Nothing about 33-year-old Autumn Rain is typical - not her looks (her eyes are different colors), not her upbringing (her adoptive parents were hippies), not her views on life (microwaves, shoes, and unorganic food = evil). So, she's not all that surprised when she discovers she can read "imprints," or the memories and strong emotions humans leave behind on treasured objects. Happy imprints, like the ones Autumn feels on the book of poetry her parents wrote for each other, bring her joy. Others are so full of hate, violence and rage that they can bring Autumn to her knees. This ability isn't something she wants, but she knows it can be used for good, if only she can steel herself against its sometimes frightening power.
When a grieving couple comes to Autumn, desperate to find their missing daughter, she feels obligated to help. The images she gets off the girl's necklace are confusing, but they seem to point to a commune in the Oregon wilderness. Although it seems the girl went willingly, something about her imprints makes Autumn uneasy. When a third person comes asking about a missing girl, whose disappearance also seems to be linked to Harmony Farm, Autumn gets imprints so troubling she can't get them out of her mind. She's not one to judge people based on their looks or lifestyles, but she's also not one to let innocent people suffer. Knowing she can't go to the police with only what she sees in her head, Autumn vows to check out the commune herself. Is it the peaceful, idyllic community it claims to be or something much more sinister? Using her special ability, plus her more down-to-Earth detective skills, she's determined to find out.
Of course, not everyone's thrilled about Autumn's interest in what could be a dangerous cult. Her twin sister's terrified, especially since she's "seeing" some weird images herself. And Detective Shannon Martin would, of course, prefer that Autumn keep her nose out of his case. Then there's Jake Ryan, Autumn's best friend, who wants to protect her the way he would a little sister - only sisterly feelings are not at all what she wants from him. Add in a crazy Harmony Farmer, a mesmerizing spiritual leader, and a very alluring math-teacher-turned-private-investigator and Autumn Rain's got more problems than she can handle. Oh, and the three-day fast required of new Harmony Farm recruits means she'll be doing it all on an empty stomach - a very dangerous prospect indeed.
Although I didn't like Imprints by Rachel Ann Nunes as much as I wanted to, I did like it a lot more than I expected to. While mediums are plentiful in fiction and the whole cult investigation plot has been done before, Nunes does a few things that sets Imprints apart. First of all, I found the idea of imprints themselves interesting. The concept's not anything new, but I don't remember ever reading about a heroine who purposely surrounds herself with items that exude happy, positive impressions as a way of blocking out negative ones. I also like the twin aspect of the book - the idea of identical sisters having the same type of talents fascinates me. Also, the fact that Autumn's love interest (well, one of them) happens to be a bi-racial man with a learning disability also intrigues me. He doesn't have a lot of personality other than that, but I at least appreciate that he's different from other leading men. On the flip side, Autumn's so purposely different, she becomes a cliche. She behaves exactly as you would expect a Hippie Chick to behave. And while I don't mind me a flower child character, I detest Autumn, who's an insufferable blend of self-righteous and whiny. My disconnect with the main character, plus the existence of some plot points that were unexplained, unrealistic and unfulfilling, explains why I gave Imprints only an average grade. Still, the novel has enough going on to be interesting, enjoyable and even sequel-worthy. I won't be holding my breath for the next Autumn Rain novel, but you better believe I will be checking it out. Eventually.
(Readalikes: Reminded me a little bit of The Body Finder by Kimberly Derting and The Sight by Judy Blundell)
Grade: C
If this were a movie, it would be rated: PG for violence/frightening situations
To the FTC, with love: I bought Imprints from Deseret Book with some of the millions I make from my lucrative career as a book blogger. Ha ha.

I've always loved adoption stories. Something about all the heartbreak, sacrifice and enormous love that goes into the process has always spoken directly to my heart. Back when I still thought bearing children would be an easy, unwrinkled process for me, I'd watch TLC's Adoption Stories and bawl my eyes out. The program no longer airs, but even if it did, I wouldn't be able to watch it now. After adopting my daughter, my feelings on the subject are so tender that all it takes is hearing the word "adopt" to make my eyes leak. And yet, I still love adoption stories. Which is why I approached Secret Daughter by Shilpi Somaya Gowda with such eagerness. Not to mention a big box of Kleenex.

The book tells the parallel stories of two mothers - one a 31-year-old pediatrician in California, the other a peasant woman living in rural India - and the child that brings them together. After suffering multiple miscarriages, Somer Whitman Thakkar discovers that she is infertile. The news shocks her, the knowledge that she will never bear a child shaking her to her core. While Somer grieves, then prepares herself for invasive fertility treatments that have little chance of working, her husband suggests adoption. Furious with Krishnan for giving up on her, on them, Somer refuses to consider the idea. Until she realizes how futile it is to dream of something that will likely never happen, especially while hundreds of abandoned children linger in foreign orphanages, just waiting for good families to rescue them. When Somer sees the baby who's been chosen for her and Krishnan, a little Indian girl with curly black hair and stunning hazel eyes, she knows she's made the right decision. Soon, the couple's on their way to Bombay, intent on bringing the child home to California.
Meanwhile, Kavita Merchant mourns the loss of the infant she has just borne. She knows her husband, Jasu, is right - they can't afford a baby on the meager salary they make from working the fields. Especially a girl. They need sons to help with the work, to carry on the family name, to support them in their old age. A girl will only cost them money they can't afford to spend. But Kavita wants this beautiful, hazel-eyed child, even while she knows her husband will never allow her to keep the baby. Refusing to let this newborn daughter suffer the same grisly fate as her last, she whisks the child off to Bombay, where she places her in a grimy orphanage. The anklet she places on the baby's foot is the only token Kavita can give her child, the only proof the girl will have that she was loved on sight, instantly cherished by the woman who gave her life.
Twenty years later, Asha Thakkar clasps the anklet between her hands, wondering about the people who gave it to her. Although she's enjoyed a stable childhood with parents who doted on her, Asha still feels as if something's missing in her life. She's learned a little about her country of birth from her father, but she's never visited India. She knows bits of her story, just not enough to feel whole. She holds pieces to the puzzle of who she is, yet she can't get a complete picture. So, when the opportunity to study in India for a year arises, Asha takes it, even though she knows it will infuriate her mother. Maybe for that very reason. Still, Asha knows that staying with Krishnan's family in Mumbai will give her a chance to get to know her extended adoptive family, see her home country with her own eyes and, maybe, help her find the answers to the questions that plague her.
As Asha digs for her roots in India, Somer grapples with her own worries and anger. Krishnan's increasing distance doesn't make things any easier. Her marriage crumbling, Somer embarks on a journey not unlike her daughter's. It's a desperate search for herself that will end the same way Asha's does - with heartbreak, with illumination, and with understanding. At the same time, Kavita continues to mourn her lost daughter, never realizing that Asha is closer than she ever could have imagined. All the stories converge in a taut, emotional finale that proves redemption can often be found in the most unlikely of places.
Gowda writes with strength, heart and wisdom, making Secret Daughter a stunning debut novel that will stir the mothering heart in anyone. It's a heart-wrenching story, beautifully told, about longing, fulfillment and everything in between. I wept with Somer because I didn't just feel her pain, I knew her pain. And her joy. And her love for a little girl who came from another, but is somehow her own. Secret Daughter moved me, not because the story's sentimental - because it's strong, stirring and satisfying. Not unlike adoption itself. It's so powerful that I'm still sniffling and, thanks to Gowda, I'm fresh out of Kleenex.
(Readalikes: Reminded me a bit of Lucky Girl by Mei-Ling Hopgood; Shine, Coconut Moon by Neesha Meminger; and a little of Skunk Girl by Sheba Karim)
Grade: A-
If this were a movie, it would be rated: PG-13 for mild language (no F-bombs) and mature subject matter
To the FTC, with love: I received a finished copy of Secret Daughter from the generous folks at Harper Collins and TLC Book Tours, for whom this review was written.

(Note: While this review will not contain spoilers for The Scorch Trials, it may inadvertently reveal plot surprises from The Maze Runner. As always, I recommend reading books in a series in order.)

Thomas and the other Gladers thought beating the maze would be the end - of their confusion, of their suffering, of their fear. They thought wrong. Escaping the maze brought a little respite, but not much and not for long. Now they are, once again, fighting for survival in a treacherous arena, under the watchful eye of WICKED. Once again, they have no choice. Once again, they're battling for their lives.

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

To the FTC, with love: I bought The Scorch Trials with some of the millions I make from my lucrative career as a book blogger. Ha ha.

Finally liberated from her pixie dust-addicted parents, 18-year-old Persia has found a home among a misfit band of puppeteers. With the Outlaws, she feels loved, protected and, above all, content. But performing controversial plays, even in secret locations, is not without its dangers. Especially when you enhance the production with a little bit of illegal fey magic. No mater how harmless, it's still against the law.

When an old enemy with a vicious grudge accuses the group of unlawful activity, it looks as if the Outlaws' flamboyant leader will head back to court, maybe even to jail - falsely accused, once again. Persia loves Tonio, the man who gave her a home when she had none, and can't stand to see him broken by the vindictiveness behind the subpoena. The thought of him imprisoned, the Outlaws scattered, is almost more than she can bear. And there's always guilt by association - Persia's in as much trouble as any of her friends. The only way to save Tonio, as well as the rest of the Outlaws, is to hide somewhere far, far away, somewhere so remote that no one will be able to follow.

Persia's never been to Faerie. Mortals aren't allowed without guides from the fey world. Luckily, the Outlaws have Floss, who's not only fey, but fey royalty. She doesn't exactly get along with her ruling family, but that's a small matter compared to saving the Outlaws. Persia can't wait to get to Faerie, a land that everyone knows is filled with flowers and rainbows. That kind of peace is just what Tonio and the rest of them need. But that's not what they find in Faerie, a place that offers its own contradictions. Chased by savage trolls, mocked by feuding royals, and pursued by enemies from both the fey and mortal worlds, the Outlaws must fight with all they've got just to survive. For Persia, the battle is personal. She can't lose her friends, her family, her foundation. She'll risk anything to save what's most precious to her. Anything.

Grade: C

If this were a movie, it would be rated: R for language (a few F-bombs, along with milder invectives) and a little violence

To the FTC, with love: I received a finished copy of Blood & Flowers from the generous folks at Harper Teen. Thank you!