Teenage Fiction: Teenagers know highs and lows, the volatile, the frustrating, the exuberant, and their rollercoaster journeys are often mirrored in young adult fiction, writes Niall MacMonagle
In Nigel Richardson's The Wrong Hands, 14-year-old Graham Sinclair has a secret which, to begin with, only his demented mother shares. At school he's slagged for his breeze block hands, "the size of coffins", but these same hands allow him do marvellous things. Richardson's story is rooted in a familiar and ordinary world. He lives in Yorkshire with Mum and Dad but "I wasn't allowed out because I might get up to something, in inverted commas".
Attempts to befriend and impress a girl go all wrong and, having failed his exams, Graham is "offloaded to London for the summer" to Uncle George, an entrepreneurial chancer. When Graham magically saves a baby from a plane crash, the ruthless and classy Jennifer Slater, gutter journalist, is on his case. Richardson looks at serious, interesting topics - family, media manipulation, trends, work, is seeing believing ? - and is gifted at characterisation.
But, as with Haddon's Curious Incident, voice is everything here. Graham's story is funny, quirky, endearing: "Everyone's a bit mad on the inside, but they don't want anyone to know it" and the teenspeak lingo is terrific - "I felt Park Lane". The flight idea is central, wacky and it works: who wouldn't wish for it? You're up and away. Not only unforgettable and entertaining, The Wrong Hands is fresh, different and wonderful storytelling.
Though "Not Suitable for Younger Readers" is stamped on the cover of Bali Rai's The Whisper, many youngsters see and hear far worse in computer games, movies, and the streets. Sixteen-year-old Billy, an inner-city kid, has been thrown out of school and now stacks supermarket shelves. Ugly territory, unpredictable and multi-racial, but Rai holds his reader with a convincing, disturbing portrait of excluded people struggling for something better.
Stepdad Nanny is a Rastafarian; Billy's Mum, of Punjabi background, once a "working girl", now runs a women's drop-in centre. Billy remembers being brought to the library as a kid to read books that always seemed to be about the same things: "posh kids on boating lakes, or fantastical worlds full of interchangeable goblins and wizards". Bali's world is one of street crime, bullying, drugs, drink, casual sex, danger, teenage dreams and disappointments. Though written in dialect, the idiomatic language is easily got, and the whispering plot revolves around Billy's friend Jas who has turned to dealing and addiction, with deadly consequences. Rai takes his writing seriously - a dedication reads: "To all the young people in the UK excluded from the school system: Be strong, keep getting up when they knock you down . . ." Heightened realism creates a thought-provoking, eye-opening picture.
Divided City begins brilliantly and doesn't let up: a mugging in a dark, deserted, Glasgow street results in middle-class Graham helping asylum-seeker Kyoul. Theresa Breslin's novel focuses on divisions - Celtic versus Rangers, Catholic versus Protestant ("You Irish Catholics peg the trousers up a different way from us Prods"), native versus asylum-seeker, and comes vividly alive through clear, crisp writing, humour and dramatically effective sectarian, racist and family scenes.
Graham Anderson and Joe Flaherty, from different backgrounds, come together on the football pitch. And why is it the beautiful game? It "was individual, it was team. It was single, it was crowd. It was physical, but you needed to use your brain. It was skill. It was instinctive," thinks Joe.
More significantly for these boys, it unites rather than divides. Graham's grandfather hopes he'll join the Orangemen march but "You mustn't always do things to please other people, even if you love them. The big decisions in life have to be made for yourself, by yourself". An issue novel like this stirs the conscience and does much to expose the stupidity and futility of bigotry. As Graham's dad points out: "Deprivation . . . is what really divides this city".
My 13-year-old daughter pounced on Malorie Blackman's Checkmate (third in her trilogy: Noughts & Crosses and Knife Edge) and devoured it. Only out a month, it is already galloping up the charts. Callie Rose is now 16 and "my life zigzags around the truth". Once again chapters tell the story from different characters' perspectives with skilful time jumps. "Born a Nought in a Cross world", Rose never knew her dad. This is a family secret-filled story of racial conflict, but breast cancer, school, boyfriends, political activism, adult relationships, blazing mother-daughter rows and suicide bombers are all woven into the plot where thriller meets chick-lit meets family saga. Definitely for girls.
Political correctness nosedives when Sephy tells her daughter: "Promise me you'll stop believing everything Tobey or any other male tells you". Boys, oh boys. But despite this the novel takes off and becomes a truly compelling and intriguing read. Uncle Jude is a nasty, warped piece of work and his manipulation of Callie, her helplessness and her having to deal with her shocking background draws the reader in.
Checkmate gathers real momentum and scenes jigsaw together into a really impressive novel; checkmate is right.
Niall MacMonagle teaches English at Wesley College, Dublin. The Open Door Book of Poetry, which he edited, was published recently by New Island
The Wrong Hands. By Nigel Richardson, Oxford, 273pp. £12.99
The Whisper. By Bali Rai, Corgi, 264pp. £4.99
Divided City. By Theresa Breslin, Doubleday, 230pp. £10.99
Checkmate. By Malorie Blackman, Doubleday, 511pp. £12.99