Publisher's Hardcover ©2013 | -- |
Future life. Juvenile fiction.
Death. Juvenile fiction.
Angels. Juvenile fiction.
Future life. Fiction.
Death. Fiction.
Angels. Fiction.
Killed in a car accident, Felicia now inhabits the barren postdeath world known as Level 2. Day after day, she plugs into her memory chamber, where she relives happy times from her life on earth. Everything changes one day when Julian, a shadowy character from Felicia's past, bursts into her well-contained world and involves Felicia in a rebellion against the angels who rule Level 2. This debut novel is two mysteries folded into one: the first is what is happening in Level 2, and the second is what happened in Felicia's life leading up to her unexpected death. Throughout, religion is a major focus, not only with the obvious discussions of heaven and angels but also in the heavily implied, but unstated, sentiment of personal redemption. Appelhans' storytelling is well paced, tantalizing the reader with hints, and the compelling theme of the necessity of facing the wrongs of the past in order to move forward into the future will appeal to teens.
Horn Book (Thu Aug 01 00:00:00 CDT 2013)Felicia spends her afterlife reliving her favorite memories of being alive and sharing them with others on the network, until an old acquaintance promises to reunite her with her boyfriend if she helps a group of rebels defeat the corrupt leaders of Level 2. This intriguing cross between The Matrix and Our Town will appeal to thoughtful science fiction readers.
Kirkus ReviewsThis imaginative debut brings conflict to the afterlife, focusing on a war between humans and angels. Felicia, dead, spends her time in the afterlife in a personal memory chamber, reliving memories of her own life and enjoying the memories of others, until a boy from her past lures her into a group of rebels. She dislikes Julian, who she believes betrayed her, but he promises to take her to her real heartthrob, Neil, for whom she pines. Once she leaves her chamber in the all-white, all-female world of Level 2 of the afterlife, she learns that the angels who rule the souls intend to drain the humans' energy in an attempt to fight their own way into heaven. Felicia weans herself from her memory addiction and grows strong enough to fight, though she still isn't sure she wants to ally herself with Julian and the rebels. Appelhans uses her memory device to illuminate Felicia's life, delving ever deeper into her emotional difficulties as the fast-paced narrative progresses. The premise that pleasant memories can be addictive hits home; Felicia and readers eventually see that in order to move on, the souls in the afterlife need to overcome their unpleasant memories. The story never offers a credible reason why this one girl is so essential to the war in the afterlife, but the concept and characterization effectively prevail. An absorbing, sensitive read. (Paranormal suspense. 12-16)
School Library Journal (Wed May 01 00:00:00 CDT 2013)Gr 9 Up-Appelhans's first novel promises so much-too much-and ultimately does not deliver. Felicia Ward died in a car accident at some indeterminate time in the past. In the afterlife, she and her cohorts regularly plug in to a server that stores their memories. They can access both these recollections and those of other individuals, which they rent using credits accrued when others view their dreams. Because of their reluctance to re-live negative moments (e.g., their deaths), Felicia and those in similar hives are stuck on Level Two. Enter two forces, those who are rebelling against the system, and the Morati, mutinous angel guardians of the Level Two God who vie for the unique qualities that Felicia possesses that will enable them to move to the next level. Plotlines about purity pledges, refrigerator mothers, first love, obsession, Greek mythology, and Christian redemption are added to the mix. Characters show little of themselves or their motivations. Instead, the author tells readers about their powerful emotions and why they are important to each other and the plot. If Applehans had just teased a few elements from this muddle, she might have had an interesting story to tell. As it is, Level 2 is just a jumble. Nina Sachs, Walker Memorial Library, Westbrook, ME
ALA Booklist (Tue Jan 01 00:00:00 CST 2013)
Horn Book (Thu Aug 01 00:00:00 CDT 2013)
Kirkus Reviews
School Library Journal (Wed May 01 00:00:00 CDT 2013)
CHAPTER 1
I’LL SLEEP WHEN I’M DEAD. I used to say it a lot. When my dad suggested I turn off the flashlight I thought I so expertly hid under my covers. That time youth pastor Joe told us to pipe down at the church lock-in. The balmy summer night I convinced Autumn to sneak out after midnight so we could dance in Nidda Park, arms outstretched to the stars. But then I died.
And now I can’t sleep. Except, that is, when I access my memories of sleeping. You wouldn’t believe how many times I’ve combed through the seventeen years and 364 days of my life, searching for those rare uninterrupted, nightmare-free stretches of slumber. Because sleep is my only real break from this endless reel of memories, both mine and those I’ve rented.
Naturally, I’ve compiled a top ten. Most of the list includes Neil, though I often revisit a memory of being cradled on my dad’s chest as a baby. It makes me feel like nothing bad could ever happen to me.
His lullaby envelops me in such warmth, I can almost forget I’m trapped here in this pristine hive with a bunch of other drones. All my age, all from the United States, all females who died in accidents in the early twenty-first century. And all so addicted to their personal memory chambers, they barely ever venture out.
Not that I’m not. Addicted, I mean. It’s just that everything’s hazy when I’m out of my memory chamber. I don’t even remember how I got here. And though I do retain names and faces and relevant details of my fellow inmates, I never seem to be able to hold on to much else. At most, there are snatches of my conversations with Beckah and Virginia, but these fade in and out of my consciousness like barely remembered dreams. The three of us are the only ones who spend time in the communal area at the center of the hive. And sometimes, before we are compelled to heed the siren call of our chambers, we sit awkwardly on the polished, blinding white floor that matches the color and texture of every surface in our godforsaken prison. We muse about what this place might be, if this is all we have to look forward to for the rest of eternity, and about how strange it is not to have to eat or drink, or sweat or pee.
But we rarely talk about our deaths. We don’t remember much about them after all this time anyway. We try to keep it light, inconsequential. I suggest “movie nights,” where the three of us pull up memories of the same film in our chambers and then get together to discuss the details until our thoughts are too cloudy to continue. Virginia never gives up in her attempts to teach us back handsprings and complicated lifts, but I don’t mind because my body, entirely numb in this afterlife, doesn’t feel the pain of always crashing solidly to the floor. Beckah prefers to chat about books and where on the network to find the best quality memory editions of her favorites.
That’s what I plan to do now, to search again for a precise memory version of Thornton Wilder’s Our Town. Back in high school it was one I skimmed, which means accessing my own memory wouldn’t do much good. I’ve discovered it’s one a lot of people skim, despite its relative brevity, because I’ve yet to find a deep, meaningful reading of it, and I’ve accessed at least two hundred copies by now.
But before I embark on my search, I decide to say hi to Neil.
I lie down in my airy chamber and fit my hands into the grooves at my sides, feeling a slight zing and a rush of endorphins as my skin connects. Above me the hologram interface lights up, and I use my index finger to scroll through my memory folders until I find one of my favorite memories of Neil. I push play, and I’m there.
Ward, Felicia. Memory #32105
Tags: Ohio, Neil, Hiking, Youth group, Favorite
Number of Views: 100,235
Owner Rating: 5 stars
User Rating: Not shared
It’s one of those gorgeous spring evenings I can never get enough of, when the trees burst with fresh, impossibly green leaves and the air is fragrant with promise. I am nearing the end of a daylong hike with the girls from the church youth group, and I nod from time to time as if I’m listening to the chatter around me. The talking barely registers because my head swirls with impressions of last night. Of how close I sat to Neil in the back of the van on the way up here. How casually, and without looking at me, he shifted the coat on his lap until it spilled over onto mine. And then how, without missing a beat, he trailed his fingers down my forearm and let them rest on my wrist, as if to take my pulse. How awareness of my surroundings faded as I zoned in on the slightest movement of his hand inching forward, slowly, tantalizingly. How my skin tingled and my own hand ached to touch him back.
And I am going to see him again soon. Very soon.
“Felicia?” Savannah snaps her perfectly manicured fingers in my face. “Don’t you think I’d make an ideal Esther? Pastor Joe says I’m too blond.” She huffs, shaking her head so her long golden waves shimmer in the fading sunlight. “He says Esther should be played by someone with dark hair. Like you. But no one really knows what Esther looked like. It’s all conjecture.”
“Black wig,” I manage to get out, my face flushing as I remember the intensity of Neil’s gaze on me last night as we got out of the van, the last time I saw him before the girls and guys split off to our separate cabins.
“Are you getting sick?” Savannah recoils, and immediately reaches into her pink purse for her bottle of hand sanitizer. My nostrils fill with molecules of artificial peach. She doesn’t wait for my answer but moves away from me, catching up with some of the others, leaving me trailing behind.
I pick up my pace when I see the lights of our cabins through the trees. My heart starts pounding, and I stuff my hands into the pockets of my hoodie. I look up, and I see him. He’s at the edge of the fire pit, joking around with Pastor Joe and Andy as they light kindling, trying to get a fire going.
Neil looks up and sees me too. His blue eyes twinkle. His smile is so luminous and pure, it’s like he’s been saving it up his whole life just for me. Andy pokes him in the side with a twig and whispers something into Neil’s ear that makes him blush. Neil punches him lightly on the arm, and Andy shakes his head, snapping the twig in half.
“Hi,” I say when Neil approaches. My giddiness at being this close to him again bubbles up in my throat, and I giggle. I want to hug him. Really hug him. But not here. Not in front of Pastor Joe and Andy.
“Hey!” He reaches out and tugs playfully on the strings of my hoodie. “Want to go for a walk?”
I giggle again. “It’s not like we haven’t been walking all day.” The guys group went hiking too but took a different trail. A more challenging trail.
“Oh.” Neil blushes, his smile faltering, and he runs one of his hands through his brown curls. “You must be exhausted.”
I am. I’m also parched, and sweaty. My shoes are covered in mud. “I’m okay.” I sigh. I’d love to change outfits. “But maybe I’ll go in and grab another bottle of water at least.”
“No need.” Neil’s smile is back to full force. He leads me over to where he has stashed his backpack next to a tree, and he bends down to pull out a bottle of water. As I take it from him, my fingers brush against his, and the sensory memory of last night pulses through my body.
I lift the bottle up to my lips and watch how his gaze follows and lingers. He swallows, and I swallow. Our eyes meet.
I look away sharply, over at the fire pit, where the kindling is burning now and Pastor Joe gestures for Andy to give him one of the bigger logs. This is a mistake. I shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t encourage Neil’s interest in me, no matter how much I want to. He’s too good. And he deserves better.
“Maybe we should go help with the fire,” I mumble. My eyes are stinging, and I squeeze them shut to keep angry tears from escaping. It’s all so unfair. He probably thinks I’m like him, without a care in the world. But that couldn’t be further from the truth.
I feel Neil’s hand on my cheek as he turns my head back to face him. “Hey, what’s wrong?”
I look up at him and am overwhelmed by the concern shining in his eyes. All the feelings I’ve been pushing down for the past months well up inside me. A couple of hot tears trickle down my face, and my nose starts to itch.
Neil takes my hand, deliberately this time, not caring who sees, and leads me into the darkening forest. We pick through the underbrush slowly, side by side, and with each step I feel better. Stronger. Safer. Finally I stop. Neil stops too and faces me. Even though he’s only inches away, I can barely make out his outline. But I feel his warmth, hear his raspy breathing.
“Um, Neil, do you have a flashlight?” I whisper.
His breath tickles my ear. “A Boy Scout is always prepared.” He takes my other hand and guides it down to the lower pocket of his cargo pants. “In there.” His tone is innocent despite the bold gesture.
I’m a little taken aback, but I fumble around in his pocket and pull out a mini Maglite. I turn it on, and without letting go of Neil’s hand, I twirl in a circle so beams of light bounce off the surrounding trees.
“We should go,” I say. Then I turn the flashlight off and slip it back into Neil’s pocket.
I step closer to him, and recklessness takes over. I reach up and touch his lower lip lightly with my finger, and I close my eyes—
A siren blares. Glass shards cut my face. Intense pain hammers me everywhere at once. One, two, three beats, and then I jerk my hands out of the grooves. I’m back in my memory chamber, almost surprised to see I’m unharmed.
Something’s wrong. That’s not at all how the night ended.
Voices buzz all around me, an unusual sound. I sit up to look over the ledge to investigate. The other drones are all doing the same.
“Did you feel that?” Virginia calls out. A chorus of yeses responds, and everyone makes their way down from their memory chambers, to meet in the middle.
I head over to where Virginia stands, and Beckah joins us.
“What just happened?” Beckah asks, shaking. She has a haunted look on her face, a look I see echoed on all the other faces.
A girl named Amber is pointing at something behind me. “Omigod!” she shrieks, excited. “There’s a boy coming in through a door!”
Impossible. We haven’t seen any boys here. Ever. I spin around, and my mouth drops open. Because I know this boy. And he’s calling my name.
Excerpted from Level 2: There Has to Be More to the Afterlife Than This by Lenore Appelhans
All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.
In this gripping exploration of a futuristic afterlife, a teen discovers that death is just the beginning.
Since her untimely death the day before her eighteenth birthday, Felicia Ward has been trapped in Level 2, a stark white afterlife located between our world and the next. Along with her fellow drones, Felicia passes the endless hours reliving memories of her time on Earth and mourning what she’s lost—family, friends, and Neil, the boy she loved.
Then a girl in a neighboring chamber is found dead, and nobody but Felicia recalls that she existed in the first place. When Julian—a dangerously charming guy Felicia knew in life—comes to offer Felicia a way out, Felicia learns the truth: If she joins the rebellion to overthrow the Morati, the angel guardians of Level 2, she can be with Neil again.
Suspended between Heaven and Earth, Felicia finds herself at the center of an age-old struggle between good and evil. As memories from her life come back to haunt her, and as the Morati hunt her down, Felicia will discover it’s not just her own redemption at stake… but the salvation of all mankind.