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Addison Schmeeter knows what normal is. Or maybe she doesn't, but at least she knows what it's not. It's not a mom leaving her kids for nights on end without letting them know where she is or when she'll be home. It's not a mom refusing to get out of bed for a week. It's not a 12-year-old doing all the cooking, cleaning, and shopping. It's not a parent acting like a child. The way Addie and Mommers live - nothing about it is normal. Addie knows their situation's unconventional (to say the least); she also knows she can't tell anyone about it, not if she wants to avoid ending up in foster care. Besides, Mommers needs her. Addie can't abandon her mother, no matter how crazy Mommers acts sometimes.

So, Addie hides the truth about her mother's violent mood swings - from her teachers at school, from her grandfather, and from her new friends across the street. Only Addie's ex-stepfather knows how bad Mommers gets sometimes, but no matter how hard he tries, he can't really help Addie. She knows he'd take her to live with him and her little half-sisters if Mommers would let him, but she won't. No way. She hates Dwight. And since he's not Addie's biological father, he can't legally force the issue. So Addie waits. And waits. For normal to make an appearance in her increasingly wonky life.

At least, Addie's in a new neighborhood, attending a new school. No one in this part of Schenectady knows her or Mommers. It's easier to hide. Until things get complicated. Suddenly, along with daily survival in an always-unpredictable home, Addie's got to deal with a friend's devastating secret, Dwight's new romance, and the intense stage fright that grabs hold of her every time she thinks about her upcoming violin solo. She'll have to face it all, while, at the same time, trying to predict what her mother will do next, where she will (or will not) show up, and how she's going to keep Mommer's erratic behavior a secret from prying eyes.

Although not as hard-hitting as other novels about children dealing with a parent's mental illness, Waiting for Normal is nonetheless affecting. The 2009 Schneider Family Book Award Winner by Leslie Connor takes a poignant look at one girl's brave fight for normality despite living with a mother whose manic-depression makes her life anything but. While I didn't love the book, I do think it's a well-written story about an important issue.

(Readalikes: Reminded me of Miles From Ordinary by Carol Lynch Williams, You Are My Only by Beth Kephart, and Small As An Elephant by Jennifer Richard Jacobson, and A Blue So Dark by Holly Schindler)

Grade: C

If this were a movie, it would be rated: I waffled between PG and PG-13, but finally settled on the latter because of mild langauge, intense situations, candid discussions of female issues associated with puberty and references to homosexuality.

To the FTC, with love: I received a finished copy of Waiting for Normal from the generous folks at Katherine Tegen Books (an imprint of Harper Collins). Thank you!

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So, here's the thing: The best zombie apocalypse book I've read to date isn't even really about zombies. I mean, it is. They're definitely there in all their blank-eyed, foot-dragging, gut-slurping glory. It's just that there's so much more to Ashes by Ilsa J. Bick that you kind of forget about the zombies. How to explain this epic novel, the first in what promises to be a most excellent trilogy? Well, it's like dumping all your favorite dystopian stories into a blender, selecting the finest mix-ins (vivid prose, intriguing characters, heartpounding suspense, etc.), hitting puree, and pouring out the perfect blend of dystopian goodness. Yep, that's Ashes.

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In a daze, Isla wanders through the hospital, stopping when she says a guy about her age attached to an IV pole. Henry Brambling is funny, kind, and doesn't tease Isla about her fervent love for the outdoors the way other teenagers do. He's also a patient in the cancer ward. With his leukemia in remission, Henry doesn't seem as sick as Isla's dad - at least Henry's got the energy to tease her and show her around the hospital. And when Isla spots an injured swan floating on the pond outside Henry's window, he agrees to keep an eye on it for her.

Helping the swan fly becomes Isla's new mission. An irrational voice inside her whispers that if she can cure the bird, she can cure her father. Henry, too. But as the swan stubbornly resists her efforts to heal it, so do the two people Isla wants to help the most. Isla knows she can't fail, can't lose everything dear to her, but as she observes all the broken bodies around her, her faith fails her. What if she doesn't succeed? What if she loses them all?

Flyaway, the new (available October 1) middle-grade book by YA novelist Lucy Christopher is a gentle story about a young girl's determination to save her beloved father. Its emphasis on swans makes it original, while its exploration of fear and hope in the face of a crisis makes it universal. Flyaway is touching, thouh not in a way that's overdone or cheesy. Like Isla herself, the story is brave, hopeful and quietly moving. Somber maybe, but also fresh and uplifting. Like watching a swan launch into the sky, triumphantly soaring into the clouds.

(Readalikes: Reminded me a litte bit of The Healing Spell by Kimberley Griffiths Little)

Grade: B

If this were a movie, it would be rated: PG for mild language and intense situations

To the FTC, with love: I received a finished copy of Flyaway from the generous folks at Scholastic. Thank you!

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It's not until cancer invades her mother's body, though, that Lucia discovered what it really meant for a person to seek only spiritual healing in the face of a vicious, life-threatening disease. For her, it meant watching her mother waste away before her eyes and being powerless to stop it. It meant doing constant battle with her father - crying, pleading, begging him to open his eyes. It meant guilt, plaguing, overwhelming guilt as she wondered if it really was her unbelief that halted her mother's progress, even though she knew it couldn't possibly be her fault. For Lucia, honoring her mother's religious beliefs meant standing by, doing nothing, while she died. Slowly and painfully.

In fathermothergod, Lucia Ewing Greenhouse reflects on her mother's fight with cancer, the medical intervention on which 23-year-old Lucia insisted in spite of her father's adamant refusal, and the catastrophic clash of beliefs that made the whole ordeal even more diastrous. It's an honest, heart-wrenching memoir that asks critical questions: What say does/should an adult child have in her parents' decisions, if any? Is there any truth to the idea of "spiritual healing"? What role does faith play in fighting illness? Should the government intervene when religious fanaticism threatens a person's life? When - if ever - should a person's wishes be ignored in order to save their life? As Lucia discovers, these are all difficult questions with very complicated answers.

I know very little about Christian Science (until I read this book I thought it was the same as Scientology, which it isn't), but I do understand growing up in a conservative religion that preaches doctrine which sounds ludicrous to non-believers. However, I don't get the Scientists' refusal of medical intervention at all. I do believe faith plays a role in healing, I just don't think it's the only method that should be used. For instance, I know God can give me the strength to deal with my insulin-dependent diabetes, but I know He's not going to control my blood sugars for me. I have to do my part. Given my own beliefs, maybe it's weird that I sometimes found myself agreeing more with Lucia's parents than with her. I mean, if Joanne Ewing, being of sound mind, refused medical attention, shouldn't her wishes have been honored? If she were a child, subject to the whims of her parents, it would be a whole different ball of wax, but she was a mature adult - deluded though she may have been - when she got sick. That's the beauty of this memoir, though: it makes the reader consider every angle of the drama, empathize with each of the players, and draw her own conclusions.

I'm not naive enough to think I know everything about Christian Science from reading one book, especially when it's written by a bitter former church member, but I find the things I did learn completely baffling. Fascinating, just unfathomable. Lucia obviously feels the same. Still, fathermothergod explores those beliefs in a tell-it-like-it-is manner that is surprisingly sensitive. She honors the good she found in the religion while exposing the hypocriticism that defined her experience with Christian Science. What results is a compelling memoir that is as intriguing as it is uncomfortable, as convincing as it is thought-provoking. If you're interested in these types of issues, you don't want to miss this book.

An aside: I kept thinking that the refusal of medical attention for religious reasons would make an incredibly compelling novel, especially if it concerned a child. You listening, Jodi Picoult? I just found your next best-selling idea.

(Readalikes: Hm, I can't think of anything. Can you?)

Grade: B

If this were a movie, it would be rated: R for language (a handful of F-bombs plus moderate use of milder invectives) and one depiction of illegal drug use

To the FTC, with love: I received a finished copy of fathermothergod from the generous folks at Crown Publishing. Thank you!