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L. J. Smith's series is, overall, very simplistic and insipid. It's an easy read about a beautiful, popular girl and her brooding vampire boyfriend. That's about it. Those who read this book or want to will know exactly what they're getting into: The prose is on par with nearly every other YA novel ever written. The heroine and hero are so incredibly gorgeous they could be models and every other character is madly in love with them. The romance is squeezed into a few brief encounters, resulting in Elena pledging her undying love for Stefan before they've shared even a hundred words. Elena's actions are pretty problematic, not simply because Stefan cuts through her hard despondency so easily, but also because she is willing to forsake all her friends and family for a boy with whom she has an obsessive and unrealistic relationship, and the reader is not meant to question the nature of this romance. There is not much to recommend about this series aside from its quick-readability. It's cliched and vapid, like a story written for a high school English class. It's certainly better than Stephenie Meyer's vampire novels, if only because this series acknowledges the connection between vampirism and sexuality, and Smith probably had an editor, but it offers nothing new or honest. For those who enjoy one-dimensional YA fiction or devour vampire fiction indiscriminately, this is probably a perfect pick. For those readers who want something meatier and more interesting, it's probably better to go back to Stoker and Lefanu.

I don't usually have high hopes for either YA or fantasy fiction, but I was pleasantly surprised by Malinda Lo's debut novel. After reading her AfterEllen columns and the short previews for the book online though, I was very excited to read Ash. Yes, it is a retelling of the Cinderella story, but the book feels less about reaching the fairy tale ending and more about Ash's emotional and physical journeys toward the one she loves. Her romantic interactions with both Sidhean the fairy and Kaisa the huntress are a joy to read, thanks to Lo's good ear for dialogue. The story may be set in a time long ago, but the speech feels honest in a contemporary way. Lo also has some fabulous descriptions. She uses beautiful language in a manner that makes her prose feel entirely cinematic. When she describes the way the trees bend to welcome Ash or the way Kaisa slices the skin of an apple, it's easy to picture the action and scenes in your head in what I would call an artistic manner. It feels less like simple prose and more like brushstrokes within the story. Some plots and characters are not quite as developed as they could be, which is understandable, considering this is a first novel, but the joy of Ash and Kaisa's love- a love that feels truly earned, unlike that of most simplistic YA novels- and the beautiful descriptive language more than make up for the novel's shortcomings.

As a reader who appreciates realism and depth in literature, perhaps Sophie Gee's New York Times review of this poorly-written novel should have tipped me off that this was not my sort of book. I have no problem with romance in literature, but in order for it to be affecting, it must feel honest. The characters must be able to relate to one another. In order to do this, they must also be real people. Davidson's characters are more like cardboard cutouts than real people. The nameless narrator and his lover Marianne are, at the novel's beginning, both ethereally beautiful, intelligent and talented, like a pair of orphans from a V. C. Andrews novel, and though the former is mangled in a horrific car accident, his suffering is less a real hell than it is a recitation of medical procedures. While both characters suffer from self-destructive natures, the motivation behind their actions is unclear. The narrator's drug addiction is given very little time and, though it leads to a series of fantastic confrontations, we're supposed to believe it grasps him with a vice-like grip though the author allows for less than two pages in the novel's entirety to express such a failing. Likewise, the narrator's love for Marianne is one-dimensional and tepid at best for the majority of the book. They don't seem to have anything in common or to share any stimulating conversation, even during Marianne's retelling of their former love during the fourteenth century. We're simply meant to accept that they have an epic love because that's what the author says. Perhaps it has something to do with the obscene amounts of food Marianne cooks. Reportedly, it took seven years of research for Davidson to compose the novel, and while this is certainly an ambitious undertaking, it's disappointing that it amounts to poorly developed characters, cheesier (literally) descriptions and dialogue than anything written by Stephenie Meyer, and a regurgitation of facts about Icelandic, German and Japanese culture that feels less like epic storytelling and more like a Wikipedia entry. The religious content of the novel is similar to that found in Dan Brown thrillers: based on facts but still superficial. The narrator's religious convictions (or lack thereof) flip like a light switch, much like his feelings for Marianne, which come tumbling out in an unintentionally kitschy heap like bad teenage poetry. But Davidson tells us it is so, so it must be. Perhaps if the author had spent more time developing the characters and their relationship(s)- and less time listing items of food consumed, including one laughably memorable moment involving pizza and Marianne's left nipple- it would have been an accomplishment of a first novel, instead of a book a few slots above cheap paperback.

Daniel Handler is one of the most inventive contemporary novelists currently writing. That much was apparent from "A Series of Unfortunate Events," written under his pseudonym, but he really gets a chance to shine when writing for adults. Each of his earlier novels addresses the narrative in a new way, and "Adverbs" is no difference. It's easier to classify the book as a series of connected short stories, all about a group of assorted people in the way in which they fall in love. Though Handler offers that the characters are not necessarily constant, many of the names are repeated and characters seem to know the same people, so it's arguable that they are simply being presented in separate circumstances. As in his previous books, the narrators should be considered unreliable, as the information of different stories is not always constant. This pendulous nature should not be seen as a deterrent, however. Instead, it is demonstrative of the nature of the emotions Handler chooses to present. The love of his stories does not always make sense, but it is consistently honest and representative of the love of the young. Those of appreciate the ironic tone of "A Series of Unfortunate Events" will probably enjoy the book, though it should be said that Handler's novels deal with decidedly adult issues. Although a subtext of sexual menace is present in his fiction for younger readers, "Adverbs"- and his other novels- address sexuality in far more fluid terms than his previous series. Labels of "gay" or "straight" do not apply in this book. Instead, the role of orientation further expresses Handler's sense of new and contemporary love in our modern age of disorientation and disconnect.

It should first be said that this is not a book for everyone, but Rosoff's ambitious prose will be appreciated by many readers. This pseudo-apocalyptic novel is billed as YA fiction, though it deals with complex issues of war, death and incest in a very mature manner. Stylistically, it's similar to Cormac McCarthy's "The Road," one of the most brilliant novels of the past few years. Rosoff utilizes stripped down dialogue and descriptions, which maximize the desolateness of the country after invasion and express Daisy's detachment from the horrors she witnesses. It is a bit frustrating at first, and I'm sure some will criticize her writing style as sophomoric, but the further into the novel one gets, the more her mode of simplistic prose enhances the experiences of the characters. The only real criticism I can lobby against this book is Daisy's over-zealous relationship with Edmond. It is not characterized particularly well, and I was annoyed at times by her obsessive infatuation, especially when I had no real idea why she would seemingly dedicate her existence to him. It's unfortunate that the relationship was not expressed in any realistic manner. It makes the novel feel a bit like "The Road" crossed with V. C. Andrews's Dollanger saga, though some might think this makes the novel seem even more enticing.

It's natural for people to be interested in learning the where, why and how of where food originates, and while authors like Michael Pollan and Eric Schlosser are arguably more intellectual than Jennifer Lee, Ms. Lee brings an intimacy and personality to her debut book that is often absent from more scholarly tomes. Sections of this book first appeared in the New York Times, which is where I first heard of it, but the complete work expounds on a lot of the concepts present in that article: where fortune cookies and General Tso's chicken originated, how little Chinese restaurants resemble authentic Chinese dining experiences, the challenges of being an Asian immigrant in the United States. It is, perhaps, a bit ambitious for Ms. Lee to attempt to address all these issues on one book, but she touches on enough of the history and humanity behind Chinese cooking in the West that it's forgivable. Having grown up in and around Chinese restaurants, frequently running through the kitchens and begging for prawn crackers and fortune cookies as a child, it was very illuminating to read about the realities behind those golden memories, and I imagine anyone who frequently eats Chinese takeout will have a similar experience. The hardships and the luck behind Chinese restaurants are well-expressed, and the book gave me a new appreciation for the food I eat on holidays, on the run, while studying for finals, and with my extended family. It's a must for anyone interested in the story behind the food we eat and the history of American immigrants.

I wasn't quite sure what to expect from a book that features Hayden Panetierre Photoshopped on its cover (for the tie-in edition, anyway), but I think perhaps going in without expectations was the best way to do it. Simply put, this is one of the funniest books I have ever read. It's a pretty simplistic story found in a million teen comedies: nerdy boy loves popular girl. However, Larry Doyle took a very basic, John Hughes-esque premise and turned it into a very smart, very funny mediation on adolescent love. Some of the hijinks of Denis and Beth's graduation night are ridiculously over-the-top, but the heart of the novel is Denis's realization that he has no real idea who Beth Cooper is, despite his infatuation with her. It's a very common situation, of course, but Doyle makes it poignant, without layering on the schmaltz. Doyle's prose is simplistic, but his dialogue is fantastic. It's witty in an honest way, untainted by the too-fast style of writers like Diablo Cody. Overall, the tone of the novel- and its dialogue- reminds me of a cross between David Sedaris and Judd Apatow. It's crude, wacky, and ridiculous- but still manages to be realistically emotionally-affecting. I can't recommend a novel more.

Tana French's follow-up to "In the Woods" maintains her flare for beautiful prose and intense mystery and suspense, though it never equals her first book. That said, this is still a pageturner of a book. It seems destined to be devoured on vacations this summer, and if you like your beach reads with a little more meat and intelligence, this is your novel. Cassie Maddox's narration is especially wonderful, especially when dealing with the ruins of her friendship with Rob Ryan, and it's fascinating to read about how she becomes apart of the cultish group of intellectuals. It's definitely very similar to Donna Tartt's "The Secret History," another novel not to be missed, but French makes the characters and conversations her own. The only major criticism I have with the novel is its unsatisfactory ending. Cassie makes a decision toward the end that feels very out-of-character and seems to go against her desires up until that point. In addition, throughout the novel Cassie places much emphasis upon her double Lexie's pregnancy at the time of her death, yet when the father of the child is finally revealed, French gives the subject only two lines of importance before glossing over the liaison implied. Criticisms aside, this is one of the most fabulous mystery novels I've read in quite a while, and it deserves your undivided attention.

I'm not certain which novel the other reviewer was reading, but I'm positive it couldn't be this one. Although I have never read any of Fowler's other novels, this one holds a special place in my heart as it seems filled with the pure joy of reading. A love of books is often difficult to convey in the printed form, but the characters of this novel express it beautifully. Each of the members of the book club love Austen and find something new and different to pick up on in her texts. Their individual lives, which loosely- very loosely- parallel the stories they read, add a depth to the novel that is unexpected. These women (and man) are very clearly touched by Austen's words, and rise to the occasion to defend her in front of crude, cheap paperback writers in an enviable manner. This book will encourage you to read and live the words you read. As for those who have never read Austen before, I would still recommend the novel. The first time I read this book, my only exposure to Austen was "Pride and Prejudice." I was still able to enjoy the novel, and it prompted me to read Austen's novels on my own, and to revisit Fowler's book again afterward. All in all, I think this is a wonderful novel, one whose title unfairly lends it to the category of chick-lit. It is, in fact, a brilliant mediation on the way the written word can affect people and rouse changes in their lives.

Although I have never before read anything by Mary Roach, this book has made me a fan. Roach combines an irreverent sense of humor with admiration for the science of sexology that's incredibly infectious. She acknowledges the salaciousness of the pursuit, as well as its importance within the study of general biology. It's a nice balance. The book covers various inquiries, framed by Roach's own questions, and it's always engaging. The author presents the reader with just as much factual information as is necessary (perhaps just a tad more than needed in the section about pig insemination) without falling victim to too much technical language. All in all, it's a fascinating, insightful, and very funny book that I would recommend to everyone. Well, perhaps not prudes.

As an avid reader of the Hard Case Crime series, I was interested in reading this novel, though I did not have high hopes for it. The plot sounded fairly forumulaic and the only female character mentioned in the plot synopsis was dead. However, while the book is a slow-starter, it quickly built into a thoroughly-engrossing whodunit. I found myself constantly questioning which of the characters had the most motivation to murder the woman in question. Westlake masterfully pulls the reader into Clay's mind as he searches for the killer, and he also manages to make Clay's girlfriend, Ella, into a convincing and competent character. While the ending is rather open-ended and abrupt, it makes sense within the context of the narrative. Overall, I highly recommend this novel. It might take a bit to get into the story, but it's well-worth the effort.

This collection of short stories by Jaret- not Janet, as the listing here reads- Ferratusco is impressive, not just because it is the author's first collection, but because it is completely and utterly unique, while still managing to remain accessible. Ferratusco's descriptive language is very dense, which may prove a stumbling block for some, but his imagery is always striking. Many of the stories have a supernatural element as echoed in nature, but the emotions and questions always feel authentic and real.

McGinniss's first novel is not an easy read, but it's well-worth the effort. His prose is marvelously stripped down, yet he still manages to create beautiful, grotesque and always striking images. His characters, while incredibly flawed and rather selfish, still manage to elicit sympathy, and the author never panders or relies on cheap shots. It feels entirely real and brutally honest, and perhaps that is why it stayed on my mind for so long after I'd finished reading.

This memoir is incredibly engrossing and reads like the best fiction sometimes. I couldn't put the book down. Smith expresses even the most delicate details so vividly in a way that feels real and authentic. She goes all the way in describing her troubles and personal struggles with faith, her sexuality and eating disorders, without ever asking the reader for pity.

Curtis Sittenfeld, an excellent writer, for certain, has crafted a novel that will most likely be remembered as a thinly-veiled fictional biography of Laura Bush. The fact that it exists is perhaps its greatest strength and greatest weakness. Sittenfeld crafts an elegant story of a well-meaning woman who finds herself caught up in love with an enterprising man from a wealthy family. Certain details about Bush's life are given life in the novel, and while this does make for engrossing reading, by the end of the book, one might feel slightly sick. During the last section of the novel, it becomes apparent that Sittenfeld has created an idealized version of Bush, one that she seems to believe truly exists. There is the creeping sensation that it is less and less an impressive narrative exercise, and more and more a concocted fantasy of the way this very real woman could be. Though I personally identify as a radical leftist, I found the last pages of the novel to read more like Sittenfeld's personal political views spilling from the character's lips in a way that felt very inauthentic. In a way, I view Sittenfeld's novel as being fundamentally similar to Stephenie Meyer's "Twilight," though the former is a far superior book. Both novels exist as a physical manifestation of their author's deepest fantasies, and ones that perhaps the reader should not be privy to, much less under the guise of serious literature.

Remarkably well-composed for a first novel, this book is a welcome antidote to the soap opera vampire novels that are all the rage. Lindqvist paints a vivid picture of all the fantastical characters, but makes their feelings and thoughts hauntingly real.

Very, very dishy. Jessica Cutler was fired after writing a tell-all blog about her sexual exploits among those on the Hill. She managed to get a book deal out of it-- essentially fictionalizing the truth and changing it around just enough for it to be published as a novel. A prime example of art imitating life.

Belle de Jour's first book is a collection of her blog postings about her life as a call girl in London, and it's wonderfully frank and frankly wonderful. Belle is a deeply insightful writer who provides a look into the life of a sex worker and all it's up's and down's. Her descriptions of experiences with the agency and her clients will both shock and make you laugh, usually at the same time. There is plenty of relationship drama with all her male friends (mostly ex-lovers), the enigmatic Dr. C, and especially her on-again, off-again paramour The Boy. It's really the most delectable type of high-brow chick lit around-- and even that seems an insult, as Belle's work far surpasses the standards the genre entails.