Issue 10: Best of 2021
Hey there!
With almost a full month of 2022 under our belts, it’s time to take one last look back at 2021 and devote some space to our personal favorites of the year. Two ground rules:
Four entries per person. In order to keep this issue to the usual 1k-2k wordcount, our lists are skimpy, but still hopefully representative of our tastes and reading/viewing experiences last year.
The books and movies covered here need to have been read or watched in 2021, not necessarily published or released in 2021.
That said, here’s a quick rundown of some of the stories we loved and obsessed over in 2021:
Alex’s Top 4
Sin Eater by Megan Campisi
Sin Eater was marketed (and I assume written) as an alternate-history, literary dystopia: One part Tudor conspiracy theories, one part The Handmaid’s Tale. Outside of the marketing, though, this Serious Adult Novel is pretty much indistinguishable from a YA dystopia, and I mean that as a compliment. Narrated by May, a teenager who’s branded and forced into a life of silence and isolation as a Sin Eater—a woman who consumes the sins of the dying as they’re represented by different foods—Sin Eater blends high concepts with an intimate coming-of-age story. Despite the ugliness of her world, May is both charming and resilient, finding freedom and community in her new role. There’s an emphasis on bodies and physicality that at different points comes across as either queasy or tender, and the alternate history is thinly developed, but still intriguing. The most disappointing element of this novel is its mystery, which is boring in spite of all the juicy scandals baked into it, but paint-by-numbers plotting is a small price to pay for the thorny character work at Sin Eater’s heart.
Of Salt and Shore by Annet Schaap, translated by Laura Watkinson
I picked this one up a month or two after moving house, when my sense of home was in freefall. I really, really wanted a middle grade book that delivered both the cozy vibes and the angsty family drama. Of Salt and Shore delivered.
Packed off to the mainland after failing to cover for her drunken lighthouse keeper dad, Lampie is forced to work as a servant in the Black House, a tumbledown mansion owned by the cruel Admiral but mostly just inhabited by frightened servants and a monster locked in the attic. When Lampie ventures into the attic and befriends the monster, a boy she calls Fish, she starts them on a journey that reveals secrets tangled up in both family trees. Where this book really shines is in its understanding of the cowardly, terrible things grieving people can do. Healing is possible, and so are second chances, but the path to either is an uphill slog, and not everyone makes it. Still, Of Salt and Shore is full of love, found families, hope, and a weather-beaten, wistful seaside atmosphere that complements the story beautifully.
The Unteachables by Gordon Korman
In 2021 I read three Gordon Korman novels, each one a stellar example of The Gordon Korman Formula: School setting + multiple POVs + wacky shenanigans + a teacher/principal who’s roped into the shenanigans = 200ish pages of pure joy. Not that there’s a way to quantify pure joy, but if I had to pick, The Unteachables was the most joyful of the bunch. It stars a middle school classroom of misfits (including Kiana, who, thanks to her stepmother forgetting to register her, technically shouldn’t be in class at all) and their burnt-out teacher, Mr. Kermit. Ever since a cheating scandal at the beginning of his career, Mr. Kermit has been cruising until retirement. Now that’s all jeopardized by a vindictive school superintendent and the Unteachables themselves. Led by Kiana, they’re beginning to realize their own potential and demand more from their teacher. From the agony of being a student to the frustration of being a teacher, The Unteachables never hits a false note—like Of Salt and Shore, it’s a tale of forgiveness and redemption, only this time featuring runaway geckos and a coffee mug called the Toilet Bowl.
Spider-Man: No Way Home directed by Jon Watts
I’ll try to be extra-vague with plot details here to keep from spoiling any more for someone (*cough* Claudia! *cough*) who hasn’t seen it yet. No Way Home picks up right where Far From Home left off; after being unmasked as Spider-Man, Peter Parker goes to Dr. Strange for help turning back the clock and ends up cracking open the multiverse instead. It’s an only slightly angsty romp that spirals into the darkest of the Watts Spider-Man movies so far. No Way Home strikes a balance between splashy, goodhearted action sequences and genuine grief. By the end, there is no way home for Peter, no way back to the comfort of friends and family as he knew them before. But there is maybe hope for a new life if, after accepting the consequences of his actions, Peter’s willing to forge ahead. If, on his own, he can finally, truly grow up.
Claudia’s Top 4
American Born Chinese by Gene Luen Yang
I read four of Yang’s graphic novels this year, and American Born Chinese is a great entry point into what makes him such a wonderful creator. Jin Wang is one of the only Asian students in his school until the arrival of Wei-Chen. The two form a strong bond that’s tested by Jin’s deep desire to fit in, even if that means turning his back on his heritage. There’s also a retelling of the Chinese legend of the Monkey King that intersects with Jin’s story in a beautiful and surprising way.
The book is often funny, even as it tackles tough topics, and the characters are achingly real. Yang also writes about religion better than any other writer I know—he’s able to deal with devotion and doubt without being sugary and insincere or unbearably cynical. That quality is probably best shown in his duology Boxers and Saints, but there is some great use of it in American Born Chinese as well.
Fear Street Part Two: 1978 directed by Leigh Janiak
Watching the Fear Street movies as they came out was one of the highlights of my summer. I like horror quite a bit, but I only love what is just as emotionally engaging as it is terrifying (see my December essay for more on that). All three of the movies have plenty of gore and tension, plus intriguing lore, but Part Two was the strongest in terms of character development and emotional involvement. Without giving away too many spoilers, Part Two is about a group of teens caught in a summer camp massacre that may have something to do with a curse left by a centuries-old witch. That’s the bare-bones plot, but going deeper, it’s also about two sisters with very different outlooks on their lives and the shared history that keeps them together and pulls them apart.
On another note, the movie also inspired me to read some of the original Fear Street novels by R.L. Stine. While they definitely lack the emotional complexity of the films, they’re such cheesy, schlocky fun that I wouldn’t be surprised if I ended up covering them in a future issue.
Amber and Clay by Laura Amy Schlitz, illustrated by Julia Iredale
At 544 pages, Schlitz’s latest novel is the longest on this list, but it reads incredibly quickly—I finished it in a day or so. Part of that is format, as it’s told from multiple perspectives, several of which are in poetry. And it’s also incredibly compelling, on both a plot and a character level. Rhaskos is a slave separated from his mother, and eventually sold in Athens, where he meets the philosopher Socrates. Melisto is the daughter of an Athenian nobleman whose untimely death binds her to Rhaskos, changing them both.
I used to be proud that I rarely cried over books, no matter how gut-wrenching the read. But then something happened, and I think I’ve cried more at music, books, and movies this year than in the last five combined. Amber and Clay was definitely one of the ones that left me teary, in the best way possible. I’ve been a fan of Schlitz since I was in elementary school, and saying this book is my favorite of the ones she’s written means quite a bit.
Teaflet and Roog Make a Mess by Jeanne Birdsall, illustrated by Jane Dyer.
I’m a sucker for charm. And I realize that “charm” is a subjective quality, so let me elaborate: anything nostalgic, dainty, or old-fashioned is catnip for me. Give me red-headed orphans, plucky sisters coming of age together, tea parties and heists and quirky dialogue and rapturous descriptions of the outdoors. I will read them all, and I will probably love them, or at least appreciate what they’re trying to do.
So, you can imagine my delight when I heard that Jeanne Birdsall, author of the extremely charming Penderwicks series, had written another book. And not just any book, one illustrated by Jane Dyer with handmade, needle-felted puppets. Could I resist? Reader, I could not.
Even if you find my obsession with charm a bit twee (It probably is. I don’t care.), there’s a lot to love in Teaflet and Roog. The illustrations are incomparable, the characters are delightful, and there’s a sly message about how obsessive cleanliness just may be the enemy of creativity, friendship, and joy. After the last few years, we can all benefit from a book like this.
As always, thank you so much for reading! Happy January–the February issue of Hey, Kid! is on the way.
Till next time,
Alex and Claudia