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No one's business is their own in The Hollows, a sleepy little town outside of New York City. Put one toe out of line and the whole place will be buzzing by lunchtime. The unrelenting scrutiny is what drove Maggie Cooper out of town in the first place - and what brought her back. As oppressively intimate as life felt when she was a child, that's exactly what she wants for her teenage son: a nice, safe upbringing. She's succeeded. Despite his eternally black clothes and always screaming iPod, Rick's a good kid. Which is why Maggie refuses to believe he has anything to do with his girlfriend's disappearance.

Charlene Murray is no one's idea of a good girl. With her natural beauty and goth style, she's got an edgy vulnerability that makes the boys wild. Rick, especially, has fallen hard. Everyone knows Charlene's trouble. Her friends admits she's a user, someone who will step on anyone to get what she wants. Still, she's not the type to disappear without a trace. A drama queen like her craves attention, yet she's gone from Facebook, isn't answering texts, and still hasn't come home. Even glass-half-full Maggie has to admit that it looks like foul play. But, if Charlene's dead, what does that mean for Rick? Could her gentle boy have harmed the one he claims to love? Or did another of The Hollow's boys mess with the resident bad girl?

The disappearance carries an eerie resemblance to an older case - during Maggie's high school years, another teenage girl vanished. Although her killer confessed, his admission never really rang true. Now, the secrets of the past seem to be coming home to roost. Haunted by his own guilt, police chief Jones Cooper does his best to ignore painful memories and concentrate on the job at hand: finding Charlene. But, the more he digs into the new case, the more he comes face-to-face with the old. Is it a case of history repeating itself? Or some terrifying new threat? Where has Charlene Murray gone? Will she ever be found? Can Jones find justice for one girl, let alone two? Or will the misdeeds of the past taint everyone's future?

What is it about the families/old secrets/small town combination that makes a story so compelling? It's my favorite mixture, one that's been done well by authors like Jodi Picoult and Lesley Kagen. I've never read a Lisa Unger novel before, but Fragile definitely sounded like this kind of book, my kind of book. And it was. Sorta. The plot moves along swiftly, keeping the story interesting, definitely holding my attention. However, I never felt deeply connected to the characters. The almost overwhelming dysfunction of nearly every family in the book made it seem both cold and unrealistically melodramatic. This isn't a warm fuzzy type of novel, I realize that, I just needed something to alleviate the story's bleakness, something to make me believe in Unger's cast of characters. I didn't get that from Fragile. Likewise, I found the mystery a bit cliched, quite predictable. Perhaps it's because I'm used to subtler, more nuanced stories (a la Picoult and Kagen) that Unger's straightforward style didn't work very well for me. I wanted more complexity, more originality out of this story.

That being said, Fragile is a riveting pageturner, equal parts compelling and disturbing. It didn't wow me like many of Picoult's novels do, but it definitely kept me reading. While I can't say I loved the book, I can say I couldn't put it down. However awful the outcome, I had to know what happened. Although I knew I didn't really want to know. Despite my other complaints, this ability of Unger's to hold my attention impressed me. It's what makes me want to read her again. Even if Fragile didn't quite work for me. I may never love Unger like I do Picoult, but I'm more than willing to give her another chance. If this book's any indication, she absolutely deserves it.

(Readalikes: Unger's writing style reminds me of Jodi Picoult, although I like the latter better.)

Grade: B-

If this were a movie, it would be rated: R for language, violence, and sexual content

To the FTC, with love: I received a finished copy of Fragile from the kind people at BookSparks PR. Thank you!

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Dystopian fiction, as I told my husband the other day, should only be read by optimists. Cynics are depressed enough as it is. After all, reading end-of-the-world novels is enough to make even me - the possessor of an annoyingly, eternally sunny outlook - a little worried. Doomsayers rarely sway me, but books about apocalyptical destruction always give me pause. I ask myself: How long could I, or anyone for that matter, survive in a world rocked by global disaster? Could people made soft and compliant by microwave ovens, automatic dishwashers, and the like figure out a way to eke out a life if doing so suddenly became a whole lot less convenient? Would I be one of the first to lay down and accept my dismal fate or would I be one of the strong, fighting to reclaim life as I once knew it? You've probably guessed by now that I'm a glass-half-full kind of girl and I'm really not too concerned about zombies decimating the human race or meteors destroying the Earth, but every dystopian book I read makes me think. And fret. Just a little.

My latest foray into the genre is not so much a dystopian story as it is a dystopian epic. At nearly 800 pages long, The Passage by Justin Cronin is the first book in a planned trilogy. It starts like many disaster tales do - with a top secret government/military experiment that's quickly going awry. Although FBI agent Brad Wolgast doesn't know every detail of Project NOAH, he knows enough not to ask questions. Rounding up Death Row inmates for medical research isn't the funnest job in the world, but the ethics don't bother him too much. If a serial killer can help find a cure for cancer, why not let him have a chance to redeem himself? It's only when Wolgast receives his latest assignment that he feels a bit of unease: the FBI wants him to bring in 6-year-old Amy Bellafonte. Delivering a murderer to a secret government facility is one thing, taking a child is quite another. Despite his misgivings, Wolgast does as he's told. It doesn't take the agent long to realize Amy's no ordinary kid. Whatever his superiors want from her, it can't be good. And he won't let them take her.

Ninety some years later, Project NOAH's turned into a national, if not global, disaster. Peter Jaxon's never heard of the government experiment, but the 21-year-old's intimately familiar with its outcome. In a land once known as California, Peter lives in a walled fortress with a handful of others. Occasionally, someone wanders into the settlement, but no one's come in 30 years. Maybe there are other humans out there, maybe not. Maybe they really are the only people left in the world. They're not the only creatures, though, not by a long shot. Hundreds, possibly thousands or millions, of virals stumble across the landscape. Zombies, vampires, jumps, smokes - whatever you call them, it's best to stay out of their way. Barring that, the only thing you can do is pray you get off a clean shot - straight to the sternum - before they rip you apart. That is, if you still believe in God, which Peter definitely does not.

It's on a foraging mission that Peter encounters a mysterious young girl, a child who doesn't seem to be wholly human or viral, but some incomprehensible combination. It's clear from the start that she's important, but how? As Peter studies the girl, he learns things that blow his mind, secrets about the long-ago government, a project called NOAH, and a special little girl named Amy. Her powers, both dark and dangerous, are already causing problems in the peaceful settlement - still, Peter knows he has to take a chance on her. It may be the only one left for him, his friends, and whatever's left of the human race.

Although the story isn't nearly as original as I hoped it would be, The Passage still manages to be completely riveting. With a furiously-paced plot, complex characters, a little bit of romance, and plenty of good, old-fashioned dystopian carnage, the book thrills on every level. The (kinda sorta) cliffhanger ending is a teensy disappointing (especially after zipping through 800 pages to find out what happens), but it just means there's more to come from Cronin. I, for one, can't wait.

(Readalikes: The Enemy by Charlie Higson and The Forest of Hands and Teeth by Carrie Ryan; Cronin's writing and the book's structure are reminiscent of a Stephen King epic)

Grade: B

If this were a movie, it would be rated: R for language, violence/gore, and some sexual content

To the FTC, with love: Another library fine find