Gr 7 Up—The Fury seemingly infests everyone but a small group of teens. Coming within 30 yards of other people sets off an instantaneous change, causing them to become rabid, violent monsters. The kids take refuge in a crumbling, abandoned amusement park to avoid contact with the "ferals." Meanwhile, an undead corpse has unleashed an otherworldly storm that is consuming central London. As the teens discover new powers growing within them, they learn that they are to fight the storm and save humanity, even if humanity wants them dead. While fantasy gives a writer license to violate the laws of physics, it still must have an internally consistent logic and, in some way, be believable. Smith's explanation for "The Fury," that humans unconsciously detect the otherness of the teens; descend instantly into a mindless, murderous rage; and then completely forget all of it, just doesn't click. Why the teens develop their powers at vastly different times is also never explained. An exciting climax is followed by a denouement that just seems silly. But, like Smith's other works, this one is packed with action and violence and will appeal to many readers, especially teen males. Fans of the the author's "Escape from Furnace" series (Farrar) will ignore the flaws and enjoy the tension and thrills.—
Anthony C. Doyle, Livingston High School Library, CAA fast-paced good vs. evil showdown, The Fury reads like a Stephen King novel for the YA audience. The opening chapters tap into readers’ darkest fears: what if everyone you knew suddenly turned against you? What if your mother, your mailman, or your girlfriend suddenly wanted nothing more than to kill you? What follows is a captivating combination of visceral action scenes and emotional horror. A cast of distinct characters, each with his or her own backstory, grounds the increasingly epic events of the novel in relatable human emotion. Alexander Gordon Smith’s sharp writing and inventive details give the final battle a haunting, cinematic intensity: “The sky was alive, a madness of movement that boiled overhead like an upturned cauldron of oil. Vast clouds of matter circled in slow, almost graceful orbits. In them [Rilke] could see scraps of things, the glint of a truck, the outline of a tree or a church spire, and countless smaller objects—people, she realized— that could have been leaves kicked up by the wind.”
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