“That’s the power of the treatment . . . Society before family. We’re turning antisocial teenagers into model citizens; young people who drained this country of its resources now actively want to contribute.” In the near future, the governments strive to “Make Britain Great Again” by brainwashing troublesome teenagers. It’s a storyline that could prove didactic and predictable were it not for the many twists and turns that bestselling suspense author CL Taylor – writing for teens for the first time – provides in The Treatment (HQ, £7.99).
The unadorned prose lets the plot zip along neatly. The first five pages see narrator Drew threatened by a gang of her nastier classmates, encounter a mysterious woman, discover that her brother – shipped off to a “reform academy” - is in trouble, and witness what may be an accident but seems to be murder. Story rather than thoughtful characterisation drives this thriller, but Taylor’s capacity to reproduce the unsettling, often arbitrary cruelty of teenage girls adds a compelling layer of realism.
Carnegie-nominated and Printz-winning Nick Lake similarly ventures into the not-so-distant future with Satellite (Hodder, £7.99), in which 15-year-old Leo has only known life at zero gravity. One of three children born in space, he and a set of twins are now told they need to go “home” – but Earth, as far as Leo is concerned, is an alien landscape. Space is what he loves: “There are some things that are simply beyond human comprehension . . . this is something that goes on forever & is full of worlds, billions of them, pinpricks sparkling in the endless darkness.”
Although the stylistic quirks – a lack of capitalisation and text-message-style abbreviations – may irritate some readers, the overall effect is lyrical and serves to balance out the large amount of scientific information provided. Leo’s tense relationship with his astronaut mother serves as the emotional fulcrum in a novel that also touches on various identity issues and societal problems, making this both a believable coming-of-age narrative and thought-provoking science fiction tale.
In contrast, identity – and its intersection with both friendship and romance – takes centre stage in poet Billy Merrell’s debut novel, Vanilla (Scholastic, £14.99). In free verse, high-school students Hunter and Vanilla reflect on a long-standing relationship now in jeopardy. There is no doubt that they love one another, but Hunter’s desire for sex leaves Vanilla feeling “like I’ve suddenly lost a best friend / in a negotiation I didn’t know we were having”. The intimacy Hunter yearns for is “a key to a city” in his eyes, a completeness, but for Vanilla it seems empty.
Enter Clown – later Angel – who suggests that Vanilla may be asexual, a label that makes things click. The complex links between the three invite reflections on the differences not just between love and friendship but between romantic love and sexual attraction – distinctions that modern, Tumblr-savvy teenagers are already familiar with and will be pleased to see represented in fiction.
At times the narrative veers towards the preachy – Angel tells their grandmother, “you have to understand, / my generation looks at men’s and women’s restrooms / the way yours looked at segregated ones” – but in the main it manages to tackle sexuality and identity without sounding like a self-help guide. The capacity of the poetry to carry ongoing metaphors also allows this to work as a literary text without being heavy-handed. Fans of Merrell’s mentor, David Levithan, will adore this.
Slim volume
Annabel Pitcher (My Sister Lives on the Mantelpiece) sets sexuality not quite at the centre of her novella, The Last Days of Archie Maxwell (Barrington Stoke, £7.99), in which teenage Archie is frustrated at how everyone is "too damn reasonable" about his father leaving his mother for another man. At a time when his own sexuality is burgeoning – the beautiful Tia inspires almost-immediate reactions in him – it is distracting and later disturbing to have his mates shouting obscenities about what his father might get up to.
Pitcher packs a novel’s worth of emotion into this slim volume, with Archie’s sense that he is now “a lie” – echoed in his telling of lies to Tia about her late brother – eventually prompting a suicide attempt. This sensitive account of family and love is particularly aimed at reluctant or struggling readers but like most Barrington Stoke texts, will appeal to eager readers also.
Earlier this year Daniel "Lemony Snicket" Handler declared in The New York Times that his latest novel – intended for teenagers – would be published for adults as "the guardians of young people's literature get so easily riled up about sex". It's a statement that's clearly reviewer-bait, but nevertheless it must be said that All The Dirty Parts (Bloomsbury, £14.99) does completely feel like a teen novel, albeit more explicit than most. Roll over, Judy Blume and Melvin Burgess.
Handler’s (anti-)hero Cole views the possibility of sex as “a story that keeps telling itself to me, my own crackling need in this world”. He already has a “reputation”, with 11 interchangeable notches on his bedpost (each name beginning with the letter A). Cole sees even the most mundane actions as “seduction, even though I know they aren’t”. Despite his easy access to – and familiarity with – pornography, he understands that it often lies. Despite his understanding of consent and double standards, he is still very much a sex-obsessed teenage boy.
But then he ventures into that dangerous world of feelings: both the relationship with his best friend Alec and the love he feels for exchange student Grisaille (whose “European” ways – drinking red wine and not shaving her armpits – do verge on cliche) are complicated by sex. This is a thought-provoking, beautifully-written account of emotional maturity stumbling after sexual maturity.
Claire Hennessy is a writer, editor and creative writing facilitator
