Rewind – William Sleator

Middle school student Peter’s parents were expecting their first natural child, an event prompting them to reveal for the first time that he was adopted. An artistic, sensitive boy, his pragmatic parents never understood why he’d rather create art than play football, and their response to his carefully crafted marionettes and play had such a disappointing response that, blinded by frustration, anger and grief, he ran out on to the street one wet and rainy night. He was killed instantly.
Waking up in a pool of bright white light, Peter is told he had twenty-four hours to pick a time and rewind his life up until his death – if he changes the past, maybe he can avoid dying again. But can Peter pick the right moment, and can he work out in time what needs to be different?
This is an interesting novel about what ifs, family friction (the usual disappointments of adolescence rather than the frequently represented outright abuses), the role of communication, and the advantages of reframing situations – seeing them differently in order to experience them differently.
That all sounds quite dull, but the brilliance of Sleator is his unique view. Peter is engaging, entertaining, and startlingly oblivious to the needs and sensibilities of other people. His efforts to prevent his death become increasingly more insightful about cause and effect, specifically the impact that changing his behaviour and (consequently) his thinking about the needs and world views of others, has on their emotions and reactions to him.
I've enjoyed other of Sleator's works more, primarily those aimed at older readers (like The Green Futures of Tycho, The Boy Who Reversed Himself, The House of Stairs and Others See Us) , but I think that this is great for its target audience and an enjoyable read on its own merits. It may even have an effect on young adolescents who - and I was certainly no exception - tend to forget that the world exists apart from them! - Alex

The Boy Who Reversed Himself - William Sleator

Some weird things are happening around Laura - a note written backward, appeared in her (locked) locker, clearly written by someone who knows her very well. Really well - she hadn't told anyone she wanted to be a doctor. Then the assignment she left at home also appeared in her (locked) locker, reversed. Omar, the strange kid who moved in with Mr Campanelli next door, is hanging around, and Laura's worried Pete, the guy she likes, will think she's weird, too. But though Omar has odd gaps in his knowledge (who never heard of chocolate chip cookies?), he knows some interesting things too. And when Laura pushes him to reveal his secret, a whole new dimension opens up for her - one that changes her perceptions of both boys and that threatens not only her life but that of all humanity.
Sleator writes really good teen FSF, with a strong grounding in real science. His characterisation is stunning, but he gets top marks for the incorporation of multidimensional maths theory. Incorporation isn't right, really - this is at the core of the novel, and Sleator not only explains a stunningly difficult concept (fourth dimensionality, with not only left/right and up/down but ana/kata directions) but goes one step beyond and imagines what creatures of that reality would think of ours. And then he goes a step beyond that. All without losing readability, characterisation or credibility. Full marks. - Alex

Junk Food Monkeys - Robert M Sapolsky

Dr Sapolsky is a neuroendocrinologist who has spent a portion of every year in Africa, observing primate behaviour, for the past two decades. He is also an engaging writer - or, to quote the great Oliver Sacks, "one of the best science writers of our time", and he should know.
In this collection of essays Sapolsky discusses primate and human behaviour (often tying both together), and the biological whys of what we do. From hard-wired biological contributions to sexual orientation ("How big's yours?") and the impact of puberty on the composition of primate groups ("The young and the reckless"), through how age affects social positioning ("The graying of the troop") and the loss of identity ("The dissolution of ego boundaries and the fit of my father's shirt"), to the innate desire to gossip and to witness accidents ("Primate peekaboo") to obsessive-compulsivity as a key component of religion ("Circling the blanket for God"), every chapter is challenging, thought provoking and accessible.
While reading the final chapter ("Circling the blanket") my memory was irritatingly itched by the half-remembered plot of an SF novel I read about ten years ago that I thought tied Sapolsky's discussion of OCD and religious scrupulousness together beautifully - and then he referenced Orson Scott Card's Xenocide himself, which was an amazing moment for me, because I am indeed that sad! In fact I want to write to Dr Sapolsky and tell him about another novel (The House of Stairs by William Sleator) that explores conditioning superstitious behaviour in a group of teens.
I've read a couple of Sapolsky's other collections (expect reviews of rereads of A Primate's Memoir, Monkeyluv, and Why Zebras Don't Get Ulcers in the coming months), and he never fails to deliver. - Alex

Fade - Robert Cormier

The only mystery Paul Moreaux knows of is a family photograph, taken just before the first World War, before the family moved from Quebec to New England - where his uncle Adelard ought to be was an empty space, which Paul found thought-provoking even if his father thinks Adelard just ducked. Other than that his life seems ordinary enough - he shares a bed with his older and younger brothers and the room with his sisters, his father works at the nearby comb factory and smells always of the flexible but combustible celluloid they use, and his greatest interests are performing and spending time with his Pete.
That is until the summer Paul turns thirteen, when everything starts to change. It begins with the return of his aunt Rosanna - his beautiful, flirtatious, mysterious aunt, who has an intoxicating effect of the young boy. It continues with union activity and industrial action at the Monument Comb Shop. But Paul's life really changes when his uncle Adelard returns home, and explains that Paul has inherited the Moreaux family trait, passed from uncle to nephew as far back as they can trace, and kept secret from everyone else - Paul has the ability to become invisible at will, to fade. And though this seemed at first a gift, as Paul begins to see, hear and learn things better kept secret, he wonders if the fade is instead a curse.
I really liked, in particular, the idea that something which seems so perfect as controllable invisibility being a bad thing. It all sounds like a great premise, though the concept reminded me more of a William Sleator novel than something by Cormier (better known for edgy but realistic young adult novels). Unfortunately I just couldn't engage with the narrative or Paul. I suspect, as the opening section is titled 'Paul,' that there's at least one other voice in the novel, but I stopped reading just after Adelard reveals the fade, so I can't say for certain. I don't know if this was because the writing seemed laboured, if it's because there's a strong hindsight aspect ("I didn't know it at the time but that was the first time I faded"), if it's because it took about a third of the novel before Paul learned of his ability... whatever it was, for the second time already this week I just couldn't be bothered reading on. And that's a shame given the prestige of the author (whose work I very much enjoyed when I was at school) and the promise of the premise. - Alex

Others See Us - William Sleator

Every year sixteen-year-old Jared’s mother’s family spend the summer together at his grandmother’s house by the beach. Last year, he began to notice the charms of his gorgeous cousin Annelise, and the closer summer’s neared, the more he’s thought about her, and written about her in his secret journal. As though to add insult to injury, this year his parents decided to take him to Europe and a whole month was wasted, but July’s finally arrived, and missing Grandma’s Fourth of July cookout isn’t an option.
Each family has a cottage, and Jared has a routine for the first day – first he hides his journal under a loose floorboard (carefully nailed down at the end of summer, so it won’t be fixed by the caretakers), then he goes for a long bike ride. Eager as he is to see Annelise, who last year confessed she, too, kept a journal, Jared sticks to his routine. When the brakes on his bike fail, Jared ends up in the swamp, which has been contaminated by industrial run-off from the now-closed mill, and is late to lunch.
Initially still stunned by the noxious dip, and excited about seeing Annelise again, it takes Jared some time to realise that he can read his family’s minds. Annelise is thrilled to see him, five-year-old Amy is single-minded in her determination to elude supervision and go into the water, eighteen-year-old Lindie’s jealous that she’s fat and ugly when Annelise is so radiant and popular (and she’s stressed about a secret), and Jared’s mother and her sisters don’t like each other at all.
And then Jared begins to discover that all is not as it seems – his say-whatever-she-thinks grandmother’s hiding something, Lindie has hidden depths, and Annelise is far from the lovely creature they all believe her to be. When Jared discovers his grandmother has also fallen into the swamp he knows she can read minds too, and then she enlists him in a plot that Jared’s far too naïve to see the end point of.
Sleater writes great fantasy – his adolescent protagonists are spirited, imperfect and believable, his plots are novel and fresh, and the resolutions always give pause for thought (particularly in his classic, The House of Stairs). Though I prefer his full-length novels, his short stories are also engaging and twist with most satisfying unexpectedness, and I’ve never finished a novel of his disappointed. This was my second reading of Others See Us, the first about ten years ago, and it was just as crisp, convincing and involving when I knew what was coming. - Alex