there room for compassion; why can't a Scythe feel that being a Scythe is a calling; and is it possible to enjoy one's job as a Scythe?

Even though the laws of Scythedom are presented as a absolute, the laws and rules of Scythes, like everything, are open to interpretation, which is where a lot of the conflict arises.  And to throw another wrench into the plot, Scythes aren't subject to the laws that govern the rest of society and only live by ten ironclad commandments.  They even live outside the realm of the all-knowing and all-seeing Thunderhead.

The book is heavy on intrigue, but (thankfully!) light on romance.  Which makes sense, because Scythes, rather like Jedi, aren't supposed to have emotional attachments to other people.  Shusterman also throws in bits of subtle humor to keep the book from being weighed down by all the intrigue, training, and philosophy.  For example, when one new Scythe chooses their Patron Historic -- the name they will use as a Scythe taken from significant people in history that have special meaning to the new Scythe -- he chooses to be known as Scythe Colbert.  I snorted with laughter, and I'm sure Stephen Colbert appreciates the shout-out.  That being said, the humor is more likely to make the corner of your mouth curl up, rather than laugh out loud.

Structurally, the book goes back and forth between  Citra, Rowan, Faraday, Scythe Curie, and other characters.  Each chapter opens with an excerpt from the diary of a Scythe, usually Scythe Curie, known as the Grand Dame of Death.  It's fascinating to see the different points-of-view of Scythdom and how different Scythes interpret their moral codes.

Given that most of the book's narration comes from Rowan or Citra, I found Rowan to be much more multi-layered than Citra.  Perhaps that comes from how Shusterman portrays Rowan as both repelled by the idea of gleaning, and yet, his sense of compassion inexplicably draws him to it.  Citra, on the other hand, despises the idea of becoming a Scythe.  Her struggles have less to do with becoming a Scythe, and more from her determination to do it "right." 

This book drew me in so subtly and cleverly, that I didn't even realize I hadn't been able to put it down until I finished it.

Scythe so impressed the Printz committee, that they gave it an honor, even though their habit is to not award the first book in a series.  It more than deserves its 2017 Printz Honor.

If you're looking for something that draws you in and doesn't let go, this is a book for you.

Scythe is the first of Shusterman's Arc of the Scythe series.  Mark your calendars, y'all: the second book in the planned trilogy, Thunderhead, is set to release on March 6, 2018. (Edit: Amazon says February 6, 2018!)

If you want to explore other books by Shusterman, read his National Book Award winning Challenger Deep, or the Unwind series.

"Grasshopper Jungle' by Andrew Smith

Smith, Andrew. Grasshopper Jungle. Dutton Books: New York, 2014. Print.

Image from:
www.authorandrewsmith.com

Andrew Smith tackles the end of the world in Grasshopper Jungle.  Literally. It all starts with a confluence of unconnected events, beginning when Austin and his best friend Robby are beat up by four boys from another high school in the alley known as Grasshopper Jungle behind a nearly-defunct shopping mall.  In an unrelated incident, the four boys break into the office of the thrift store in the mall and steal a mysterious, glowing, blue globe with something grotesque floating inside.  The boys drop the globe in Grasshopper Jungle, where the contents come into contact with drops of blood left by Austin and Robby after they had been beaten up.

And thus, begins the end of the world.  A world where a mutated plague turns humans into six foot tall praying mantises.  Who only want to do two things: eat and mate (although Smith uses a much more colloquial term).  Still, even with the end of the world looming, Austin must continue to deal with real life.  His brother Eric is serving with the Army in Afghanistan, and is injured by a roadside bomb later in the novel.  Austin has a longtime girlfriend Shann, who's been hinting that it might be time to take their relationship further.  At the same time, Austin spends much of the novel grappling with the idea that he might also be in love with, and sexually attracted to, Robby.  He can't break up with Shann to be with Robby without hurting Shann, but he can't repudiate Robby without devastating Robby.

And he still has to figure out how to eliminate the super-strong bugs, who find humans to be a tasty snack.

All throughout the novel, Austin ruminates on his family's history from his Polish great-great-great grandfather to his father and his own place in the universe.  While these side trips through Austin's family history might seem to be odd segues, Austin's relentless probing reminds us that as much as we want to believe we're in control of the history swirling around us, sometimes we're just pulled helplessly along in its eddies.

As science-fiction, this is reminiscent of a Twilight Zone or The Outer Limits episode.  Foreboding.  With a hefty dash of weird.  And strangely plausible.

Austin is a typical Smith protagonist.  He feels deeply, can be awfully introspective for a teenager, and thinks about sex and sexuality quite often.  Also in typical Smith fashion, Robby's sexuality is treated as a statement of fact, with absolutely no judgments. Austin's questions into his own sexuality is handled sensitively, but with no easy resolution.  This, I think, is one of things I like best about Smith as a writer.  He does tend to leave some plot strands wide open, while neatly tying others up.  In Grasshopper Jungle, what occurs outside of Austin's small town of Ealing, Iowa is a complete mystery, which adds to the Twilight Zone feel of the novel.

I highly recommend this for readers who like dystopia, science-fiction, or are fans of Twilight Zone.  It's a book that stays with you, long after you put it down.

Grasshopper Jungle received a 2015 Printz Honor.

'Eleanor & Park' by Rainbow Rowell

Rowell, Rainbow. Eleanor & Park. New York: St. Martin’s Griffin, 2013.

Photo by: L. Propes

You could pick Eleanor and Park off the pages of this book and drop them into a John Hughes movie or an Amy Sherman-Palladino television series.  They certainly wouldn’t be out of place among the misfits of The Breakfast Club or Pretty In Pink or the rapid-fire, pop-culture laden dialog of Gilmore Girls or Bunheads.  While the idea of two teenaged misfits finding each other and falling in love seems like it’s been done a million times before, Rainbow Rowell makes Eleanor& Park seem fresh and new, and it lies in the way her two titular characters are able to expose their vulnerabilities to one another without descending into a sea of cynicism and snark. 

Eleanor & Park begins in August 1986 and follows the tentative beginnings of Eleanor and Park’s burgeoning friendship that blossoms gradually into love.  They “don’t meet cute; they meet vexed” (“Eleanor & Park” Kirkus).  Eleanor is the new girl in their Omaha school. She’s zaftig, tall, with lots of curly red hair.  Her wardrobe choices make her look like she’s wearing a Halloween costume, and she has nowhere to sit on the bus.  Park is the half-Korean, punk and New Wave-loving, comic-book-reading outsider who grudgingly lets Eleanor sit next to him on the bus.  Park realizes Eleanor is reading his comic books over his shoulder and the foundations of their friendship are formed on the wordless bus rides to and from school, bonding over X-Men.  Eventually, Park begins to lend Eleanor his comic books (still without saying a word), and after weeks of silently trading comics, he breaks the ice by asking about the song titles Eleanor has written on the covers of her textbooks.  (Just so you know Rowell isn’t condoning vandalism, Eleanor has made protective covers for her textbooks using brown paper grocery bags.  That’s what she’s doodled on, not the actual book cover.) 

Eleanor and Park couldn’t be more different from one another on the surface.  Eleanor’s parents are divorced, and she hardly sees her father.  Her mother is married to a man who mentally and physically abuses her and makes life miserable for Eleanor and her four siblings.  In fact, Richie, Eleanor’s stepfather, kicked Eleanor out of the house for a year, and when the novel begins, has just “allowed” her to move back in with the family. The family is so poor they can’t afford things like toothpaste or regular shampoo, and Eleanor shares a room with her younger sister and three younger brothers.  Eleanor’s mother has expressly forbidden her to date or have contact with boys outside of school. It’s unclear if this is her mother’s wish, or if it’s something she’s done to appease Richie.  Eleanor is also deeply insecure about many things -- her weight, her appearance, and even her worthiness to be with a person she feels is as decent as Park.  She hides her insecurities under a cool and collected façade, but every so often a bullying incident creates a fissure and allows the anxieties to show.  She has a sharp wit and original insight of literature, even going so far as to challenge the entrenched opinion of Romeo and Juliet as a tragedy, viewing it as a satiric look at love (Rowell 44). 

Park’s parents are happily married, and are openly demonstrative with one another in front of Park and his younger brother.  Their house is always neat and tidy, and unlike Eleanor, Park isn’t worried about where his next meal will come from.  His mother is a beautician and sells Avon. Park thinks that she would be the most popular girl on the school bus (Rowell 118).  Park can have a difficult relationship with his father, mostly due to their clashing personalities and differing ideas about what it means to be a man, but it’s obvious that Park’s father loves and cares about him.  Park’s family life, which also includes his paternal grandparents who live next-door, is stable and solidly middle-class.  Park’s mother doesn’t want Park to have a girlfriend so he can focus on his studies, but accepts that Park is seeing Eleanor.  Park’s willingness to push the envelope of typical masculine behavior (like wearing black eyeliner to school) frustrates and bemuses his father.  Park tends to engage in low-level passive-aggressive behavior to display his rejection of the image of a stereotypical All-American Midwestern teenager that his father wants him to have.  Park isn’t a saint, though.  He’s plagued by his own insecurities about his ethnic heritage and his low social status in the neighborhood.  Sometimes, his insecurities come out in full force, and unfortunately, their target is sometimes Eleanor.  After an argument with Eleanor regarding Park’s previous (and long-ago) relationship with her nemesis Tina, Park admits to himself a part of him “didn’t want Tina to get over him” (Rowell 178).  As much as Park wants to project to the world that he doesn’t care what they think of him, as demonstrated by dating Eleanor, he admits to himself it does matter because “he [keeps] finding new pockets of shallow inside himself.  He [keeps] finding new ways to betray her” (Rowell 178). 

Throughout the year, Eleanor is haunted by small incidents of bullying, including filthy messages scrawled on the covers of her textbooks.  She comes to a horrifying realization about the author of the notes and must make a decision to stay in Omaha or run away to see if her uncle in St. Paul, Minnesota will offer her sanctuary. 

Rowell sets up the novel with a framing device, that’s almost repeated verbatim at the end, written in Park’s voice.  She alternates the rest of the narrative between Eleanor and Park, sometimes switching voices to give the reader their individual reactions to the same event.  When she switches between Park and Eleanor’s respective narration, Rowell notes it with a heading that simply says “Park” or “Eleanor”.   I found both of their voices to be quite distinct from one another.  Park, for example, has a much more lyrical voice.  The first time he holds her hand, he says, “Holding Eleanor’s hand was like holding a butterfly.  Or a heartbeat.  Like holding something complete, and completely alive” (Rowell 71).  Eleanor, on the other hand describes it this way: “Disintegrated.  Like something had gone wrong beaming her onto the Starship Enterprise.  If you’ve ever wondered what that feels like, it’s a lot like melting -- but more violent” (Rowell 72).  Eleanor’s voice has its own poetry, but she is much more straightforward about what she thinks, keeping her more intimate emotions tightly under wraps.  She often adds parenthetical comments to her own inner monologue. 

Their relationship is “chaste first love, authentic in its awkwardness -- full of insecurities, miscommunications, and sexual awakenings -- and life-changing for them” (Ritter 93).  The relationship, as viewed through the prism of their words is -- and there’s no other word for it -- intense.  This intensity, which a reader can feel from the first moment Park slips his fingers through Eleanor’s, shines through in their inner thoughts, and sometimes in their dialog with each other.  During a rare telephone conversation, Eleanor tells Park, “I don’t like you, Park,” she said, sounding for a second like she actually meant it.  “I…” -- her voice nearly disappeared -- “think I live for you” (Rowell 111).  Taken out of context, this could be the corniest bit of dialog ever written, but when placed within the backdrop of Eleanor’s chaotic home life and marginalized position inside her own family; it works and sounds nothing but natural coming out of Eleanor’s mouth.  The emotional flights of fancy the narrative takes are mostly in the inner monologues of the characters, so when they do utter a whimsical phrase, it feels organic, as if Eleanor or Park have loosened their Vulcan death grip on their own feelings.  Of course, exchanges like this also bring to light the question of whether or not Eleanor’s feelings for Park are genuine or whether she’s subconsciously using him to escape her family. 

The dialog between Eleanor and Park also reveal their wry sense of humor, especially during a discussion when Eleanor compares Cyclops from X-Men to Batman, stating how boring they both are.  When Park protests and tells her he’s going to loan her his copy of The Dark Knight Returns, he says it’s “Only the least boring Batman story ever” (Rowell 60).  Eleanor retorts, “The least boring Batman story ever, huh?  Does Batman raise both eyebrows?” (Rowell 60). 

Park’s parents -- Jamie and Min-Dae “Mindy” Sheridan -- aren’t relegated to the background of the novel.  They play an active role in the story and experience just as much growth and character development as Park and Eleanor.  In his review of the novel for the New York Times, John Green (yes, that John Green) calls Park’s parents “two of the best-drawn adults I can remember in a young adult novel” (“Two Against the World”).  Park’s father wants Park to be the kind of Midwestern man with which Mr. Sheridan is most familiar -- tough and brawny.  Oh, and able to drive a stick shift.  It’s clear Mr. Sheridan’s respect grows for Park and the way he quietly stands up for Eleanor, willing to do what it takes to protect her.  It’s Mrs. Sheridan who displays the most development out of the two.  She’s not fond of Eleanor when they first meet, but a chance glimpse of Eleanor with her mother and siblings at the grocery store on Christmas Eve reveals to Mrs. Sheridan the level of Eleanor’s struggles, and makes her realize she has more in common with Eleanor than at first glance.  Mrs. Sheridan met Mr. Sheridan when he was serving in Korea in the late 1960s.  They married in Seoul, South Korea, and Mrs. Sheridan proceeded to leave everything she knew behind.  Park mentions how she never talks about her life in Korea, but on Christmas Eve, Mrs. Sheridan recognizes the poverty and hunger behind the nervous and uncertain front Eleanor presents in the Sheridans’ home.  Coming from such dire straits, the Sheridan house might as well be a foreign country to Eleanor. 

I feel Rowell’s inclusion of a discussion of Romeo and Juliet isn’t an accident.  Park remarks that the play reminds “people… what it’s like to be young… and in love” (Rowell 45).  In her blog “Monkey See”, NPR correspondent Linda Holmes comments that for Park and Eleanor, who “feel lost -- because of bullying, because of abuse, because of race… being loved makes them feel less lost” (“True Love”).  Rowell doesn’t shy away from the harrowing abuse Richie hurls at Eleanor or the rest of her family.  Holmes, in particular praises Rowell for this saying, “Ugliness -- honesty about ugliness -- is important, because it gives shape and meaning to some important stories about not allowing it to swamp you” (“True Love").  In an interview with the online magazine The Toast, Rowell responds to people who feel her book should be banned because of its unflinching content.  She says, “When these people call Eleanor & Park an obscene story, I feel like they’re saying that rising above your situation isn’t possible.  That if you grow up in an ugly situation, your story isn’t even fit for good people’s ears.  That ugly things cancel out everything beautiful” (Ortberg “A Chat With Rainbow Rowell”).  Spending most of my teaching career working with kids who weren’t very different from Eleanor or Park, this is the kind of book they need to read, if for no other reason than to find out that there are people like them, who have found a way to survive their situation. 

Rowell is also the author of Fangirl, Landline, and Attachments. Eleanor & Park is a 2014 Printz Honor book. 

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Works Cited 

"Eleanor & Park." Kirkus Reviews 80.24 (2012): 149-. Academic Search Complete. Web. 22 June 2014.

Green, John. "Two Against the World." The New York Times, sec. Sunday Book Review: BR17. March 8 2013. Print.

Holmes, Linda. "True Love, Book Fights, and Why Ugly Stories Matter." Monkey See. September 18 2013.Web. 22 June 2014. <http://www.npr.org/blogs/monkeysee/2013/09/18/223738674/true-love-book-fights-and-why-ugly-stories-matter>.

Ortberg, Mallory. "A Chat With Rainbow Rowell About Love and Censorship." The Toast. September 17 2013.Web. 22 June 2014. <http://the-toast.net/2013/09/17/chat-rainbow-rowell-love-censorship/>.

Ritter, Cynthia K. "Eleanor & Park." Horn Book Magazine 89.3 (2013): 93-4. Education Source. Web. 22 June 2014.

Rowell, Rainbow.  Eleanor & Park. New York: St. Martin’s Griffin, 2013. Print.

'Speak' by Laurie Halse Anderson

Anderson, Laurie Halse. (2000). Speak. Narrated by Mandy Siegfried. New York: Random House Audio Publishing Group.  ISBN 9780739336724

Photo by: L. Propes

Being a teenager is difficult.  Cliques.  An unspoken demand for conformity.  Attempts to live up to a nearly impossible standard of femininity and masculinity.  Countless rules and regulations regarding behavior.  The seemingly inevitable and subtle bullying that occurs when one doesn't fit in.  And that's just within the halls of high school.  Even though Laurie Halse Anderson's Speak is set in the age just before social media exploded into students' lives, rumors still manage to rapidly burn through the ranks of students, leaving Anderson's main character, Melinda Sordino, in an isolated bubble.

Speak begins on Melinda's first day of high school.  It doesn't begin well.  Someone throws a Ho-Ho wrapper at her head on the bus.  No one wants to sit with her.  Melinda's best friends have suddenly diverged into new cliques now that they're in high school.  Melinda informs the reader, "I am clanless.  I wasted the last weeks of August watching bad cartoons.  I didn't go to the mall, the lake, or the pool or answer the phone.  I have entered high school with the wrong hair, the wrong clothes, the wrong attitude.  And I don't have anyone to sit with" (Anderson 2000, 4).  Melinda goes on to compare herself to a wounded animal, seeking succour anywhere she can find it.  Her former best friend, Rachel, openly detests her, and this is only the beginning of the book.

Things only go from bad to worse for Melinda.  Her grades drop.  Her parents constantly hound her about her grades and attitude.  Her new friend Heather can't decide whether to be friends with Melinda or drop her for one of the "cool" groups.  Melinda avoids speaking as much as possible.  Her social studies teacher, who already doesn't like Melinda, is unyielding and dictatorial.

Plus, Melinda's assigned subject for her year-long art class is a tree.  Trees remind Melinda far too much of what happened to her.  Not to mention the winter in Syracuse seems to last forever to Melinda.

The reason for Melinda's silence, depression, and isolation slowly reveals itself, and Anderson sprinkles hints throughout the book until Melinda tells the audience exactly what happened to her in August.  After Melinda refuses to attend a pizza party with her lab partner, David, and some of his friends, she forces herself to examine what happened to her.  Even though the word "rape" doesn't form part of Melinda's vocabulary until much later, it is very obvious that she was raped at a party a few weeks before school began.  Slowly, Melinda begins to emerge from her self-imposed shell, eventually reconnecting with Ivy, her other junior high friend, and Rachel.  Inspired by the anonymous, yet highly effective message board format of the girls' restroom walls, Melinda scrawls a message to stay away from her rapist.  The responses overwhelmingly affirm Melinda's statement, and she realizes she's not alone.  More importantly, she concludes the rape was not her fault.

Anderson allows Melinda the opportunity to find her voice, just as the school year draws to a close, and she decides to tell Mr. Freeman, the art teacher, about the events of the past several months.  Anderson does tie up some plot threads here, but there are others that she leaves as open-ended questions.  Speak arguably falls into the category of a problem novel, but Anderson never sends the narrative into moralizing territory.

Much of the narrative of Speak occurs as Melinda's internal monologue.  It contains Melinda's often wry, pointed observations of high school as well as displaying a dry, sardonic sense of humor.  Those flashes of humor prevent the book from becoming bogged down in desolation.  Melinda has a perfect foil in Heather, the new girl from Ohio.  In contrast to Melinda's retreating silence, Heather talks too much, is far too eager to please, and somewhat disingenuous.  The adults in the room often come off as one dimensional -- clueless father, waspish mother, befuddled principal, etc. -- but given that the story is narrated by Melinda, it's to be expected.  There comes a point where you want to shake Melinda's parents and make them really look at their daughter and see the roiling waters below the surface.  They do know something is wrong with Melinda, but there's little effort beyond making token statements about doing anything about it.

Melinda is a believable character, as is her narration.  The language off all the teenage characters is exactly what one would expect to hear in the mouth and head of a teenager, especially ones who are still on the cusp of childhood and adolescence.  The other teenaged characters are also realistically portrayed, confident in their place in the school's social fabric or driven to insecurity by the lack of it. Anderson shines in her descriptions of high school, especially when she writes Melinda's running commentary on cheerleaders.

So much of high school involves attempting to fit in to a facet of its society.  Anderson illustrates this perfectly through several methods.  The high school changes mascots no fewer than three times during the school year.  Heather's overeager attempts to find the right extracurricular club.  Rachel's integration with the foreign exchange students as she tries on a variety of different identities under their influence.  Finally, there's Melinda -- standing on the edges of the social scene, belonging to none of the cliques, but surprising tendrils of what she could become poke through her psyche, offering glimpses of where she might fit.

Speak is rife with symbolism.  It's found in the theme of Melinda's English class. (The teacher loves teaching symbolism.)  It's found in the stuffed bunnies Melinda collects and the trees she doggedly attempts to draw.  The silent bunnies are Melinda's lost voice.  The endless pile of failed and more successful trees represent Melinda's struggle to come to grips with the rape.

Even the word rape itself comes laden with portent.  Melinda' can't even bring herself to admit it out loud, and the the first time she tells someone she was raped, she has to write it out.  Rape in of itself is a difficult topic.  It's a psychological and physical violation, and in Melinda's case has caused far more psychological damage than physical.  Until the moment Melinda sees the restroom walls covered with confirmations from other girls about the boy who raped her, she feels nobody will believe her.  Even more so, Melinda feels the less she speaks about the rape, the more she will forget what happened.

Anderson is careful to present Melinda's rape as an act of dominance.  There is nothing titillating about it.  It's about the rapist's ability to take advantage of a vulnerable situation, regardless of Melinda's repeated refusals.  Anderson treats Melinda's recovery from her assault in a mostly realistic fashion, showing the audience the depths of her PTSD following the rape.

Mandy Siegfried does an admirable job providing Melinda's voice in this audiobook.  Her voice perfectly captures the sardonic tones of Anderson's written narrative and credibly sounds like an average fourteen year-old girl.  The performance falters just a little at the end when Melinda begins to sound more hopeful in Anderson's narrative, but Siegfried's voice still carries the acerbic tones.  It doesn't quite suit the shift in the tone of Melinda's narration.

The unabridged audiobook is five hours long on four CDs.

Photo by: L. Propes

Speak offers schools a tool to begin discussions about sexual assault and rape.  It also allows them to discuss bullying in the context of the way Melinda is treated at the beginning of the novel.  Speak can also be used to open a dialogue about depression in teenagers and learning to handle the immense stress they often feel.  Anderson has stated in interviews that she's heard from hundreds of readers -- both male and female -- who have shared their experiences as a victim of sexual assault.  A poem at the beginning of the current print publication contains lines from letters and e-mails Anderson has received.  The last pages of the print publication also contains some chilling statistics regarding rape and sexual assault of girls, boys, men, and women.  Anderson includes several sources for help for rape victims as well.  Some websites offer alternative texts to use with anti-bullying here and here.  Readers might also want to read Leverage by Joshua C. Cohen, which also deals with bullying and rape, but from a far different perspective.

Speak turns fifteen this year.  You can read an interview with Anderson about it here.  RAINN (Rape, Abuse, & Incest National Network) and Anderson have teamed up to raise money for RAINN in honor of Sexual Assault Awareness & Prevention Month and Speak's fifteenth anniversary.

The websites Anderson lists at the back of the book are:

www.rainn.org (RAINN -- Rape, Abuse, & Incest National Network)
www.soar99.org (Speaking Out Against Rape)
www.nsvrc.org (National Sexual Violence Resource Center)
www.911rape.org (Rape Treatment Center)

Anderson also includes the number of the National Sexual Assault Hotline: 1-800-656-HOPE.

Anderson is the author of Wintergirls, The Impossible Knife of Memory, Fever 1793, Forge, Chains, Twisted, and Catalyst (which features a cameo of Melinda several months after the events of Speak).  Speak was a Printz Honor book and Chains won the 2009 Scott O'Dell award.  Speak and Chains were both National Book Award Finalists.  Anderson has also won the 2009 Margaret A. Edwards Award.

Students and teachers might want to have  a look at Anderson's blog Mad Woman in the Forest. The page for teachers includes information about how Anderson approaches writing and research.  She also has information about arranging a visit to the school via Skype.
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"Anderson's powerful debut YA novel... makes for a gripping, enlightening audiobook.  Ninth-grader Melinda Sordino begins her first year of high school as a veritable pariah.  Her friends have dropped her 'like a hot Pop-tart on a cold kitchen floor' as payback for her actions just days before... and Melinda is so traumatized, she cannot muster the voice to tell anyone; she pretty much stops speaking altogether.  Youthful actress Siegfried makes a believable teenage protagonist, effectively expressing Melinda's humorous sarcasm, wit, and pain." -- Publishers Weekly, 2000

"[Melinda's] early silence about an unspeakable act turns her toward harmful isolation and self-hatred... Her silence is almost palpable.  It stands between the adolescent girl and any useful, caring contact with those who inhabit her world of school and family... Anderson contrasts Melinda's awareness of and resistance to pressures to learn the correct, feminine, sanctioned ways of speaking with the behavior of her one friend, Heather, whose pathetic attempts to please and be attractive come at great personal cost." -- Sally Smith, Journal of Adolescent & Adult Literacy, 2000 

"Speak is the powerful story of the aftermath of rape, brought to life by narrator Siegfried, whose youthful-sounding voice is 'right on' in terms of inflection, pacing, and portrayal of teenage character Melinda's thoughts." -- Jean Hatfield, Booklist, 2001

"Melinda's voice is distinct, unusual, and very real as she recounts her past and present experiences in bitterly ironic, occasionally even amusing vignettes.  In her YA fiction debut, Anderson perfectly captures the harsh conformity of high-school cliques and one teen's struggle to find acceptance from her peers.  Melinda's sarcastic wit, honesty, and courage make her a memorable character." -- Debbie Carton, Booklist, 1999

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References

Anderson, Laurie Halse. 1999. Speak. New York: Square Fish. 

Carton, Debbie. 1999. Speak. 09/15; 2014/4, http://ezproxy.twu.edu:2216/ps/i.do?id=GALE%7CA56063651&v=2.1&u=txshracd2583&it=r&p=LitRC&sw=w&asid=69fcd4e212c077b9295fa3b54c424cc7.

Hatfield, Jean. 2001. Speak. 03/15; 2014/4, http://ezproxy.twu.edu:2216/ps/i.do?id=GALE%7CA73891032&v=2.1&u=txshracd2583&it=r&p=LitRC&sw=w&asid=950ff0b68eb36e9ae2f80fd256bfb85c.

Reviews: Spoken word. 2000. Publishers Weekly 247 (32) (08/07): 31, http://ezproxy.twu.edu:2048/login?url=http://ezproxy.twu.edu:2060/login.aspx?direct=true&db=a9h&AN=3441349&site=ehost-live&scope=site.

Smith, Sally. 2000. Speak (book review). Journal of Adolescent & Adult Literacy 43 (6) (03): 585, http://ezproxy.twu.edu:2048/login?url=http://ezproxy.twu.edu:2060/login.aspx?direct=true&db=a9h&AN=2864940&site=ehost-live&scope=site. 

'Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe' by Benjamin Alire Sáenz

Sáenz, Benjamin Alire. (2012). Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe. New York: Simon & Schuster. ISBN 9781442408920

I'm going to unashamedly admit that I love this book.  I had heard about the book on an NPR program, and mentally filed the title so I could read it later.