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The White Giraffe by Lauren St. John. Illustrations by David Dean. Dial Books. $16.99.

I was at an ALA Conference skimming through the convention center when I stumbled across the Dial booth. I was a little too late to get the hottest galleys that day, but a person can still root out a hidden gem here and there if they’ve a yen to. I think it may have been the cover of “The White Giraffe” that caught my eye first. Deep blues with a pale ghostly giraffe obviously reflecting the moonlight off its hide. I’m not usually drawn to animal stories but there was something deeply compelling about the image I saw here. “Is this any good?,” I asked the clearly exhausted Dial employee. To the best of her ability she assured me that it was a worthwhile read, so I took it home. So here’s where it becomes awkward. It may well be that in the future this is a much beloved title that no one disputes as distilled genius in a glass. Maybe. But as far as I could tell, author Lauren St. John hasn’t quite yet gotten a feel for how to write for a young audience. There are things in this book that work, but by and large they’re outweighed by the sheer mass of the things that do not. A good start, but a book that could have stood a little more editing

When eleven-year-old Martine’s parents die in an accidental fire, she finds herself bundled away from England and sent to live with her grandmother in Africa. And that might have been fine except for the fact that it’s obvious right from the start that Martine is not wanted by this unfamiliar relative. Lonely in a strange new land, one night the girl spots a white giraffe in the moonlight. And unaware of a legend that speaks of a girl who will someday ride such an animal, Martine begins to fall in love with her new home. Yet poachers are invading Martine’s grandmother’s land and Jemmy, the beautiful white giraffe, is almost certainly in danger. It will take all the girl’s strength and resilience to discover who the traitor on the reserve is and, when the time comes, realize how to rescue Jemmy.

Now it’s clear that St. John’s a writer through and through. Listen to this line: “Pale spiky thorn trees and ragged shrubs dotted the long yellow grass, which glowed beneath the blazing summer sun as if it was lit from underneath.” THAT is how you write a sentence. THAT is how it is done. Food too is described deliciously as “omlettes made from fresh farm eggs and wild mushrooms, a heap of crispy bacon, and tomatoes fried with brown sugar.” A human being could subsist on these words alone if you let them. So imagine my distress when on the next page the resident magical black friend puts her hand on our heroine’s forehead and says, “You have the gift, chile . . . Jus’ like the forefathers said.” Even if you take away the whole white-girl-is-going-to-save-us-all idea, surely there was a better way to introduce that idea.

All right. So maybe some of my objection to this title is rooted in its basic premise. White girl goes to Africa and connects with a magical creature there better than any actual African could because she is “the one”. So how much does Martine’s race really matter? I read the first chapter or so of “The White Giraffe” after reading the bookflap, secure in the belief that my heroine was black. When it turned out that she was not, the entire reading experience took a shift to the left. I had been enjoying the book, you know. As first chapters go, I may have to nominate “The White Giraffe” for Most Gripping Opening of 2007. It’s thrilling in the best sense of the word. So do we blame a book for putting a European lady in an African setting? Not a bit of it. But when it's clear that there are legends built around Martine, that's when things start to get uncomfortable. I mean, just for argument's sake, would it have been so bad if Martine had been black? It's not like we're swimming in black heroines in children's books these days anyway (and certainly not in fantasy).

There were other issues, I suppose. Martine is eleven but in terms of basic ideas like racism she resembles a six or seven-year-old more. That means that you get passages where apartheid gets a brief glossed over mention without much meat or heft to it. There are small plot gaps as well. Martine doesn’t tell her grandmother about her gamekeeper’s unnatural violence because Tendai “didn’t want to distress her unnecessarily.” It’s a literary device that’s as unnecessary as it is frustrating. Like those movies where the characters won’t call the cops, even when the homicidal maniac is threatening them with a machete. Heck, when Martine’s grandmother, a woman who (we later find) would protect her granddaughter with her life, allows Martine to go BACK into the super scary ship full of bad guys with guns there is just no good reason for it. No sane guardian would let their kid do that. And there are other moments of sheer coincidence. Grace, a holy woman, spontaneously appears in Martine’s secret alcove at just the right moment. You know Ms. St. John must have felt some slight awkwardness with moments like this. After all the book even says, “Martine was still reeling from the bombshell of finding the woman she’d wanted to see, here, in this sacred space.” You me both, hon.

But did I mention that the writing was sometimes great? That a giraffe’s eyes are described as the wisest and “most innocent” in the world? And I liked Martine’s dreams and the subplot that involves some mean kids in her school. It’s the details and the idea of a white gal being the savior of Africa that gives me the willies. I look forward to what St. John puts out in the future. A memorable read, but it could definitely have been stronger.

On shelves now.

Notes On the Cover: Can’t put it down. Credit Dial with snagging one smartie of a cover for this puppy. Artist David Dean's interior illustrations are lovely to look at too. It's a pity they weren't in color, what with the beautiful hues on the cover and all hat. A good choice in any case.

First Line: “People like to say that things come in threes, but the way Martine looked at it, that all depends on when you start counting and when you stop.”

Theodosia and the Serpents of Chaos by R.L. LaFevers. Illustrations by Yoko Tanaka. Houghton Mifflin Company. $16.00.

It took me a little while to review this one, but better late than never.

Things That Are Difficult To Do:

1. Eating broken glass
2. Changing a baby’s diaper for the first time.
3. Digesting aforementioned broken glass.
4. Selling a boy on a great adventuresome novel with a female heroine.

It’s a bit of a stereotype but one with at least a grain of truth to it. Certain boys of a particular literary persuasion will offer an unpleasant amount of resistance to reading a book when its protagonist is of the feminine variety. This is understood. Few quibble the point. As a result, nine times out of ten a hero who discovers a fantastical world in a fantasy novel will sport a name like Harry or Percy or Sebastian (no one said they had to be manly names). This can make it difficult for girls heroes. Either they have to share the spotlight with a boy (and is pictured on the cover with him if the publisher has their way) or their heroine already exists in a world of her own when the action begins. The latter is the case with one Theodosia Throckmorton. If you called her “spunky” to her face she’d probably grind your foot beneath her boot heel. Theodosia isn’t cute or plucky or wide-eyed. She’s sly and clever with just half a sandwich more intelligence than her fellow man. "Theodosia and the Serpents of Chaos" is not a perfect creation, but it has enough originality and sheer verve to make up for those imperfections a reader might find.

When you’re living in Edwardian England as the child of easily distracted museum curators, you have to do a lot of growing up on your own. Theodosia Throckmorton, for her part, has done her fair share. While her mother has been scouring Egypt for artifacts to send to the family’s Museum of Legends and Antiquities, Theodosia lives in London at the museum in question with her father and cat. What’s more, she has a purpose in life. Unlike anyone else she knows, Theodosia can physically sense the horrid curses and black magic seeping from the artifacts on display. Her job? Remove the magic and keep away from her father’s meddling curator Clive Fagenbush. And everything would have been perfectly fine had her mother not brought home that wretched Heart of Egypt. Legend says that should this amulet ever leave its native soil it will curse the country that takes it in and topple the kingdom itself. Now WWI is looming, evil forces are conspiring to steal the amulet for their own means, and it’s up to Theodosia to foil the bad guys, find herself some allies, and return the Heart of Egypt to its rightful home.

The book lends itself to love. First off, there’s the fact that LaFevers has such a flair for names. It’s just a pleasure to read someone who can create her own unique characters without sounding like a slightly sickened Dickens novel. So it was that I found myself chortling over monikers like Sticky Will, Dolge, Sweeny, and Wigmere. The very voice of the book was also a pleasure. I’m rather taken with any heroine who mentally labels her brother a “cad” when he threatens her with imminent education. And I liked the shout-outs to other works of children’s fiction. E. Nesbit’s, “The Treasure Seekers” gets a mention, which pleased me to no end. A pity the author is never named.

Best of all, “Theodosia” works on more than one level. It is my personal belief that LaFevers is making a rather slick anti-colonialism statement couched in an otherwise innocuous fantasy. Theodosia’s parents are stealing a country’s treasures without so much as a drop of guilt. Heck, her mother even alludes to a possible bribery of “local officials” so as to remove the artifacts from the country. And while you’d never accuse Theodosia of being anything other than a patriot (she even goes so far as to say that she would never “betray” her country) that doesn’t mean she can’t be at odds with what the nation, as well as her very own parents, does.Less effective perhaps is the tie made between pre-war Germany and this “curse” upon England. Says Theodosia, “ Germany was using the power of Ancient Egyptian magic to topple its adversaries. Just like Thutmose III and Amenemhab had.” Anti-colonialism I’m willing to buy. The Kaiser using magic? I guess it works in the same way that the Nazis in the Indiana Jones films work. It just seems a little clunky for an otherwise nice book.

There are problems here and there. There are no surprises regarding the true villain of the book. You probably won’t mind, but LaFevers makes it fairly evident. Another complaint I’ve heard lodged against this title is that it doesn’t effectively take you into Edwardian England. The smells and tastes and sensations aren’t there. You can appreciate the plot and pacing, but it’s not an evocative novel. I agree with this to some extent. Obviously that wasn’t what LaFevers was going for. For the kind of book that it is, you can enjoy the story without feeling you have to have traveled back in time with the author. For all that the author doesn’t try to conjure up distinct sensations, she’s thought through numerous tricky details. I loved the idea of long-term exposure to curses seeping into a person’s soul like radiation into cells. Plus the illustrations by Yoko Tanaka are used sparingly enough to give the book just enough oomph without detracting.

I’m trying to gauge the level of innate kid-appeal in this book, and I’m having a difficult time coming up with anything. What it really feels like is a child-version of Elizabeth Peters’ Amelia Peabody novels like “Crocodile On the Sandbank”. Same level-headed heroine. Same magic and vibe. Same exciting Egypt-based fight/flight sequences. You can hardly recommend a book to a kid on the basis of the adult novel it reminded you of. In the end, I’m just going to wait for the child who comes up to me and wants a good adventure story with a bit of fantasy for flair. It won’t be a book for every kid out there, true. But when paired with titles like the “Enola Holmes” books by Nancy Springer, “Theodosia” should prove popular with any kid attracting to the intelligent and the arcane.

On shelves now.

Notes on the Cover: Houghton Mifflin is apparently unafraid to make it clear to the world that this book is a historical fantasy. I know that amongst some there is a belief that if kids see anything even faintly antiquated on a book cover that they avoid it like the plague. It's nice to see a book reveling in an original look. The colors are one-of-a-kind, the image of Theodosia more than a photographed and dismembered head or torso, and the font pleasant. Altogether, this is a cover that makes children and adults want to pick it up. Well played.

First Line: "I don’t trust Clive Fagenbush."

Other Blog Reviews: Jen Robinson's Book Page, bookshelves of doom, lindajsingleton, nichtszusagen, Dee and dee Dish, Menageriemom's Musings, corrinalaw,

Futher Info: The Theodosia Throckmorton Homepage and Theodosia's Journal (blog)

The Titan's Curse by Rick Riordan. Miramax Books (an imprint of Hyperion Books For Children). $17.95

You know, it still strikes me as odd when I run across a kid who hasn’t read a Percy Jackson book yet. Take, for example, the homeschooler bookgroup I run. These kids aren’t exactly sheltered, but at the same time they don’t feel unnaturally compelled to follow the latest trend due to peer pressure. They hadn’t even heard of Rick Riordan when I proposed to them that we read, “The Lightening Thief”, the other day. Obediently they took the book home and in a week some of them were back, basically begging me for Book #2. Now they’ve found out that I’ve a copy of #3, “The Titan’s Curse,” hidden about my person and if I don’t give it to them soon there will be blood shed. My blood. So while I usually take a long time to process a book before finally getting around to reviewing it, in Mr. Riordan’s case I’m gonna make an exception. The third in the series, in “Titan’s Curse,” Riordan raises the stakes, adds in a couple new gods and monsters, and basically ratchets up the tension while cutting down on the easygoing moments. It's bound to make the fans happy.

Percy’s on a rescue mission. Nothing new there. The fact that he’s getting a ride to the rescue mission with his mom and two of his camp mates is definitely a unique occurrence, though. Percy, Annabeth, and the now re-humanized Thalia (daughter of Zeus) are traveling to a private school where their friend and satyr Grover has made an important discovery. There are two new half-bloods there, a brother and a sister, and it’s up to our heroes to get them to Camp Half-Blood before the resident monster spirits them away. Unfortunately the rescue mission is botched, Annabeth disappears with the enemy, and Percy finds himself facing a whole new bad guy. He’s called The General, and under his command he’s captured the goddess Artemis and is hellbent on destroying the Gods for his master, the Titan Kronos. Now it’s up to Percy and company to rescue the goddess, find Annabeth, and stop The General’s plans before it's too late. Which, I might add, it might already be.

Riordan’s a much cleverer author than anyone gives him credit for. He’s smart enough to know that many of his readers have probably read up on their Greek myths all thanks to his books. Therefore, when someone like Apollo says, “I hate it when pretty girls turn into trees,” you may or may not know what he’s referring to, depending on how well you know your myths. And in retrospect when I look back at the series, it was a really good idea for Riordan not to make Percy the son of Zeus or something like that. It would’ve been the easiest thing in the world to make Mr. Jackson a latter-day Hercules and let the story write itself from there. Far more interesting to give him a lesser god as a pop. Still powerful, mind you, but not heir to the big bad father of them all. Extra kudos for his treatment of Artemis and her Hunters in this book. In the story, the girls that join Artemis to hunt with her have, for one reason or another, eschewed the company of men. Annabeth, it soon turns out, was contemplating joining them. This easily could have been played up as an evil choice or one that no right-minded woman should go with. Instead, Riordan prefers to be nuanced. The choice, we learn, may not be for everyone, but for some people it’s a legitimate lifestyle. It would have been too easy to demonize an all-woman group of this sort. He could have made them into nasty man-haters. Instead, they don’t particularly like men but they also don’t act cruelly towards them.

Riordan’s also a big fan of casting mysterious phrases the reader’s way. This is nothing new, of course. He’s always loved to bring up an important sentence, then delay its explanation via a fight or some other distraction. Normally he knows how to keep this instinct under control. In “The Titan’s Curse,” however, he’s gone a little overboard. There are more times in this title where the book will say, “It was a long time ago. Never mind,” or, “I decided not to ask what she meant,” or something to that effect than he can really justify as an author. He also isn’t afraid to throw in a convenient plot twist when the fancy strikes. Like, for example, finding an abandoned truck with a full tank of gas when you really need to drive as fast as you can across America. Or someone just happening to fashion bullets out of celestial bronze and then placing them in a helicopter not long before the moment when evil monsters are nigh. That sort of thing. Even Percy’s dreams are never explained, even though they act as perfect little narrative devices. It's a pity.

Which is not to say that the situation in this book isn't direst it’s ever been. The pace and plotting of this book work together very well here. Possibly better than they’ve ever worked before. Riordan juggles humor and action together fairly well, always taking time to introduce new, interesting characters. I also have a weakness for Riordan’s chapter headings. Titles like “I Learn How To Grow Zombies,” or, “The Gods Vote How To Kill Us,” just reel the child reader in. As for his hero, you always root for Percy. Unlike his magician equivalent, Percy never really stays on top of things. If something bad can happen to this guy, it will. He’s a hero but he’s also kind of a screw-up, so he tends to be interesting to watch since you never know who’ll be putting him down next.

Some series books have a clear cut sense of when they’re going to end. Take Harry Potter as your example here. Harry attends seven years of school (in theory) so therefore he has seven books in his series. “A Series of Unfortunate Events” follows a tragic and unlucky set of characters, therefore their books are the unarguably unlucky number thirteen. The “Percy Jackson and the Olympians,” series, however, isn’t so clear cut. We do learn in this book that Percy may have to fulfill a prophecy of some sort around his sixteenth birthday. So at the very least that may mean two more books, always assuming Riordan makes each title exactly one year. However he chooses to wrap the series up, it really doesn’t matter. For the time being, “The Titan’s Curse,” will satisfy its die-hard fans. I don’t know how Riordan managed to find the right child-reader sweet spot, but he definitely managed it. A fine supplement to a fun, fast-paced series.

Notes on the Cover: Nice. Looks like Miramax learned their lesson after that atrocious initial Percy Jackson cover. Now they've employed a Christine Kettner to create the cover design. And this may well be my favorite Riordan cover thus far. The colors alone are magnificent. You've the recognizable New York landmark, Percy (his face in shadow), and some nasty mysterious vines. I love the colors, the angle, and the lighting. It's nice to see a cover that doesn't lean so heavily on photography these days too.

Notable First Lines: "The Friday before winter break, my mom packed me an overnight bag and a few deadly weapons and took me to a new boarding school."

On shelves May 1, 2007.

Faeries of Dreamdark - Blackbringer by Laini Taylor, illustrated by Jim DiBartolo. G.P. Putnam's Sons (an imprint of Penguin Young Readers' Group). $17.99

If you read only one fantasy book this year, read this one.

Gotcher attention, eh? I think that if you knew me, you’d know that I don’t throw out statements like this willy-nilly. I’ve read enough books for children and teens to know that no matter how good a story seems while you are reading it, there’s bound to be another that steals your heart a day or two later. Good books are published every single day, and declaring one to be the be all and end all of any category is just plain wrong.

That said, if you read only one fantasy book this year, read this one.

I mean it. First time author Laini Taylor has written a doozy of a debut. It’s one of those books you read and then find you can’t put down. I repeatedly found myself on the New York City subway system in a state of frustration every time I arrived at my stop. Somehow, Taylor is able to write a fantasy novel so compelling that you can never put it down because you've found yourself at a particularly exciting moment. Separating itself from every other fantasy series out there (an accomplishment in and of itself) Taylor’s written a book with just enough humor, tension, excitement, hope, joy, and pure unadulterated despair to please even the most jaded of fantasy loving kiddies. And it’s about freakin’ fairies.

Funny story. Remember that old fairy tale about the guy who found a genie in a bottle and when he opened it he was granted three wishes? Well, it won’t surprise you too much then to hear that these days whenever a human finds a bottle their first instinct is to uncork the sucker. Problem is, genies aren't the denizens of these bottles. Demons are. And when the demons are let loose upon the world there’s only one gal with the guts to put them in their place. Magpie Windwitch just happens to be the granddaughter of the West Wing (it’s a long story), a fairy, and she's traveling with her seven crow companions. Her job is to track down and recapture these wayward devils by any means possible. She’s good at her job, but little of her training prepares her for the darkest creature let loose yet. Called the Blackbringer, this nasty piece of work is intent on destroying the world, and its chances happen to be pretty darn good. To defeat it Magpie will have to cross over to the world of the dead, befriend the flightless, scurry, kill, confront the creator of the universe (who is SUCH a pill these days), and discover her true past. If you didn’t know her, that might sound like a tall order. If you knew her, it would still sound like a tall order, but at least you’d know she’ll tackle it with everything she's got.

Hopes were not high when I first picked up this book. I’ll level with you here… author Laini Taylor was previously best known for a line of fairy ornaments called “Laini’s Ladies”. From that you might imagine the book to be a sweet little flower fairy tale with a lot of dew-sipping and moonlight dances. Thank God for Laini’s husband Jim DiBartolo, then. Basically, it’s going to be hard to sell any book with the word “faeries” in its title to the male fantasy-reading public. That’s where Jim comes in. His illustrations for the book are fairly spare, with less than ten dotting the book. Still, Mr. DiBartolo has nailed the tone of his wife’s text. The image of Magpie on the cover is perfect. She looks like she means busi