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Imagine a London merchant deliberating whether to send his ten sons to Oxford or to Cambridge. Leafing through the flyers, he learns that, if he sends the boys to Cambridge, they will make “considerable progress in the sciences as well as in virtue, so that their merit will elevate them to honourable occupations for the rest of their lives” — on the other hand, if he sends them to Oxford, “they will become depraved, they will become rascals, and they will pass from mischief to mischief until the law will have to set them in order, and condemn them to various punishments.”

The post Why God would not send his sons to Oxford: parenting and the problem of evil appeared first on OUPblog.

By Mary Pleiss

When I was a little girl, the witches I knew came from fairy tales. They were old, ugly, and mean–life ruiners who cast evil spells with no provocation. My young friends and I ran into the problem of the witch in our play. We didn’t want to meet a witch in a dark forest or a bright one, even if that forest was the pair of trees in our backyard. Certainly none of us wanted to be the witch. But we knew we had to have a witch. Witches made things happen, provided scary, shivery tension, and gave the good characters something to fight against and overcome.

We often solved this problem by keeping the witch offscreen; we called out plot points detailing the unseen, unheard witch’s actions: “Now the witch is casting her spell. If you get to the swing set, you’re safe!” or, “You stepped into the witch’s clover patch–you’re trapped!” We could imagine the witch without casting her because we’d read stories and seen movies (mostly Disney movies and of course The Wizard of Oz). We knew witches well enough to weave them into our play without having to face the fact that we all had it in ourselves to be witches.

In sixth grade, I read Elizabeth George Speare’s The Witch of Blackbird Pond, and I started thinking about witches in a different way. What made the people of Wethersfield believe Hannah Tupper and Kit Tyler were witches, when any reader could see they weren’t magical or evil–just a little bit different? Why did their neighbors feel the need to banish or imprison them? If Hannah and Kit weren’t really evil, what did that say about the fairy tale witches I’d always feared and hated?

The witches in our fiction today are very different from those in fairy tales, and it turns out that even the Wicked Witch of the West has more complexity than I realized when I was growing up. I knew her from the movie, but reading the books as an adult, and learning more about the history of the Oz books in particular and witches–and those who were accused of witchcraft–in western culture has witches in a new light. L. Frank Baum was heavily influenced by his mother-in-law, Matilda Gage, who was an historian and feminist who promoted influential theories about women who were called witches in history. Baum had those theories in mind when he populated Oz with witches who were more dimensional than what had come before; they had backstories and motivations, and while some of them were evil, just as many were good.

Since Baum, of course, a number of children’s and YA writers have included witches–and women accused of witchcraft–in their stories. Whether bad, good, or somewhere in between, those witches have developed into characters with more depth and complexity than even Baum could have imagined. As societal attitudes about the roles of girls and women have evolved, fictional characterizations of witches have changed, and we can’t  get away with taking the problematic witch offscreen or making her a one-dimensional villain. Now, when we write about witches, we work to make them as dimensional as all of our other characters, and our problem becomes the same as that we face with most other characters: how do we bring the witch to life?

Here are some suggestions and questions you can ask yourself if you’re including witchy characters in your fiction:

Consider doing some research into historical witches and witchcraft trials. You might find an angle or a detail no one’s ever written about before.

If your witches really do practice magic, is their power individual or communal, or some combination of both? Is magic learned or innate? Can you make witchcraft/magic a source of conflict, rather than a crutch that relieves it?

Does your character need to make choices about her “witchiness”—whether it’s to become a witch, to fully use or curtail her own power, or to educate herself about her power? Against or for whom she will use her power? Will she embrace her power right away, or resist it?

These are, of course, just a start to creating fully realized witch characters, but they’re a way to turn the witch into an integral part of your story, rather than a flat stereotype. Give your readers more to think about when you write witches, so that kids who play pretend will argue over who gets to be the witch, rather than relegating her to an offscreen ghost.

Mary Pleiss: Though some might say all the hours Mary Pleiss spent haunting the library and disappearing into book worlds hinted at her future in writing for middle grade and young adult readers, she confesses that at the time she just thought it was a good way to escape her noisy family (she loves them, really, but six siblings can be a bit much at times). She is a curriculum development specialist, teacher, and recent graduate of Vermont College of Fine Arts, with an MFA in Writing for Children and Young Adults.

Follow Mary on Twitter: @MKPleiss

This blog post was brought to you as part of the March Dystropian Madness blog series. 

By Mary Pleiss

When I was a little girl, the witches I knew came from fairy tales. They were old, ugly, and mean–life ruiners who cast evil spells with no provocation. My young friends and I ran into the problem of the witch in our play. We didn’t want to meet a witch in a dark forest or a bright one, even if that forest was the pair of trees in our backyard. Certainly none of us wanted to be the witch. But we knew we had to have a witch. Witches made things happen, provided scary, shivery tension, and gave the good characters something to fight against and overcome.

We often solved this problem by keeping the witch offscreen; we called out plot points detailing the unseen, unheard witch’s actions: “Now the witch is casting her spell. If you get to the swing set, you’re safe!” or, “You stepped into the witch’s clover patch–you’re trapped!” We could imagine the witch without casting her because we’d read stories and seen movies (mostly Disney movies and of course The Wizard of Oz). We knew witches well enough to weave them into our play without having to face the fact that we all had it in ourselves to be witches.

In sixth grade, I read Elizabeth George Speare’s The Witch of Blackbird Pond, and I started thinking about witches in a different way. What made the people of Wethersfield believe Hannah Tupper and Kit Tyler were witches, when any reader could see they weren’t magical or evil–just a little bit different? Why did their neighbors feel the need to banish or imprison them? If Hannah and Kit weren’t really evil, what did that say about the fairy tale witches I’d always feared and hated?

The witches in our fiction today are very different from those in fairy tales, and it turns out that even the Wicked Witch of the West has more complexity than I realized when I was growing up. I knew her from the movie, but reading the books as an adult, and learning more about the history of the Oz books in particular and witches–and those who were accused of witchcraft–in western culture has witches in a new light. L. Frank Baum was heavily influenced by his mother-in-law, Matilda Gage, who was an historian and feminist who promoted influential theories about women who were called witches in history. Baum had those theories in mind when he populated Oz with witches who were more dimensional than what had come before; they had backstories and motivations, and while some of them were evil, just as many were good.

Since Baum, of course, a number of children’s and YA writers have included witches–and women accused of witchcraft–in their stories. Whether bad, good, or somewhere in between, those witches have developed into characters with more depth and complexity than even Baum could have imagined. As societal attitudes about the roles of girls and women have evolved, fictional characterizations of witches have changed, and we can’t  get away with taking the problematic witch offscreen or making her a one-dimensional villain. Now, when we write about witches, we work to make them as dimensional as all of our other characters, and our problem becomes the same as that we face with most other characters: how do we bring the witch to life?

Here are some suggestions and questions you can ask yourself if you’re including witchy characters in your fiction:

Consider doing some research into historical witches and witchcraft trials. You might find an angle or a detail no one’s ever written about before.

If your witches really do practice magic, is their power individual or communal, or some combination of both? Is magic learned or innate? Can you make witchcraft/magic a source of conflict, rather than a crutch that relieves it?

Does your character need to make choices about her “witchiness”—whether it’s to become a witch, to fully use or curtail her own power, or to educate herself about her power? Against or for whom she will use her power? Will she embrace her power right away, or resist it?

These are, of course, just a start to creating fully realized witch characters, but they’re a way to turn the witch into an integral part of your story, rather than a flat stereotype. Give your readers more to think about when you write witches, so that kids who play pretend will argue over who gets to be the witch, rather than relegating her to an offscreen ghost.

Mary Pleiss: Though some might say all the hours Mary Pleiss spent haunting the library and disappearing into book worlds hinted at her future in writing for middle grade and young adult readers, she confesses that at the time she just thought it was a good way to escape her noisy family (she loves them, really, but six siblings can be a bit much at times). She is a curriculum development specialist, teacher, and recent graduate of Vermont College of Fine Arts, with an MFA in Writing for Children and Young Adults.

Follow Mary on Twitter: @MKPleiss

This blog post was brought to you as part of the March Dystropian Madness blog series. 

  Beckett, Bernard. (2006) Genesis. London: Quercus Publishing. ISBN 978-1-84724-930-2. Author age: young adult. Litland recommends age 14+.

Publisher’s description:

The island Republic has emerged from a ruined world. Its citizens are safe but not free. Until a man named Adam Forde rescues a girl from the sea. Fourteen-year-old Anax thinks she knows her history. She’d better. She’s sat facing three Examiners and her five-hour examination has just begun. The subject is close to her heart: Adam Forde, her long-dead hero. In a series of startling twists, Anax discovers new things about Adam and her people that question everything she holds sacred. But why is the Academy allowing her to open up the enigma at its heart? Bernard Beckett has written a strikingly original novel that weaves dazzling ideas into a truly moving story about a young girl on the brink of her future.

 Our thoughts:

 Irregardless of whether you are an evolutionist or creationist, if you like intellectual sci-fi you’ll love this book.  How refreshing to read a story free from hidden agendas and attempts to indoctrinate its reader into a politically-correct mindset.  And while set in a post-apocalyptic era, the world portrayed is one in which inhabitants have been freed from the very things that sets humans apart from all other creation, including man-made. Once engulfed in the story, the reader is drawn into an intellectual battle over this “difference” between man and man-made intelligence. The will to kill; the existence of evil. A new look at original sin. And a plot twist at the end that shifts the paradigm of the entire story.

 Borrowing from the American movie rating scale, this story would be a PG. Just a few instances of profanity, it is a thought-provoking read intended for mature readers already established in their values and beliefs, and who would not make the error of interpreting the story to hold any religious metaphors. The “myth” of Adam and Art, original sin and the genesis of this new world is merely a structure familiar to readers, not a message. The reader is then free to fully imagine this new world without the constraints of their own real life while still within the constraints of their own value system.

 Genesis is moderately short but very quick paced, and hard to put down once you’ve started! Thus it is not surprising to see the accolades and awards accumulated by Beckett’s book. The author, a New Zealand high school teacher instructing in Drama, English and Mathematics, completed a fellowship study on  DNA mutations as well. This combination of strengths gives Genesis its intrigue as well as complexity. Yet it is never too theoretical as to exclude its reader.  See our review against character education criteria at Litland.com’s teen book review section.  And pick up your own copy in our bookstore!

I'm going to make an effort to update the blog more, and because of that I'm promising at least one sketch a week - every Friday!

Excited!?

You shouldn't be.

If history is any indication, the chances of me following through on this promise aren't that great.

Steve

Alternative X-Mas card featuring an imaginary movie production.

More at Sevensheaven.nl

Image via Wikipedia

Clowns are fun. We laugh and are amused by their antics. However, we are frightened by clowns that are evil or possessed. Here are ten things that you should not say to a possessed clown:

1.   You have great makeup. I especially like your red teeth. They’re so colorful.

2.   Would you like to have dinner at our house? Why are you looking at me like I’m a piece of meat?

3.   Will you quit growling. It’s not nice to scream bloody murder. Come on, lighten up.

4.   Did you say I’m smart? I see. You said that you’d like a piece of my heart.

5.   Why are you juggling chainsaws?

6.   Please don’t spray seltzer water at me. I see. It’s not seltzer water. It’s blood.

7.   What do you look like when you wipe off your makeup? I see. You look like a Zombie.

8.   Why do you wear such big shoes? I see. It’s to hide your hairy, curled up feet.

9.   Can I be in your act? I see. You’ll perform magic and saw me in half.

10.  Are you married? I see. Your wife has flaming red hair, a bright red nose, and a ghoulish white face.

Image via Wikipedia

Jason, the mysterious killer, in the Friday the 13th series is truly an evil monster. He kills without a conscience. Here are ten things that you shouldn’t say to Jason if you ever come across him:

1. Would you like to play in a pick up hockey game?
2. Your knife looks a little dull. Do you mind if I sharpen it for you?
3. Have you seen my son Freddie around? He’s always getting into trouble. He’s not the sharpest kid on the block.
4. You look like your dressed to kill. You sure are the strong and silent type.
5. Man are you ugly. And your breath could kill an elephant.
6. Do you have an axe to grind with someone? Next thing you know you’ll be waving around a chainsaw.
7. Are you a reject from Camp Crystal Lake or are you one of the counselors?
8. Would you like to date my sister? She’s almost as ugly as you are.
9. You better stay out of the water. Otherwise, you’ll catch the death of a cold.
10. Did anyone ever tell you that it is impolite to carry a bloody ax inside the house? You could leave stains on the carpet.

This is my first Digital Illustration and I am pretty happy with it.
I did it for a Wacom contest, but I was a little too late for submition... I hope you like it.

This weekend we spent some time with friends. The whole family has the most healthy approach to eating I have ever seen. If they are not hungry or not hungry any more, then they stop eating. They eat tiny portions. In their cupboards there are bags of chips that they started and never finished before they went stale. They don't eat if they are stressed. They don't eat if they are bored. If there is a quarter cup of rice left in a serving dish, they don't eat it - they put it in Tupperware.

I hate them.

I was cleaning out a cupboard today and found these mass produced heavily iced Simpsons heads I put in Teen's
stocking last Christmas. They were approximately 10 months old. Each head had 220 calories (the label said that, but the heads were different sizes). I ate Lisa's head (which must have had fewer calories than Marge's or Homer's head, right?). It was stale and lacked flavor. I still ate it.

Evil Monkeys...

By Anatoly Liberman

Spelling reform and genitals will keep the rubric “gleanings” afloat forever. In connection with my series of posts on the oddest English spellings (which will be continued), I received several questions about dyslexia and orthography. Since I am unacquainted with the neural aspects of dyslexia, I cannot have a professional opinion on this subject, but the main divide seems to be between alphabetic languages and those using hieroglyphs (such as Chinese) rather than between languages like Finnish, in which the word’s aural Gestalt and visual image correspond remarkably well, and languages like English, in which the spelling of numerous words is unpredictable (bury, build, bosom, choir, till ~ until, and so forth), for different parts of the brain control our mastery of letters versus symbols (in this case, pictures).

Now to the genitals. Thanks to the correspondent who provided a quotation of dildoes from John Donne’s “Elegy 2: The Anagram” (1599). Those lines confirm the fact that the word was well-known in Shakespeare’s days. While our British correspondent was watching “Bedknobs and Broomsticks,” an idea occurred to her that the opprobrious sense of knob had existed for centuries. My information on this subject is sparse. Knob “penis” was indeed known in the second half of the 17th century, but neither Shakespeare nor his younger contemporaries, whose language is often coarser than his, seem to have used it, even in puns, while reproducing the speech of their time. Nor do I find it in the old classical dictionaries of slang. Apparently, it reemerged after a long period of underworld existence only in the 20th century.

By way of compensation, I will add a note to my old post on the origin of Engl. brain. I suggested in it that brain is akin to bran and that the earliest meaning of the word was approximately “refuse,” not too different from “gray matter.” At that time I did not remember that 400 years ago the brain was supposed to produce semen, because both substances look rather similar. Hence the allusion to “brains between legs.” As regards Italian fiasco, I am sure that, contrary to a guess of our correspondent, far’ fico and far’ fiasco are unrelated. Some discussion of the Italian word (in connection with Engl. fig) can be found in my An Analytic Dictionary of English Etymology: An Introduction; fig is mentioned in the entry on the F-word. To the best of my knowledge, far’ fiasco had no scurrilous overtones when it was coined. Fiasco (this is an answer to a different question) can, of course, have entered English directly from Italian, but if an Italian word (except for art terms and those pertaining to Italian realities) is also current in French and if the chronology does not militate against such a conclusion, it is safer to suggest that English took it over from French rather than Italian. I will return to fiasco in a different context.

In my etymological database, only one citation on poontang turned up. G. Legman wrote in the journal American Speech 25, 1950, p.234: “The Southern term poontang, for sexual intercourse ‘especially between Negro & white’ (Wentworth), is popularly and mistakenly believed to be a Negro word, perhaps of African origin. Actually, as pointed out by the well-known translator Keene Wallis, poontang is merely a heavily nasalized Creole pronunciation of the French word putain, whore, and undoubtedly spread through the South from French-speaking Louisiana. Wallis reports it as current in Missouri about ‘1915’.” This is followed by twelve quotations (but not from Wallis), three of them from Look Homeward, Angel (1929; Poon Tang). Few words are more detrimental to an etymology than undoubtedly and doubtlessly, but the derivation from putain is not bad, and the southern provenance of poontang seems to be correct.

A question was asked about the adverb yet. It concerns usage, but the development of yet also has a historical dimension. Our correspondent finds the sentence “Has Lucy come yet?” strange. It sounds perfectly idiomatic to me. In Modern English, yet has numerous meanings, and in two situations it alternates with “substitutes.” One is still: he is still here ~ he is not here yet. The other is already: he has already come ~ has he come yet? Apparently, the latter alternation is not universal; otherwise, there would have been no query. A few things about past usage may be of interest. Still is an adjective (“quiet, motionless”) and an adverb, as above. In Shakespeare’s language still meant “always” (“Thou still hast been the father of good news”). In some British dialects, yet occurs as still was in the 16th and 17th century. Consequently, it may be that in Wordsworth’s sonnet addressed to Milton: “So didst thou travel on life’s common way / In cheerful godliness, and yet thy heart / The lowliest duties on herself did lay,” yet is misunderstood by modern readers, for Wordsworth may have meant “and always (ever) thy heart.”

Extinction of Languages. The disappearance of every language, like the disappearance of every species, is an irreparable loss, and it is a good thing that in the 20th century many languages have been saved from extinction and in a few cases even revived (Hebrew is an anthologized example). But it is also a fact that languages, and not necessarily endangered ones, those with few speakers left, have been dying throughout history. Take Hittite, Hunnish, and Gothic. They were spoken by tens of thousands of people forming powerful tribal unions. What is left are a heap of clay tablets, a few biblical fragments, and the like, while from preliterate societies (to which the Huns belonged) almost nothing has remained. Vandals have a bad press, though at one time they were not worse than, say, the Goths. The Vandals are gone, and, but for a few names and words recorded by the Romans, we would have had no idea of their language. History is cruel; however, it is also unpredictable: it sometimes spares the weak and destroys the strong.

Etymologies. How are Engl. bold and Old Icelandic ballr related, considering that the Icelandic word meant “frightful, dangerous, fatal?” Adjectives often refer to a quality possessed by an individual and the effect this quality has on others. Here we deal with courage and its results: a stout-hearted person is “bold,” whereas his boldness is “dangerous” to others. Can Engl. evil be related to Latin evilescere “to become vile, worthless, despicable,” and, if such a possibility exists, can certain conclusions be drawn with relation to the writings of early English saints? Our correspondent is correct in isolating the root of vilis “vile” in the Latin verb (e- is a prefix). This structure excludes its affinity to evil, but any influence of this relatively rare Latin verb on the Old English adjective should also be ruled out, because the original form of evil was yfil (the modern pronunciation of the stressed vowel is a “Kentism”) and because its cognates, beginning with Gothic, already had the meaning it has today. A medieval scholar would have been delighted to catch at the similarity between evil and evilescere, but by the time umlaut changed u in ubil- (the reconstructed but secure protoform of evil) to y, let alone by the Middle English period (when Old Engl. long y yielded e), all the works cited in the letter had been written and become canon. Ubil-, though pronounced with -v-, did not sound like Latin evil- and would not have inspired even the most ingenious thinker of the Middle Ages. The literature on counting-out rhymes is vast. As always, I am grateful for every tip, but, while writing about eena-meena, I included among my references only those works that deal with the origin of the relevant words, and such works are not many

Pronunciation and grammar. (I won’t repeat the questions, for they can be guessed from the answers.) Unless the norm has changed in recent years, the first vowel in Coventry has the value of o in on. It is true that the o in womb is not identical with its counterpart in woman. But since I do not use phonetic symbols in this blog, I disregarded the vowels’ respective duration. Food and foot are distinguished in the same way (the first oo designates a longer sound). I doubt that anyone acquainted with Emily Bronte’s novel pronounces wuthering, as in Wuthering Heights, with the vowel of strut, though the name Wuthering does have such a vowel. It was good to hear that the OED allows shrank, my past tense of shrink, to exist. I am aware of the fact that in American English the common past form of shrink is shrunk but feel quite comfortable with my slightly idiosyncratic grammar. There is no way I can keep abreast of the times. Most people around me say shined where I say shone (my shone used to rhyme gone, and when I finally made it rhyme with lone, it was too late: shined replaced both). Likewise, I refuse to say plead-pled and stick to pleaded. Little restaurants in my area post the coy apology: “Excuse us: we are slightly old-fashioned.” I am afraid I should carry a board on my breast with a similar message.

Antedatings and contested etymologies. Thanks to Stephen Goranson for his information about the first occurrences of fiasco and snob. Snob remains a word that reached London around the 1770’s. The story connecting the introduction of fiasco with a bad performance by Biancolelli, the harlequin, has been repeated many times, and I knew it. I cannot disprove it, but long experience has taught me to treat such tales with great distrust. When it comes to etymology, they usually turn out to be wrong. One can imagine that far’ fiasco had existed before the actor’s poor performance and that he deliberately carried a bottle around his neck, a good precautionary measure for all of us, whether comedians or etymologists.

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Something I did last year but haven't shown yet.

The past ten years have seen a veritable avalanche of books about the world’s tallest mountain. Why the sudden interest? Is it because of National Geographic’s movie Everest, or the deadly climbing disaster of 1996 chronicled in Jon Krakauer’s book Into Thin Air? Or because 2003 was the fiftieth anniversary of Tenzing Norgay and Sir Edmund Hillary’s historic summit? Or because in that same year a 15-year-old girl named Ming Kipa set the new record for youngest person to summit? Whatever the reason, there is no shortage of books, for all age levels, about the dangerously fascinating mountain that is Everest.

One of my favorite books of 2007 is Peak, by Roland Smith (Harcourt, 2007). This well-written page-turner for junior high readers follows the adventures of Peak Marcello, the 14-year-old son of climbers. After getting caught free-climbing – and then tagging – skyscrapers in Manhattan, Peak is whisked off to Asia, where his father leads climbing expeditions on Everest. At first, Peak is thrilled at the chance to be the youngest person ever to summit, but he soon learns the task ahead is more difficult than he imagined.

I’m not talking about physical dangers; in fact, readers may be surprised that a relatively inexperienced climber such as Peak could make it as far as he does without much in the way of illness or injury. (Some other climbers in the expedition are forced to stop due to HAPE and other climbing-related afflictions.) But Smith compensates with a solid exploration of the political issues surrounding Mount Everest. The commercialization of Everest (Can anyone who can pay play?), Chinese control of Tibet, and the incredibly dangerous – and under-appreciated – work of Sherpa guides all get ample discussion.

In a similar vein is Gordan Korman’s fictional Everest series (The Contest, The Climb, The Summit – Scholastic, 2002), for readers grades 5 and up who enjoy a fast read.

True Books About Everest

• Climbing Everest: Tales of Triumph and Tragedy on the World’s Highest Mountain, by Audrey Salkeld (National Geographic, 2003) –Children’s Literature calls these profiles of Everest’s most famous climbers “thrilling reading” for grades 4 and up.
• Into Thin Air: A Personal Account of the Mount Everest Disaster, by Jon Krakauer (Villard, 1997) – This thick nonfiction page-turner has a lot of teen appeal.
• To the Top of Everest, by Laurie Skreslet with Elizabeth MacLeod (Kids Can, 2001) – One of the first Canadians to summit offers his cheerful and photo-filled account for grades 3 and up.
• To the Top: The Story of Everest, by Stephen Venables (Candlewick, 2003) – Photo-filled history of human interest in Everest, including the author’s personal summit story, for grades 4 and up.
• Within Reach: My Everest Story, by Mark Pfetzer and Jack Galvin (Dutton, 1998) – A teen’s mountain-climbing diary, with special focus on the Everest disaster, for junior high on up.

As of today, I’m in the unusual (for me) position of actually having read all the contenders for the National Book Award’s Literature for Young People category. I enjoyed all the nominees but thought Sherman Alexie’s The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian was particularly deserving, so la-di-da. It wasn’t until this week, however, that I got around to reading Skin Hunger, by Kathleen Duey (Atheneum, 2007).

When I was a kid, I loved Ursula LeGuin’s The Tombs of Atuan. I eventually read other Earthsea books, but The Tombs of Atuan was the volume I kept plucking from the library shelf. In it, a little girl named Tenar is identified as the reborn high priestess to the Nameless Ones. She’s wrenched from her family and renamed Arha (“the eaten one”), and begins her isolated training. She spends much of her time in the labyrinth of the Tombs, which is where she eventually encounters the wizard Ged of A Wizard of Earthsea. I think what I loved most about the story was its bleakness: the stone, the darkness, the solitude. The horror of it gripped me in some masochistically pleasant way.

Well, in Skin Hunger, Duey takes bleakness to an even higher (lower?) level. It’s the first book of a series called A Resurrection of Magic, and, boy howdy, am I looking forward to the books that follow; please tell me there’s a happy ending somewhere?

In short, alternating chapters, Skin Hunger follows two main characters, in what turns out to be different times: a farm girl named Sadima and a lord’s son named Hahp. In Sadima’s time, the nearest thing to magic is the charlatan “magicians” peddling their snake oil in the marketplace. Every age is ruled by kings or by wizards, and now it’s an age of kings; magic is forbidden.

No one believes in Sadima’s ability to communicate with animals until a mysterious young man appears on her farm and invites her to join him in the far away city of Limòri. There, he and another young man named Somiss are trying to unlock the secrets of magic to bring health, wisdom, and peace to the land. That’s what Franklin tells Sadima, anyway. When she arrives in Limòri and meets chilling and single-minded Somiss, however, she begins to question whether the means outweigh the outcome.

Then there’s Hahp, scorned second son of a wealthy lord, sent to the wizarding academy in Limòri. Before you start envisioning jolly banquets and Quidditch matches, know this: the Academy is no Hogwarts. From Hahp’s arrival, he and his classmates are thrown into a dark, labyrinthine world where days and nights are meaningless (reminiscent of the Tombs of Atuan, actually), and literal starvation is the motivating factor to learn the seemingly impossible tasks the wizards set them. One of the ten boys will graduate to become a wizard – or none at all. And the boys are forbidden to help each other. Despair is always just around the corner.

While at first I found the very brief (three to seven pages) chapters maddening, the shift in point of view jolting, Duey ultimately pulls it off. The two storylines eventually converge, the events and themes of Hahp’s and Sadima’s stories informing the other’s as the tension rises. After a somewhat slow first fifty pages, Skin Hunger turned into a page-turner I could barely put down.

At the book’s close, Hahp’s story pauses on a note of hope and anticipation, Sadima’s on chilling inevitability. Meanwhile, many questions remain unanswered. I’d like to know what it is about Hahp that gives him his wizarding aptitude, and what Sadima’s special ability will amount to. And, of course, I can’t wait for a ray of sunshine. It’s going to be a difficult wait for Book Two.

At this point, I don’t think I have much to add to the conversation about the other NBA nominees, but I'd like to link to some good blog reviews found elsewhere. Read them and consider my opinion “ditto.”

• Worth the Trip reviews Touching Snow, by M. Sindy Felin.
• A Chair, a Fireplace & a Tea Cozy reviews Story of a Girl, by Sara Zarr.
• Readers' Rants reviews The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian, by Sherman Alexie.
• A Fuse #8 Production reviews The Invention of Hugo Cabret, by Brian Selznick.

Also, check out Cynsations' interview with Kathleen Duey about Skin Hunger!

Phew.

I FINALLY finished listening to The Thirteenth Tale by Diane Setterfield. In the book's defense, I did not have a regular listening routine due to an irregular life schedule right now. (Come to think of it, when is life ever orderly?) I almost gave up several times because I found the main character's continual bemoaning (tiring in an audiobook, maybe it would have played better in print) of her lost sister just too much. Glad I finished it because I would have wondered about the ending if I had given up but I am glad it is over.



On the Wings of Heroes by Richard Peck. Dial Books for Young Readers, 2007

I cannot think of any author who does more to refresh the palate and revive the spirit than Richard Peck. He has such fun telling a story. His uplifting and moving novel, On the Wings of Heroes was exactly what I was in the mood for.

This book is an extension, of sorts, of a short story he contributed to Guys Write for Guys Read by Jon Scieszka about his wonderful father and his love of Halloween.

This story begins on the eve of WWII. Peck perfectly evokes a time when neighbors knew each other and families banded together to support their community and the war effort with scrap metal drives, jalopy parades, black outs and tire rationing.

Davy Bowman's beloved older brother enlists and becomes a bombardier on a B-17, flying missions over Germany. Davy worships his brother and his dad. His father loves his boys and fears for the oldest one because, as a WWI veteran, he knows war. The relationship between the boys and their dad is wonderfully written. Peck commented at a book signing, "I'm trying to share my father with boys who don't have them."

Sugar rationing, milkweed collecting and Boy Scout paper drives are part of the lives of Davy and his best friend Scooter. School teachers are called away to work in the war plants leaving bullies free reign in the classroom. News on the radio is all important and loving grandparents arrive to help out when times are tough.

The town is full of Peck's typically quirky characters and life lessons. Is the shotgun wielding Miss Titus crazy or the canniest substitute teacher in the world? What is in the trunk in Mr. Stonecypher's scary attic?

Certainly, Davy's heroes are his father and his brother but after reading this book you understand the heroism of those on the home front too: the long retired teacher who steps into the classroom again; the father whose son did not come home from WWI but will give to the war effort; the victory gardens; blue, silver, and gold stars in the windows representing families in waiting or grieving.

The beauty, tenderness and humor in this very American story put it at the top of my favorite books list.