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The White Giraffe by Lauren St. John. Illustrations by David Dean. Dial Books. $16.99.

I was at an ALA Conference skimming through the convention center when I stumbled across the Dial booth. I was a little too late to get the hottest galleys that day, but a person can still root out a hidden gem here and there if they’ve a yen to. I think it may have been the cover of “The White Giraffe” that caught my eye first. Deep blues with a pale ghostly giraffe obviously reflecting the moonlight off its hide. I’m not usually drawn to animal stories but there was something deeply compelling about the image I saw here. “Is this any good?,” I asked the clearly exhausted Dial employee. To the best of her ability she assured me that it was a worthwhile read, so I took it home. So here’s where it becomes awkward. It may well be that in the future this is a much beloved title that no one disputes as distilled genius in a glass. Maybe. But as far as I could tell, author Lauren St. John hasn’t quite yet gotten a feel for how to write for a young audience. There are things in this book that work, but by and large they’re outweighed by the sheer mass of the things that do not. A good start, but a book that could have stood a little more editing

When eleven-year-old Martine’s parents die in an accidental fire, she finds herself bundled away from England and sent to live with her grandmother in Africa. And that might have been fine except for the fact that it’s obvious right from the start that Martine is not wanted by this unfamiliar relative. Lonely in a strange new land, one night the girl spots a white giraffe in the moonlight. And unaware of a legend that speaks of a girl who will someday ride such an animal, Martine begins to fall in love with her new home. Yet poachers are invading Martine’s grandmother’s land and Jemmy, the beautiful white giraffe, is almost certainly in danger. It will take all the girl’s strength and resilience to discover who the traitor on the reserve is and, when the time comes, realize how to rescue Jemmy.

Now it’s clear that St. John’s a writer through and through. Listen to this line: “Pale spiky thorn trees and ragged shrubs dotted the long yellow grass, which glowed beneath the blazing summer sun as if it was lit from underneath.” THAT is how you write a sentence. THAT is how it is done. Food too is described deliciously as “omlettes made from fresh farm eggs and wild mushrooms, a heap of crispy bacon, and tomatoes fried with brown sugar.” A human being could subsist on these words alone if you let them. So imagine my distress when on the next page the resident magical black friend puts her hand on our heroine’s forehead and says, “You have the gift, chile . . . Jus’ like the forefathers said.” Even if you take away the whole white-girl-is-going-to-save-us-all idea, surely there was a better way to introduce that idea.

All right. So maybe some of my objection to this title is rooted in its basic premise. White girl goes to Africa and connects with a magical creature there better than any actual African could because she is “the one”. So how much does Martine’s race really matter? I read the first chapter or so of “The White Giraffe” after reading the bookflap, secure in the belief that my heroine was black. When it turned out that she was not, the entire reading experience took a shift to the left. I had been enjoying the book, you know. As first chapters go, I may have to nominate “The White Giraffe” for Most Gripping Opening of 2007. It’s thrilling in the best sense of the word. So do we blame a book for putting a European lady in an African setting? Not a bit of it. But when it's clear that there are legends built around Martine, that's when things start to get uncomfortable. I mean, just for argument's sake, would it have been so bad if Martine had been black? It's not like we're swimming in black heroines in children's books these days anyway (and certainly not in fantasy).

There were other issues, I suppose. Martine is eleven but in terms of basic ideas like racism she resembles a six or seven-year-old more. That means that you get passages where apartheid gets a brief glossed over mention without much meat or heft to it. There are small plot gaps as well. Martine doesn’t tell her grandmother about her gamekeeper’s unnatural violence because Tendai “didn’t want to distress her unnecessarily.” It’s a literary device that’s as unnecessary as it is frustrating. Like those movies where the characters won’t call the cops, even when the homicidal maniac is threatening them with a machete. Heck, when Martine’s grandmother, a woman who (we later find) would protect her granddaughter with her life, allows Martine to go BACK into the super scary ship full of bad guys with guns there is just no good reason for it. No sane guardian would let their kid do that. And there are other moments of sheer coincidence. Grace, a holy woman, spontaneously appears in Martine’s secret alcove at just the right moment. You know Ms. St. John must have felt some slight awkwardness with moments like this. After all the book even says, “Martine was still reeling from the bombshell of finding the woman she’d wanted to see, here, in this sacred space.” You me both, hon.

But did I mention that the writing was sometimes great? That a giraffe’s eyes are described as the wisest and “most innocent” in the world? And I liked Martine’s dreams and the subplot that involves some mean kids in her school. It’s the details and the idea of a white gal being the savior of Africa that gives me the willies. I look forward to what St. John puts out in the future. A memorable read, but it could definitely have been stronger.

On shelves now.

Notes On the Cover: Can’t put it down. Credit Dial with snagging one smartie of a cover for this puppy. Artist David Dean's interior illustrations are lovely to look at too. It's a pity they weren't in color, what with the beautiful hues on the cover and all hat. A good choice in any case.

First Line: “People like to say that things come in threes, but the way Martine looked at it, that all depends on when you start counting and when you stop.”

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Theodosia and the Serpents of Chaos by R.L. LaFevers. Illustrations by Yoko Tanaka. Houghton Mifflin Company. $16.00.

It took me a little while to review this one, but better late than never.

Things That Are Difficult To Do:

1. Eating broken glass
2. Changing a baby’s diaper for the first time.
3. Digesting aforementioned broken glass.
4. Selling a boy on a great adventuresome novel with a female heroine.

It’s a bit of a stereotype but one with at least a grain of truth to it. Certain boys of a particular literary persuasion will offer an unpleasant amount of resistance to reading a book when its protagonist is of the feminine variety. This is understood. Few quibble the point. As a result, nine times out of ten a hero who discovers a fantastical world in a fantasy novel will sport a name like Harry or Percy or Sebastian (no one said they had to be manly names). This can make it difficult for girls heroes. Either they have to share the spotlight with a boy (and is pictured on the cover with him if the publisher has their way) or their heroine already exists in a world of her own when the action begins. The latter is the case with one Theodosia Throckmorton. If you called her “spunky” to her face she’d probably grind your foot beneath her boot heel. Theodosia isn’t cute or plucky or wide-eyed. She’s sly and clever with just half a sandwich more intelligence than her fellow man. "Theodosia and the Serpents of Chaos" is not a perfect creation, but it has enough originality and sheer verve to make up for those imperfections a reader might find.

When you’re living in Edwardian England as the child of easily distracted museum curators, you have to do a lot of growing up on your own. Theodosia Throckmorton, for her part, has done her fair share. While her mother has been scouring Egypt for artifacts to send to the family’s Museum of Legends and Antiquities, Theodosia lives in London at the museum in question with her father and cat. What’s more, she has a purpose in life. Unlike anyone else she knows, Theodosia can physically sense the horrid curses and black magic seeping from the artifacts on display. Her job? Remove the magic and keep away from her father’s meddling curator Clive Fagenbush. And everything would have been perfectly fine had her mother not brought home that wretched Heart of Egypt. Legend says that should this amulet ever leave its native soil it will curse the country that takes it in and topple the kingdom itself. Now WWI is looming, evil forces are conspiring to steal the amulet for their own means, and it’s up to Theodosia to foil the bad guys, find herself some allies, and return the Heart of Egypt to its rightful home.

The book lends itself to love. First off, there’s the fact that LaFevers has such a flair for names. It’s just a pleasure to read someone who can create her own unique characters without sounding like a slightly sickened Dickens novel. So it was that I found myself chortling over monikers like Sticky Will, Dolge, Sweeny, and Wigmere. The very voice of the book was also a pleasure. I’m rather taken with any heroine who mentally labels her brother a “cad” when he threatens her with imminent education. And I liked the shout-outs to other works of children’s fiction. E. Nesbit’s, “The Treasure Seekers” gets a mention, which pleased me to no end. A pity the author is never named.

Best of all, “Theodosia” works on more than one level. It is my personal belief that LaFevers is making a rather slick anti-colonialism statement couched in an otherwise innocuous fantasy. Theodosia’s parents are stealing a country’s treasures without so much as a drop of guilt. Heck, her mother even alludes to a possible bribery of “local officials” so as to remove the artifacts from the country. And while you’d never accuse Theodosia of being anything other than a patriot (she even goes so far as to say that she would never “betray” her country) that doesn’t mean she can’t be at odds with what the nation, as well as her very own parents, does.Less effective perhaps is the tie made between pre-war Germany and this “curse” upon England. Says Theodosia, “ Germany was using the power of Ancient Egyptian magic to topple its adversaries. Just like Thutmose III and Amenemhab had.” Anti-colonialism I’m willing to buy. The Kaiser using magic? I guess it works in the same way that the Nazis in the Indiana Jones films work. It just seems a little clunky for an otherwise nice book.

There are problems here and there. There are no surprises regarding the true villain of the book. You probably won’t mind, but LaFevers makes it fairly evident. Another complaint I’ve heard lodged against this title is that it doesn’t effectively take you into Edwardian England. The smells and tastes and sensations aren’t there. You can appreciate the plot and pacing, but it’s not an evocative novel. I agree with this to some extent. Obviously that wasn’t what LaFevers was going for. For the kind of book that it is, you can enjoy the story without feeling you have to have traveled back in time with the author. For all that the author doesn’t try to conjure up distinct sensations, she’s thought through numerous tricky details. I loved the idea of long-term exposure to curses seeping into a person’s soul like radiation into cells. Plus the illustrations by Yoko Tanaka are used sparingly enough to give the book just enough oomph without detracting.

I’m trying to gauge the level of innate kid-appeal in this book, and I’m having a difficult time coming up with anything. What it really feels like is a child-version of Elizabeth Peters’ Amelia Peabody novels like “Crocodile On the Sandbank”. Same level-headed heroine. Same magic and vibe. Same exciting Egypt-based fight/flight sequences. You can hardly recommend a book to a kid on the basis of the adult novel it reminded you of. In the end, I’m just going to wait for the child who comes up to me and wants a good adventure story with a bit of fantasy for flair. It won’t be a book for every kid out there, true. But when paired with titles like the “Enola Holmes” books by Nancy Springer, “Theodosia” should prove popular with any kid attracting to the intelligent and the arcane.

On shelves now.

Notes on the Cover: Houghton Mifflin is apparently unafraid to make it clear to the world that this book is a historical fantasy. I know that amongst some there is a belief that if kids see anything even faintly antiquated on a book cover that they avoid it like the plague. It's nice to see a book reveling in an original look. The colors are one-of-a-kind, the image of Theodosia more than a photographed and dismembered head or torso, and the font pleasant. Altogether, this is a cover that makes children and adults want to pick it up. Well played.

First Line: "I don’t trust Clive Fagenbush."

Other Blog Reviews: Jen Robinson's Book Page, bookshelves of doom, lindajsingleton, nichtszusagen, Dee and dee Dish, Menageriemom's Musings, corrinalaw,

Futher Info: The Theodosia Throckmorton Homepage and Theodosia's Journal (blog)

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On the Wings of Heroes by Richard Peck. Dial Books (a member of Penguin Group, Inc.). $16.99.

Yeah, well. What kind of review site would this be without a little Richard Peck once in a while anyway?

Richard Peck is such an old-fashioned guy. Go through his books and look what you find. Nasty bullies getting their due. Pranks. Upright citizens. Heroes. Work that makes a boy strong. And wise old people who dole out necessary advice and make the rest of us look weak in comparison. It takes a couple heaping helpfuls of nostalgia to write a Richard Peck book, and as far as I can figure it, nostalgia falls into two distinct categories: Good Nostalgia and Bad Nostalgia. Bad Nostalgia bores the socks off its readers. It wallows too deeply in the idea of how great things used to be and would rather eat its own shoes than allow that there might be some pretty great things going on right now. Good Nostalgia’s a different beast entirely. It conjures up the past, transplanting its readers to another time. A time where there was good and there was bad, but most of all there was just a world that wasn't too unlike our own. “On the Wings of Heroes” is rife with Good Nostalgia. It bears the flaws of its genre without apology, but is a pretty good book in the end anyway.

Everyone has to have a hero. For Davy it’s his older brother Bill. It’s World War II and Bill’s off to fight in a handsome B-17, carrying with him his small town’s good wishes. Life before and during the war couldn’t be more different. Before the war Davy spent a lot of time with his best friend Scooter, trying out their new bikes, enjoying Halloween, and playing in the warm summer nights. During is different. Now the kids are doing regular collections for the war effort. Bill's been sent off to fight and Davy's avoiding the malevolent (not to say violent) Beverly C. while dealing with family worries to boot. With a great cast of kooky characters and superb writing, a book that could have been yet another dull historical novel distinguishes itself. A great slice from the past.

A co-worker of mine is a gigantic Richard Peck fan. She’s read his books cover to cover and then back again. As such, she’s probably his biggest critic. After going through “Heroes”, she found she was not entirely impressed. Richard Peck lite, she called it. She even pointed out certain elements to me. The dirty bully girl in the book? Wasn’t she in a couple of his stories before? Ditto the ancient teacher idea, the pranks, and even the Midwestern setting. To her eyes, he’s done it all before and he’s done it better. Be that as it may, I am not a fan of her caliber. I read “A Long Way From Chicago” and “A Year Down Yonder” and enjoyed them just fine. Then I read “The Teacher’s Funeral” and “Here Lies the Librarian” and was disappointed. So for me, “On the Wings of Heroes” represents a return to form. Sure Peck is reusing some old tropes and techniques. Still, if you take the book in and of itself and don’t compare it to his past or future work, I think it stands rather nicely all on its own. It may not garner the biggest awards out there, but there’s no doubt in my mind that it’ll have its fans.

Peck’s writing makes the whole enterprise well worth a peek anyway. First of all, he's funny, which is of vast unrecognized importance. Like any kid assigned this in school, I actually wasn't too keen on reading, "On the Wings of Heroes." Historical fiction is fine and all but I shy away from it when I can. So it's nice to get sucked into novel, especially if it's against your will. The individual sentences get all evocative and suggestions are made of future events. For example, whenever Davy’s father hears of an injustice or a wrong, we hear that, “something coiled in him again.” That “something” never uncoils in this book, but I suspect that it probably happens long after this particular story is over.

Of course, Peck writes of a white white world. If you’re looking for a little diversity, he’s not your man. It doesn’t usually occur to me when I read him, but this book in particular shows just how pale as newly fallen snow Peck’s universe is. He doesn’t deal with racism or social injustice much at all. So when the DAR gets a mention, it sticks out more for me than it might if there was a single African-American character living in this Midwestern American town. Those of you who would prefer to read a book with a little more racial complexity would do well to look to another novel.

Will kids read it? Not if you don’t sell it to them. Look, if a kid is standing in front of a row of books and one book has the title, “Alcatraz and the Evil Librarians” and the other book reads, “On the Wings of Heroes” which book is the kid going to pick up first? I mean some will read this book and love it, no question. It sounds odd to say, but the book this reminded me the most of was Ray Bradbury’s, “Dandelion Wine”. Know me and know my love of “Dandelion Wine” and you’ll see how grand a compliment this really is. It doesn’t have Bradbury’s dark surreal undercurrents, of course, but there’s a lot of joy here and a lot of familiar ideas. Plus, other books crop up in the old memory as well, like the moment when the root beer brewing in the basement explodes like a fourteen gun salute. It reminded me of nothing so much as the brewing that goes on in that great 30s novel, “Cheaper by the Dozen”. Though it shouldn't be confused with an accurate representation of the past in all respects, there's a lot in Peck's novel to enjoy. It has the ability to make children nostalgic for a time they will never know. Recommended.

Notes on the Cover: Okay. Dial, I know what you were going for here and I can’t blame you. And this jacket image is entirely faithful to the book, no question. You’re going for a nice 40s look, and who can blame you? So I’m giving you a pass on this one. Personally, I think this kind of image draws a very specific kind of reader. But let’s be honest here. Peck has written a very specific kind of book, so the packaging is faithful to product. Plus, this was done by Chuck Pyle? That wouldn’t happen to be the grandson of Howard Pyle, would it? Well his bio ain’t saying but it wouldn’t be a completely peculiar assumption to make. I wouldn't have commissioned it, but I can see why you did.

First Lines: "Before the War the evenings lingered longer, and it was always summer when it wasn't Halloween, or Christmas."

Previously Reviewed By: BookMoot, the Books for Kids Blog, Emily Reads and the BCCLS Mock Awards.

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Nothing but Trouble: The Story of Althea Gibson by Sue Stauffacher, illustrated by Greg Couch. Knopf Books for Young Readers (a Random House imprint). $16.99.

I’m not ashamed to say it. Say the name “Althea Gibson” to me a month ago and you’d have met a blank stare. Say it to me now, however, and you may suffer the indignity of finding me thrusting Sue Stauffacher’s newest picture book, “Nothing but Trouble: The Story of Althea Gibson,” into your arms while screaming into your ears its high points. This might be so bad either if the book only had a high-point here or there, but the fact of the matter is that “Althea Gibson” is ALL high points. It’s a rip-roaring, snorting, fast and frenzied, well-researched, reiterated, illustrated, formulated bit of picture book biography magnificence. With the author of the “Donuthead” books on the one hand and soon-to-be-recognized-for-his-magnificence artist Greg Couch filling in the necessary art, “Althea Gibson” has everything you could possibly want going for it. It’s fun. It’s funny. It’s smart and interesting, and has a flawed heroine you can’t help but want to know more about. If your young child is looking for a biography of a woman and you don’t know where to turn, I can’t think of a better book available to you. There’s something about Althea.

Ask anyone. Ask her mama her daddy her teacher or the cop down the street that busted her for petty theft. They’ll all tell you the same: That Althea Gibson is nothing but trouble. More comfortable tearing up the playground in the 1930s than sitting at a desk in school, Althea has a reputation for recklessness. None of that is enough to scare off play leader Buddy Walker, however. When he sees Althea play sports, he can only see raw talent and untapped potential. With his guidance and the help of the Sugar Hill’s ritzy tennis court “The Cosmopolitan”, Althea is given the chance to improve her style. Problem is, she has a hard time with being polite, following the rules, and not punching out her fellow players’ lights. It takes time and patience and self-control to make Althea the best she can possibly be, but by 1957 she becomes the first African-American to win at Wimbledon. And though she could hog all the credit for herself, Ms. Gibson gives full credit to that amazing Buddy Walker who had the smarts to become her mentor.

It’s always more interesting to read about a flawed hero. Perfect people do not a fascinating story make. Maybe that’s why the trend in children’s biographies lately has been to tell the tale of those men and women who weren’t made of solid gold from birth onwards. Between Kathleen Krull’s, “Isaac Newton”, Laura Amy Schlitz’s, “The Hero Schliemann,” and now Stauffacher’s, “Nothing but Trouble,” biographies for kids are getting better and better with every coming year. The nice thing about Althea is that for all her pouts and ill-manners, she's shown here to be someone who could conquer the world if she just applied a little self-control. As Buddy tells her at one point, “You’ve got to decide, Althea. Are you going to play your game, or are you going to let the game play you? When I go to the jazz club, I play like a tiger, but I wear a tuxedo.” Stauffacher draws much of her dialogue out of Althea’s biographies “I Always Wanted to Be Somebody” and “So Much to Life For.” Even without such lines, however, the author knows how to put a good story together. This plot is carefully crafted. From the timeline in the back (written on tennis balls, no less) to the great opening line, (“Althea Gibson was the tallest, wildest tomboy in the history of Harlem”) to the thin slices of her life, Stauffacher does a stand up job. As Althea’s biographer she prefers to concentrate on the role of Buddy Walker, even mentioning in her Author’s Note that “Though this is Althea’s story it is also Buddy Walker’s story.” The result is that this tale comes off as a tribute to mentors everywhere. To those people that see potential in certain kids and do what they can to bring such potential to light. And that is the nature of an entirely different kind of hero.

Flying just below the radar is illustrator Greg Couch. Ms. Stauffacher may have the wherewithal, wit, and smarts to think to bring Althea’s life to the page, but it is Mr. Couch’s illustrations that truly deserve attention here. Couch has taken a story that could have been accompanied by staid, simple drawings and instead imbued them with a kind of electricity. Althea doesn’t just leap off the page here. She crackles and snaps with an energy you don’t usually encounter on your average picture book bio. Couch has chosen to clothe Althea in a hyperactive rainbow that zigs and zags with the girl’s every movement and leap. Parents and teachers presenting this book to kids can ask them what they think this rainbow really means. And hopefully they’ll notice that when Buddy plays the saxophone (as he did in his own jazz band) the same rainbow colors come out of the instrument. Plus the fact that these rainbows are the sole spot of color against a sepia-tinged background of old photos and scenes from the 30s, 40s and 50s is a nice touch as well. And when, at last, you see Althea win her Wimbledon, she is surrounded at her acceptance speech by a rainbow that has aged and changed from pure primary colors to subtler hues. I also appreciate that there is nothing anachronistic going on in this book. Every picture feels like it has stepped out of history.

A co-worker of mine felt somewhat disappointed that the book ends as suddenly as it does. One minute Althea is learning the benefits of playing by the rules (while maintaining her fire) and the next she’s won Wimbledon and the story's over. I think this is less a flaw of this specific book than of the picture book biography format in general. You can’t linger on a year here or there, however much you might want to. And honestly, this is a book worth discovering. Stauffacher and Couch have found something to say about Althea that hasn’t yet been said in the realm of children’s literature and their passion in bringing Althea’s passion to life is worth taking note of. So stand back now. I’m going to say something and I’m going to say it loud. This book not only pairs well with “Wilma Unlimited” by Kathleen Krull, it may have supplanted it in my brain as my new favorite picture book sports biography. A must read pick.

On shelves August 14th.

First Lines: “Althea Gibson was the tallest, wildest tomboy in the history of Harlem.”

Extra: An artist in the professional sense, Mr. Couch has more than a few paintings to his name. So we’re just going to present, without comment, his Giving Trees. It appeared in the “experimental poetry” journal Sidereality.

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Celeste's Harlem Renaissance by Eleanora Tate. Little Brown & Company. $15.99.

The thick children’s historical novel faces a challenge that the thick adult or YA novel doesn’t have to deal with. Adults and, to some extent, teens are put off by the number of pages in their books less often than kids. A kid might breeze through a 500 page book of dragons, sure, but realistic novels will often give them pause. That isn’t to say that the thick historical novel for middle grades shouldn’t exist. It’s just that the author and editor must always bear in mind their audience when they take monumental pagination into account. If a book can justify its size, it shouldn’t have any problems. “Celeste’s Harlem Renaissance,” is a remarkable story of loyalty, choice, and forgiveness. It cannot, however, justify its 270+ pages, and this is truly heartbreaking. I love what author Eleanora Tate came close to doing here. I only wish it could have succeeded in the end.

For Celeste, it’s practically the end of the world. Her father’s come down ill and rather than be allowed to stay in her home in Raleigh, North Carolina, she’s being shipped off to live with her Aunt Valentina in up-and-coming twenties Harlem. For shy, uncertain, perpetually afraid Celeste, this is a tragedy. Then again, everyone says that Valentina lives a life of luxury amongst the elite of Harlem society. How bad could it be? As it turns out, pretty bad. Fired from her cushy job as an opera singer’s attendant, Valentina’s been reduced to scrubbing the floors of the theaters she longs to perform on someday. Celeste is soon helping out, and it looks like her nasty Aunt Society back in Raleigh was right when she said Valentina would work her to death. Slowly, however, the jobs lessen and Celeste comes to learn about, and appreciate, all the wonders of the Harlem Renaissance. She makes friends. She impresses people with her violin playing. But just as she starts settling in, word comes of a tragedy back home. Now Celeste needs to figure out where her heart, her loyalty, and her future lies. Fortunately, she has a new found strength to see her through her troubles.

Now I have a particular distaste for children’s books where a child travels to somewhere famous, say Harlem during the 1920s, and immediately runs into a couple big names while he or she is there. This was one of the many unfortunate crimes of “The Return of Buddy Bush,” and so it was with infinite relief that I saw Eleanora Tate was one smart cookie. It’s not that Celeste doesn’t have the briefest brushes with celebrity. She does meet James Weldon Johnson in a café, but that’s after she’s been in town a while and it’s loads better than the standard meeting-Langston-Hughes-on-your-first-day-on-a-street-corner version other authors would (and have) indulged themselves in. If the entire world of Harlem is there for you to write about, it’s difficult to pluck out the choicest people, places, and situations that will best serve your story. Tate, however, selects such moment with aplomb. You get a hint of the flavor of Harlem in this book without the text ever betraying the setting or the characters.

Speaking of characters, Celeste is a great heroine. Her growth is gradual but understandable and you root for her every step of the way. The problem is that Celeste is also uncharacteristically forgiving far and beyond past the point of believability. And when you get to the point where your protagonist isn’t understandable anymore, you’re in some kind of trouble. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. Fool me multiple times in the course of a 279 page novel, shame on the author for thinking we’d believe all of that. At some point Celeste is able to figure out that her aunt is jealous of her talents. “No matter what Aunti said, she was jealous of me, and jealousy was a terrible, dangerous thing. Like Aunt Society said, forgive, but don’t forget.” Unfortunately, Celeste seems incapable of heeding her own advice. Over and over and over, to the point where the readers finds themselves exhausted by their incredulity, Celeste keeps forgiving her aunt and forgetting her flaws. She’s convinced she can get Valentina to move back “home” to the South, and all a reader can wonder is why? Why would Celeste want this horrible horrible woman near her? It reaches a kind of crescendo of ridiculousness near the end when Valentina disappoints Celeste and her friends on their home turf of Raleigh. And even then Celeste is trying to get her to move to Raleigh again. It’s a broken record moment, and one that puts a sour taste in your mouth.

On the other hand, there were wonderful little real moments spotted throughout the text. Aunt Valentina’s jealousy of any praise that might get cast her niece’s way is as ridiculous as it is realistic. A kid might think it weird that an adult would get jealous of a child, but personal insecurities are rarely logical. Also, the slow conversion of Aunt Society from intolerant prune to difficult but understandable woman is so well done. So perfect. Tate’s characters have all three of their dimensions firmly in place. Even Valentina, busting with egotism and self-regard, has her good moments here and there.

The writing is lovely too. There are delicious sentences like, “Seemed like anything I tried to do to get back home was like grabbing fog with my fingers.” Or when Celeste returns to Raleigh again she’s told, “you’ve come back full of fire and sass, hair growing, filling out, speaking up. New York was good for you.” Tate knows how to keep a book moving, even if it means sloughing through unnecessary scenes and pages.

It's so frustrating that I liked this book. I liked it so much. I thought the story of Celeste was fascinating and that the arc of the story said some wonderful things. But there were at least 75 pages that could and should have been taken out right from the start. I finished this book roughly a month ago and gave it the old Did It Stay With Me test. And the thing about Tate’s writing is how memorable it is. I picked up the novel again and everything came flooding back to me. Not every author has that ability. What I would like to see is a paring down her writing in the future. Cut out the excess. Grasp those characters and those plots and those situations and put them out there without all the excess fat. This book reads like a sophisticated version of “Understood Betsy,” by Dorothy Canfield Fisher and shows many of the talents of the author. I urge you then to watch for Eleanora Tate in the future. This may only be her beginning.

Notes on the Cover: I'm actually rather fond of this. It took me a while to notice, but you can see that Celeste is, in a kind of skewed perspective, looking up at the image of her floozy aunt in the window. I like artist Suling Wang's clean lines and I appreciate that the publisher isn't trying disguise this book as contemporary (since I STILL haven't forgiven Scholastic for the crimes committed via A Friendship for Today). I may not fall into the majority on this one, but I like this cover.

First Lines: "Scoot your big bucket over, Cece, and let me have more room," Evalina yelled.

Other Blog Reviews: Middle & Intermediate Book Talk

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The Talented Clementine by Sara Pennypacker, illustrated by Marla Frazee. Hyperion. $14.99.

When “Clementine” arrived on the scene in 2006 it hit a nerve. Otherwise sane and rational adults began thwapping one another over the heads with the book screaming, “READ THIS! READ THIS! READ THIS!” Children were left abandoned as their parental units devoured the title. Kids, as it happened, quite enjoyed the book as well, but you could be forgiven for not noticing this through the swarm of “Clementine”-addled adults out there. Now the sequel has popped onto shelves everywhere and we are experiencing the calm before the storm. Copies are already flying off the shelves, but we won’t experience the true gale-force winds of the faithful until the summer months. Then watch those copies simply fly. Sequels come with their own set of rules and regulations, of course. Rule #1 tends to be, “Be As Interesting As Your Predecessor,” and is too often ignored by writers. Not Pennypacker. A worthy sequel and a perfectly packaged little gem, “The Talented Clementine,” will please the initiated and uninitiated Clementine-fans alike.

It’s talent show time! Yes, the third and fourth graders of Clementine’s school are gonna put on a production to beat the band and this puts our heroine in a bit of a pickle. Clementine has no talents. None. Zippo o’ talentos. Well, none that she can perform anyway. She cannot dance or sing or cartwheel or Hula-Hoop. Her best friend Margaret can do all of these and more but even with her “help” Clementine’s having some difficulty. And really, it isn’t until the day in question that she discovers something she can do that no other third grader seems capable of. Something that isn't flashy or even noticeable, but that quite positively saves the day.

The funny thing about this particular volume is that Pennnypacker has done away with a subplot. There’s no A story paired with a lesser B story for kicks. This pup’s A and only A from start to finish. You might think that would make the book tedious and slow, but the author appears to know what she’s doing. The concept of figuring out what you do best is infinitely difficult to write about for any extended length of time without sounding like a broken record. All the more reason then for the author to add in details like Clementine super-gluing beer bottlecaps to the soles of her shoes in the hopes learning to tap. I can probably say with certainty that I’ve never read a children’s early chapter book that contained a kid who stinks like a brewery. Other unique details include the presence of adults that aren’t villains. The Principal that Clementine is constantly excusing herself to talk to acts more like an infinitely patient psychotherapist than an authority figure.

I’d like to point out that what I’m doing right now (reviewing this book) is a dangerous thing. You have no idea the position I’ve placed myself in, do you? How easy it is, when reviewing a Clementine, to suddenly lapse into copying down quote after quote from the text without giving it a second thought. I might try to encourage you to read the book by typing something like, “And that’s when the worried feeling – as if somebody were scribbling with a big black crayon – started up in my brains.” That might work. Or I could slip in a little description of the school nurse that says, “She always looks bored, as if she’s just killing time until a really good disease hits the school.” I think you should count your lucky stars that I’ve too strong a sense of self-preservation to ever fall into that trap. Whew!

You know, if we’re going to be perfectly honest with one another here, you should probably know that some people do not care for “Clementine”. Such people have grown tired of the spunky-red-haired-female genre and equate Clem with Junie B. Jones and her pseudo-spunky ilk. Such people, nine times out of ten, have not physically sat down and read the book cover to cover, but some have and Clementine is just not their bag. I’ve also heard objections to Clementine’s maturity or lack thereof. Some people didn’t believe (as seen in the first book) that a third grader would be so immature as to cut off all of her best friend’s hair. But even if that’s your objection to “Clementine”, there’s nothing to stop you from loving its follow-up. Maturity varies with every individual. And if there's any way to describe this heroine, it's as an "individual" indeed.

So why do people like Pennypacker’s books so much? Maybe it’s because she’s damn good at nailing little truths here and there. We know what it’s like when a teacher is so excited by a program that they end up tacking on words to the Pledge of Allegiance like, “With liberty and justice for all and I know we’re all very excited to get to our big project.” Her characters feel believable. Clementine is self-involved, sure. What third grader isn’t? But she honestly feels a concern for her annoying baby brother. In fact, she’s so afraid that the babysitter will forget that he’s allergic to peanuts that she scrawls a, “NO PEANUTS FOR ME!” in blue permanent marker on his head so as to avoid any accidents.

One of the branches in my library system is mere days away from hosting an honest-to-goodness “Clementine” party. There will be a pin-the-bologna-glasses-on-the-face, a pigeon toss, and who knows what all. I was hoping there might be a wok spin, but no such luck. Now after having read the sequel, I wonder what additional crafts and ideas might come of this newest title. A howling contest? A bottle cap coloring station? The mind boggles. Whatever they decide upon, I know that they’ll need plenty of copies of this book when it finally reaches their shelves. Once again, the Clementine-shaped ball that is this book gets knocked cleanly out of the park. A worthy continuation.

Notes on the Cover: Uh, it's Marla Frazee, dude. Short of drawing this cover entirely in her own blood I can't think of a way she could have messed up this image. I also happen to love that Clementine's new shoes make the cover and that the image you see here hints broadly at the talent she eventually finds. Nicely done.

First Line: "I have noticed that teachers get exciting confused with boring a lot."

Previously Reviewed By: What Adrienne Thinks About That, MotherReader, and A Year of Reading. Please inform me if I have missed anyone.

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The Wednesday Wars by Gary D. Schmidt. Clarion Books (a Houghton Mifflin Company imprint). $16.00.

Praise, like profanity, has to be doled out carefully. If a reviewer is a particularly enthusiastic sort (ahem!) and prefers to lavish cuddles and kisses on every book that crosses their plate then what exactly are they supposed to do when something truly extraordinary appears before them? Use up all your good stuff too early in the season and you’ve nothing left. Fortunately for me, I took precautions. I’ve been on permanent Newbery Lookout this year. Anything and everything that might be a contender, I’ve snatched up mighty quick in the hopes of getting some early buzz going. And while it’s been a nice year, I think everyone will agree that the Spring 2007 season has turned out to be fairly so-so. Nobody is talking about any books with any real passion quite yet. That is, until whispers started to surround “The Wednesday Wars” by Gary Schmidt. Whispers. Murmurs. Over-exaggerated winks accompanied by sharp elbow pokes to the ribcage. So when I finally managed to get my sticky little hands on a copy I had to do the standard Reviewer Cleansing of the Mind. I had to tell myself soothing things before I began along the lines of, “It’s okay if you don’t like it. Forget all the people who’ve already loved it. Clear your mind. Expand your soul. Breathe.” Then I picked it up and forgot all of that. Good? Brother, you don’t know the meaning of the word till you read this puppy. For those of you out there who think Gary D. Schmidt was done robbed ROBBED of a Newbery for his, “Lizzie Bright and the Buckminster Boy,” I think we’ve found ourselves something new to root for.

Mrs. Baker hates Holling Hoodhood. There’s no two ways about it, as far as he can tell. From the minute he entered her classroom she had it in for him and he's trying not to become paranoid. Now because half the kids in his class are Jewish and half Catholic, every Wednesday Holling (a Protestant through and through) is stuck alone with Mrs. Baker while the other kids go to Hebrew School or Catechism for the afternoon. And what has this evil genius dreamt up for our poor young hero? Shakespeare. He has to read it and get tested on it regularly with the intention (Holling is sure) of boring him to death. The thing is, Holling kind of gets to like the stuff. Meanwhile, though, he has to deal with wearing yellow tights butt-gracing feathers, avoiding killer rats and his older sister, and deciding what to do about Meryl Lee Kowalski, “who has been in love with me since she first laid eyes on me in the third grade,” amongst other things. Set during the school year of 1967-68 against a backdrop of Vietnam and political strife, Holling finds that figuring out who you are goes above and beyond what people want you to become.

Oh sure. I liked it. I’m also 28 with an MLIS degree and an apartment in Manhattan. I am not your average child reader. And when a lot of people think of children’s books they think of quality literature that bored the socks off of them when they were kids. So the real question you have to consider here is, is this a book for kids or adults? Well, I’m no kid, but I tell you plain that I would have loved “Wednesday Wars” when I was twelve. Not that it would have been an obvious choice. First of all, it’s a boy book. Boy protagonist. Boy topics like pranks and escaped rodentia and baseball. But like all great literature (oh yeah, I said it) everyone who reads this thing will find themselves simultaneously challenged and engrossed. First of all, Schmidt exhibits a sense of humor here that was downplayed in “Lizzie Bright”. It’s not fair to compare these two books, of course. I mean, suburban kid living on Long Island verses 1912 racially segregated Maine. Which is going to be more of a laugh riot? But funny is what gets kids reading and funny is what this book is. The clever author always knows when to downplay the humor and work in the more serious elements, but when you ask yourself why a kid would choose one title over another, nine times out of ten the kid is going to grab the book that will make them laugh AND think over the one that’ll just make ‘em think (and snore).

And I love so many of the concepts here. The community in which this book takes place is equally divided between Catholics and Jews, with Holling Hoodhood the odd Presbyterian out. Certainly not everything is sunshine and roses here, but it’s a pretty good situation and the kids make do the best they can. Of course, due to the nature of different religions and churches, the only time these kids can get together for a good baseball game is Sunday afternoon. Schmidt’s attention to details like this half make you wonder what percentage of the book was based on fact and how much of it was made up. After all, it takes place on Long Island and Mr. Schmidt grew up there during this era. Surely he also knew someone who had a list of the 410 ways to get a teacher to hate you. Or maybe someone close to him in the seventh grade could beat all the eighth graders on the Varsity track team. Still, wherever he’s getting the material, I hope he never runs out. This stuff is pure gold.

Shakespeare works as an ideal transition between the different adventures going on in Holling’s life. Unfortunately, since I know my Shakespeare, I can’t say whether or not a kid who’s never heard of MacBeth or The Tempest is going to understand Holling’s allusions and mentions. Then again, Shakespeare is so beloved because his works may be interpreted on multiple levels. Maybe the connections don't require knowledge of the original material. Schmidt makes the integration of Shakespeare and historical middle grade fiction a kind of seamless alliance. He doesn’t push it. How easy it would have been to assign each month in this book a play and then wrap the storyline around Shakespeare’s already existing dramas. Instead, plays do pop up almost every month, but they complement rather than direct the action. Schmidt doesn’t go for obvious choices either. He doesn’t end with “The Tempest”. He practically begins with it. And when he does end with “Much Ado About Nothing,” what you remember best is the figure of Don Pedro standing all alone while everyone dances happily into the sunset.

There is also a healthy heaping of redemption in this book. Where abused frightened teachers come back as conquering school board members, ready to take down enormous scary rats if required to do so. Where villains like Doug Swieteck’s brother (that’s all the name we ever get for that boy) will pull a horrendous prank on you one day, then turn it all around to anonymously praise you in a similar fashion the next. Not everyone is redeemed. Holling’s father remains as stiff and intransigent as ever by the story’s close. You can see how he may easily lose everyone he loves through the force of his inflexibility, but if he's going to undergo a change it may have to happen in the sequel (*hint*, Mr. Schmidt, *hint*).

Vietnam never really stopped as a subject of children’s literature, but with the Iraq War (as of this review) still in full swing, we’re seeing a distinct upsurge in titles focused on that area of the world. There is, for example (actual title), “Cracker: The Best Dog in Vietnam” by Cynthia Kadohata, amongst others. And that’s all well and good, but even if you want someone to, a good author doesn’t preach. They don’t get all didactic for the sake of bandying about their own opinion on one topic or another. The Vietnam we see in this book affects everyone in this story, even if it's just tangentially. Schmidt doesn't overplay his hand, though he comes close with the character of Mai Thi, a Vietnamese kid brought over by the Catholic Relief Agency. Since this isn't Mai Thi's story, we can only see brief instances where she suffers abuse because of her ethnicity, and her happy ending seems a bit forced.

And on some level, critics are going to find themselves torn over the multiple happy endings in this book. Nothing is perfect all the time, but more often than not Schmidt wraps up loose ends and rewards his heroes in a deeply satisfying manner. Holling could easily have fallen into the trap of being one of those perpetually put upon schlubs that never get the girl, never learn, and never grow. But Holling does grow. He grows and he changes and he becomes the man his father may never be. And if there is happiness in this book, it would take a pretty sorry soul to begrudge Holling his much deserved kudos. Maybe it’s fantastical to believe that a kid who can act Shakespeare and rescue his sister would also be a great track runner and a generally fabulous human being, but that’s the way the story goes, folks. Like it or lump it.

Writing is one thing. One-liners another entirely. I’m just going to put these before you for your consideration, out of context, but still funny.

• “To ask your big sister to be your ally is like asking Nova Scotia to go into battle with you.”

• “Mr. [Principal] Guareschi’s long ambition had been to become dictator of a small country. Danny Hupfer said that he had been waiting for the CIA to get rid of Fidel Castro and then send him down to Cuba, which Mr. Guareschi would then rename Guareschiland. Meryl Lee said that he was probably holding out for something in Eastern Europe.”

• “The rest of that afternoon, we both held our feet up off the floor and took turns reading parts from ‘The Merchant of Venice’ – even though the print was made for tiny insects with multiple eyes and all the pictures in the book were ridiculous.”

• “She then raised her hands and waved them grandly, and we began a medley from ‘The Sound of Music’ – which is the vocal equivalent of eating too much chocolate.”

Few books that I read make me want to then immediately find the audiobook as well, but “Wednesday Wars” is one of the few. It looks as if Scholastic Audio Books was the smartie who got the bid on this pup. My congratulations go out to them. I will be locating a copy of your work the minute it becomes available because if there is anything more delicious than reading a book of this nature it’s hearing it read aloud. If you happen to be a fifth, sixth, or even seventh or eighth grade teacher and you’re allowed a little readaloud time, please consider giving this book a shot. The only thing better than hearing this book on CD would be to watch your own teacher giving voice to Mrs. Baker’s sarcasm and heart.

What can kids do to face a scary future where so much is unknown and frightening? Mrs. Baker gives Holling a piece of advice in the book that should be treasured and remembered. “Learn everything you can – everything. And then use all that you have learned to be a wise and good man.” Kids today, reading this book, can take heart in Holling’s struggle and growth, while just happening to get a laugh out of this pup along the way. Emotions come honestly when you’re in this author’s hands. Chrysanthemum, Mr. Schmidt.

Notes on the Cover: This is one of those clever little cover switcheroos they sometimes pull on you. The original wasn’t all that different from what they’re presenting now. As you can see, the outline of a startled seventh grade boy is staring in abject horror at the outline of Shakespeare. This is a bit of an improvement over the original image which showed a pointy-bearded, barely ruffled, long-haired (and banged) Shakespeare on the right. The new Will is much better. One of those cases where the editorial changes are more “godsend” than “horrific mistake”. One flaw, though. I love this cover and everything, but where exactly are they hoping to put all the medals this book is sure to win? They’re gonna have to cluster them all in the upper left-hand corner on top of one another. This is what we call poor foresight. Come on, guys. When you read this book you should have told the artist to leave a big old blank space at the bottom. Seriously.

Dedications: If I’ve any praise to spare from my almost exhausted supply, let me just say that I haven’t seen an author of this caliber salute an independent children’s bookstore in a dedication for quite some time. Schmidt writes, “For Sally Bulthuis and Camille De Boer, and for all the gentle souls of Pooh’s Corner, who, with grace and wisdom and love, bring children and books together.”

First Lines: "Of all the kids in the seventh grade at Camillo Junior High, there was one kid that Mrs. Baker hated with heat whiter than the sun. Me."

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How to Steal a Dog by Barbara O'Connor. Frances Foster Books (an FSG imprint). $16.00

Lure ‘em in with a cute dog and then hit ‘em hard and fast with a realistic story about how it feels to be homeless. It’s the old bait n’ switcheroo. Not that Barbara O’Connor’s book, “How to Steal a Dog” plays anything but fair with her young audiences. After all, the first line in this book is the incredibly memorable, “The day I decided to steal a dog was the same day my best friend, Luanne Godfrey, found out I lived in a car.” Bam! Right in the kisser. There’s not a child alive, boy or girl, who isn’t going to want to know more after those twenty-four words hit the page. O’Connor has created a nice little novel here with an ending that could have stood a little more padding. But while I feel that there were a couple off moments here and there, on the whole this is a new take on the question of whether or not a person can justify a wrong if they see no other way out of a predicament.

First of all, Georgina is not a bad person. If you saw her in school you might think she was a kind of unkempt and dirty person, but that’s just because she, her little brother Toby, and their mom have been living in their car ever since their dad up and left them. It hasn’t been easy for Georgina, of course. Her best friend Luanne has been distancing herself lately. The family’s never safe and Georgina’s having a really hard time getting her schoolwork done. If only there were some way she could get a lot of money for the rent of a new apartment. Then Georgina sees a MISSING poster for a dog offering $500 and it all comes together. Of course! The perfect solution! All she needs to do is find a rich dog, steal it, wait for the reward posters to go up, and then collect the money for her family. But every perfect plan, no matter how well executed, is bound to run into some unexpected mishaps along the way. Georgina is not a bad person, but she is a confused person. One that’s going to have to make a choice between what is right and what is easy.

The ironic thing here is that, in a way, Georgina is exceedingly talented at what she does. O’Connor has her heroine writing dog stealing rules in her notebook that supplement the narrative beautifully. Her rules regarding finding a dog (avoid barkers and dogs that don’t look loved) and ways in which a person should scout out a potential dog-stealing location are on the ball. And when those same rules come back to bite her in the butt later on in the story, you can see why. Planning is one thing. Executing, another entirely. Georgina is so good at her planning, in fact, that my credulity was stretched just a tad when she fails to remember to get the dog food and water. Still, with a myriad of things on her mind it’s not impossible that when planning out her details she’d miss some of the more obvious needs.

The book essentially asks the readers whether or not extraordinarily bad circumstances are an excuse for bad behavior. It’s a morality tale for fifth graders. Throughout “How to Steal a Dog” you definitely identify with Georgina. Little brothers are always annoying, but no more so than when they’re sharing a backseat with you, rather than a bedroom. Now for the sake of the story, Georgina holds off on returning Willy longer than either her character or the book itself can really justify. I mean, once it becomes clear that the money is not forthcoming, there’s no reason to put her through any additional mental anguish. Eventually Georgina and Toby meet and semi-befriend a homeless man that stands in as a kind of Thoreau-esque conscience. In him, Georgina is able to examine her own actions and assess the damage she’s done. Really though, the character that I thought received the most interesting story arc was the woman Georgina stole the dog from in the first place. Known here as Carmella, she’s overweight and not particularly attractive, but her love of her dog Willy is instantly recognizable. I liked O’Connor’s decision not to have Georgina seriously befriend this woman after her dog mysteriously “disappears”. She doesn’t grow overly attached, though she does come to worry about how her actions have affected another human being.

Still, there were other things I didn’t understand. Georgina constantly looks worse in school due to her circumstances. She apparently wasn’t able to salvage her hairbrush when the family got booted out of their apartment. As the book goes on she gets nastier and nastier. How hard is it to locate another hairbrush? And wouldn't her mother want her kids to look halfway decent so that the authorities in the school didn’t get suspicious and start calling the authorities? Then again Georgina’s mom seems to be under a great deal of stress. She might not even be able to see past herself to notice her kids’ increasing sloppiness. I did feel that the ending skidded to a halt without tying up a lot of loose ends though. It’s a quick finish and then you wonder exactly whether or not the peaches and cream ending is really going to be as happy dappy as Georgina implies.

It’s a bit of a tangled book, but that isn’t to say that it doesn’t make for a good read. Personally, I feel a revision here or there wouldn’t have been out of place, but as it stands I hope kids discover and read it. Books about homeless kids have basically ground to a halt since the heyday of the Reagan era. Looking at the selection of children’s fiction sitting on our bookstore shelves you’d swear that homelessness had been entirely eradicated in this day and age. This book puts a problem into perspective with a clever premise and a rewarding story. It isn’t a perfect creation, but it may well be a necessary one. I appreciated the effort.

Notes On the Cover: Bravo. Bravo Farrar, Straus & Giroux. You’ve managed to create the most adorable cover featuring a canine since last year’s Sheep by Valerie Hobbs. This is almost too perfect in execution. Nitpickers might point out that this scene never happens in the book, but I say pah. Pah, I say! First of all, this dog looks exactly like the one in the book, down to the black circle around one eye. He’s the right size and his little body is just adorable. I love the use of yellow as a background as well. It really allows the book to pop. Then there are the aesthetics to consider. The black and white of the dog match the black and the white of the spine. This book is one of those rare covers that will lure in an equal amount of boys AND girls. It’s a magic combination, and I just want to credit jacket designer Barbara Grzeslo for a bang-up job. Getty Images strikes again. THIS is a cover.

First Lines Worth Remembering: “The day I decided to steal a dog was the same day my best friend, Luanne Godfrey, found out I lived in a car.”

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