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For three years, Lyric Walker has behaved like a model citizen - in school, at home, everywhere.  The wild thing she used to be cannot come out.  Her home town of Coney Island has become a refugee camp for a strange race of sentient sea creatures.  The hatred and mistrust between humans and these aliens - the Alpha - grows to a fever pitch when the president demands that Alpha children enter New York's public schools.

Lyric's school is first. 

But Lyric and her parents have a secret that may kill them.  When Lyric is forced to befriend the Alpha prince, Fathom, things become confusing all too quickly.  He is untamed - as are all the Alpha - with a sense of honor that demands quick and violent retribution for the smallest of slights.  Lyric only agrees to help Fathom adjust to humans when escape from the area is offered to her for parents as well as herself.

The government, itself, is split between the locals who hate and want to exterminate these interlopers and the federal government that views them as possible allies.

A subplot about Lyric's best friend's abusive step-father, and that best friend's boy friend add pathos to an otherwise action adventure sci-fi novel.

Things start out uncomfortably in this book and quickly become ugly and then uglier.  Hate and what it motivates people to do is never a pretty sight.

Things I liked best about this book:
1.  Cool battle scenes.
2.  Lyric and Bex, her best friend.
3.  Lyric's migraines turn into something significant.
4.  The trial scene - wow, that was so awesome!
5.  Governmental wrangling.  Don't totally trust them!!  Conspiracy theorists, unite!

Possible Spoiler Alert!!
I expected an underlying theme to be the warming of the oceans.  I thought that was the reason these people were forced onto land.  That may crop up in subsequent titles in this series - because Fathom, Lyric, Bex and all the others will return.  But the reason the Alpha left the sea is pretty freaky and scary.

marisahoop viral from Lisa Leone on Vimeo.
Yesterday afternoon, as you know, I had the great pleasure of talking with Lisa Leone about the uber-fabulous YoungArts program, in which I'll be participating this coming January as a Master Teacher.  Lisa is a great artist in her own right—a photographer and cinematographer.

Those of you who love Coney Island and roller skating (and Marisa Tomei) will want to watch this Lisa Leone short film.  Those of you who remember hula hooping your way through summer evenings (and who love Marisa Tomei) will want to watch the film above.

Obviously, I just watched them both.

From the fascinating documentary I watched tonight on a late night AMERICAN MASTERS on PBS:

The art music of Philip Glass. He had me at the Cyclone-- one of his beloved Coney Island pastimes. For me, the Cyclone was like a mythic King Kong beating his chest at the top of the Empire State Building. I feared and cherished the vision of the iconic roller coaster that was a part of my childhood horizon. Its presence is integral to the Brooklyn landscape of my imagination. I could not imagine the beach and Surf Avenue and the Boardwalk and my memories without its existence. While Coney Island may be a tourist attraction today, to me it has always been a piece of my puzzle, my map, my DNA. When I drive through or around the city, I still see the World Trade Center where it should be, long after its corporal body fell to the ground.

When I was too young to know better, I let myself be persuaded to take my first ride on the Cyclone. Maybe I was promised a reward for my acquiescence-- like a ride on the Wonder Wheel or Carousel. Those were the rides I adored and went on time and again. All pleasure. No pain.

The Cyclone requires faith and release of control. Once you're strapped in and the horrific ascent up to the apex of the coaster begins, you're in and there's no turning back. (Even as I write these words, my stomach flip-flops remembering what it felt like to be locked in that seat.) Internally, I felt ashamed of my panic. Like a baby with separation anxieties. I wanted to conquer the fear and so I caved in, strapped in, and I took that ride.



I have never screamed so silently before or since. It's April 2009 and The Cyclone Lives. It has to. Without it, Coney Island would breathe its last breath. It IS Coney Island-- but I am very content to stand on the street and let others scream for me. That's music to my ears.

Here's a sample of the ride that killed the joys of roller coasting for me forever (with the sweet bonus of experiencing the ride with the master composer). I'd rather be..er... writing than riding.



Glass said music is not something he creates but, rather, hears. He just writes it down. The notes are out there.

Creativity is turned upside down in his art: Music should be seen, images should be heard.

I like that.

I do not like roller coasters.