By: Jessamyn West,
on 1/8/2010
David Weinberger points to Tyler Cowen at Marginal Revolution and the idea of “advice as process.” I’m going to keep this idea close to me as I move through another year of moderating Ask MetaFilter: “giving advice is a social activity, not merely a transfer of purported knowledge.” How much of what we do as librarians is reference and how much is advice?
By: Betsy Bird,
on 6/6/2007
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.”
By: Betsy Bird,
on 5/30/2007
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)
By: Betsy Bird,
on 5/23/2007
The Puzzling World of Winston Breen by Eric Berlin. G.P. Putnam’s Sons (a division of Penguin). $16.99.
I'm going to be honest here. Mr. Eric Berlin is no stranger to me. In 2006-07 he served on the judging committee of the Cybil Award's Middle Grade Novel category. He has a blog of note and I often steal his postings when they're particularly choice. It would logical for you to think then that because of all this I might be more inclined to like his book than I would that of your average anonymous joe. As far as I've been able to ascertain, however, the opposite is more often true. I have a very very hard time reviewing the books of anyone I've come into contact with. Certain authors and illustrators may publish and publish until they're old and grey but if I know them personally and don't think their work is superb, I will not immediately. A book must actually be good, if I know its creator beforehand. Hence, the following.
When adults start reminiscing about the books of their youth, they can grow eloquent in their praise. Amusingly, when those same adults starts comparing said books to the ones coming out today, they are in very great danger of suddenly contracting a case of Old Fogeyism. “Why when I was a kid we had GOOD mysteries. With lots of clues and puzzles and clever dialogue. We had ‘The Westing Game’!” (slams down cane) “I’d like to see you whippersnappers come up with a book like that today. Hah!” If that sounds like you (or, rather, the 108-year-old part of you that comes to life whenever the subject of “kids today” crops up) then I have good news. It's good news for actual honest-to-goodness child readers as well, now that I think about it. First-time newbie kidlit book author Eric Berlin (a crossword creator for The New York Times) is a fan of puzzles. Such a fan, in fact, that he’s worked them into the narrative of, “The Puzzling World of Winston Breen.” You have an old-fashioned treasure hunt on the one hand, puzzles galore on the other, and some fun dialogue, memorable characters, and an action sequence or two just for spice. Hard to resist.
Twelve-year-old Winston isn't like a lot of other kids out there. He loves him his puzzles. Mind games, riddles, crosswords, you name it. So it was only logical that when his little sister Katie discovered a hidden puzzle in the old antique box he bought her, she thought he put it in there on purpose. The two siblings soon learn, though, that there's more to these three wooden pieces than immediately meets the eye as they find themselves involved in a real life treasure hunt. Glenville's richest resident Walter Fredericks died years ago, and now his puzzles have reemerged. That means that Winston and Katie need to solve some puzzles alongside an ex-cop, a librarian, two untrustworthy hooligans, and a news reporter. The only problem is, someone else wants the reward at the end of this game. Someone who's willing to do almost anything to get it. Along the way, readers can solve puzzles alongside Winston, checking their answers in the back of the book.
I liked how the novel framed the book in such a way that Winston was trying to puzzle out the real life mystery (i.e. Who broke into a local librarian's home and threatened her?) alongside the real puzzles. It's kind of a pity that Winston doesn't figure out the villains before they reveal themselves. It's always good to have a proactive protagonist. Berlin makes up for this missing piece though by then allowing his hero the chance to solve the book's central mystery instead. Still, the last line of the book would have made a little more sense if Winston exhibited crime-solving as well as puzzle-solving skills. I do love that this is a book that requires that kids get actively invested. Besides the puzzles themselves, Berlin foreshadows his action nicely with a newspaper article near the beginning of the book that mentions various robberies that later turn out to be our villain's work. And I’m pleased to say that I didn’t see the real villain of this book coming until it was too too late. I don’t know if Mr. Berlin means to lead you astray, but a guy who can fool a child and an adult reader has his elements firmly in place.
Berlin's particularly good at keeping potentially dark elements kid-friendly. At one point the local librarian has an out-and-out breakdown when Winston shows her something by accident. But how do you justify that kind of a reaction without suggesting that the victim (in this case, a librarian) has had something terrible happen to her. Berlin instead explains that it would be easy to harass someone. "Phone calls in the middle of the night, notes left in the mailbox, perhaps a stone tossed through a window. Small, nasty things that individually would mean little, but taken all together could make someone very afraid." It's a clever way to convey darker elements without compromising the appropriateness of the narrative.
Now the stats. Total number of puzzles/riddles I successfully solved in this book: 3. Not that I tried to do every single one, but of the ones that I did try, I only got three. I liked the sheer variety of puzzles in this book, to be honest with you. Some are skewed easy and some are skewed very very hard. One puzzle on page 68 is "explained" in the back of the book, but the explanation ends up being just as difficult to understand as the original question itself. Still, the thing about the book is that it has something for everyone. True puzzle fans will be adequately challenged and for those kids who don't know the answers immediately there's at least one or two they might be able to stumble through. It's funny to say, but this book awakened a kind of visceral thrill whenever I flipped to the back to read the solution to one question or another. It was as if I was reading an old Encyclopedia Brown novel, with the answers just waiting to be looked at in the back. Visceral thrills such as this are not cheap.
Berlin's careful with his details too. It used to be that a villain could kidnap a hero and you'd truly feel the kid was in dire straits. Now we live in a cell phone age. Some authors ignore the contraptions. Others work solely in the genre of historical fiction. A cell phone is a recipe for disaster when it comes to dramatic tension. That's why clever authors work them into the plots, flukes, flaws, and all. For example, at one point Winston is in a bit of a pickle and he manages to get his hands on a cell. Unfortunately, he's underground at this point and that means he's not getting any reception. Slick storytelling uses these kinds of complications to their advantage.
A librarian’s motto mimics that of a Boy Scout. We try to be prepared. If someone comes up to me and asks for books that are similar to their favorites, I need to have a complex array of smart sounding titles in mind to recommend instantaneously. And until this moment in time I was empty in a particular area. If someone, a fan of Ellen Raskin’s, “The Westing Game”, came up to me and asked for similar books, I would have been stumped. Stumped and perhaps inclined against my will to recommend “Chasing Vermeer”. Berlin’s book maybe isn’t on the same level as Raskin’s, but it’s probably more fun to read anyway. Clever kids will adore it. Mediocre kids will enjoy the treasure hunt. And those children that only like non-fiction reads will probably skip all the narration and just solve the puzzles. Nothing wrong with that. This book offers quite a lot to an array of different readers. Definitely worth a peek.
On shelves September 20th.
Notes On the Cover: I'm going to give a thumbs up to this one. You may remember that artist Adam McCauley did the new Wayside School covers, so this seems an appropriate match. He's worked in elements of the book that are consistent with the narrative. Interestingly enough, I'm having a bit of trouble with the title, and I think I've pinpointed why. The phrase "The Puzzling World of Winston Breen" is not dissimilar from "The Secret Life of Walter Mitty". Which means that when I'm discussing this book in polite society, I have a tendency to refer to Winston as Walter. But that's just me.
Other Reviews By: Jen Robinson's Book Page.
By: Betsy Bird,
on 5/20/2007
Eggs by Jerry Spinelli. Little Brown & Company. $15.99.
You read enough of an author and you begin to get ideas about them. And if that author in question cuts a wide swath about them, the urge to stereotype them is strong. Jerry Spinelli cuts such a swath, yet all I’d read of him until now was a little “Maniac Magee” here and a touch of “Stargirl” there. Books that are nice enough in their own way but that don’t really make my pulse pound any faster. There is a blessing one should bestow upon all authors: May your reviewers have low expectations. Cause honestly, I got a kick out of “Eggs”. I mean, it’s basically “Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?” for kids. Edward Albee would love this book, I’m sure. And while some people may see that as a deficiency, I’m all for it. You can find plenty of books where a boy and a girl meet and become bestest buddy buddies and skip happily off into a relationship that hasn’t so much as a thimbleful of oomph or excitement to it. Far rarer is the title where the words leap off the page and begin to gnaw on the reader's anklebone. There’s a true streak of anger at the core of “Eggs” which will make it equal parts adored and reviled by its potential readership. Want a book that sparks discussion and red hot emotions? Spinelli delivers.
David found the dead body hidden under a pile of leaves in the woods during an Easter egg hunt. The girl was about thirteen and beautiful, and he told her all his secrets, knowing she’d never tell. So imagine his shock and horror when a couple months later that same girl is sitting in the local storytime, asleep. She is not dead. She is Primrose and once it is made clear that she was never dead in the first place (the gal has a seriously twisted sense of humor) she and David are inseparable. They’ve their own family problems, of course. David’s mom is dead, his father is always away, and he loathes his kindly grandmother for everything she isn’t. Primrose, on the other hand, lives in an abandoned van outside her house. Her mother is an embarrassment to her, believing herself to be a fortune teller who (at this moment in time) will read feet like some people read palms. But with two such violent personalities, it’s only a matter of time before David and Primrose are on the outs. They’ll either fix what’s broken in the other, or be worse off because of their friendship in the end.
First off, I can’t think of better booktalk material. Seriously. Boy sees dead girl in a storyhour? Did someone just spill a whole cup of awesome all over this book? Some books grab you by the throat from page one and don’t let go until you’ve read them cover to cover. This is such a book. It’s not, however, an easy read. You’re constantly on your guard as you go through it. With two such unpredictable characters, Primrose and David are just as likely to slap you as kiss you. Their little pre-adolescent nerves are all ah-jangled and it’s this herky jerky clash of personalities that keeps the book consistently interesting.
The title is also very good at showing the true unattractiveness of desperation. David’s grandmother would do anything for her grandson. If only he’d just throw her a bone. Some kind of thoughtful gesture and all would be well. But the lines are drawn very clearly here. He has decided to hate her because she’s not his mother and she, for her part, doesn’t know how to break through to him. It’s the rare children’s novel, actually, where the main character says that he out-and-out HATES the innocent family member taking care of him. Spinelli sets it up so that you dislike David for what he’s doing to his grandma and, at the same time, you understand where he’s coming from. The woman is a suffocating presence. Her neediness just serves to repel the people she’s trying to befriend. And that you don’t end up detesting David from start to finish is a kind of accomplishment of writing in and of itself.
I also thought that the sheer absurdity of the narrative has a way of sucking you in. Spinelli reveals his characters in fits and starts. Primrose is the kind of person who’d wave at an imaginary car, then not like the imaginary driver’s response and start yelling and spitting. David’s the kind of kid who can weigh down the carrot that his grandmother gives him to eat every day with a kind of heady symbolism, entirely of his own.
There are unanswered questions by the story’s end, I’m afraid. The one that comes to my mind in particular concerns Primrose. The van outside her house where she stays is egged on a regular basis. We never get any specifics about this except when Primrose mentions that the kids who did it “followed” her and that they get their older siblings to drive them over to her van. It’s a mighty odd element to leave unexplained. Otherwise the ending is a strong one. It doesn’t cheat. You don’t get flowers and sunshine and a sudden smattering of scales falling from various characters’ eyes just in time to wrap up the narrative. None of that. It’s a good ending. A strong ending. An earned ending.
The best section in this book comes from the character of Refrigerator John. Night after night the kids take refuge in his home. Looking at them he sums up their relationship nicely: “What brought them together? Sometimes they acting their own ages, sometimes they switched. Sometimes both seemed to be nine, other times thirteen. Both were touchy, ready to squawk over nothing. They constantly crabbed at each other – yet at the same time he might be braiding her hair, or she might be making him lunch. Half the time they left his place snarling, yet the next day there they were, together, knocking on his door.” Good children’s books with complex characters and motives are sometimes a little difficult to locate. “Eggs” at times feels like a bookclub’s dream. You could parse many an action taken and word said in this story without ever quite running out of topics for discussion. A book that is worth reading, at the very least.
On shelves now.
Notes on the Cover: Mm. The old no-title-is-good-title route. Clever work, Spinelli’s an old hand at this technique, what with Stargirl and all. Then again, Stargirl was a completely different publisher than this one. Looks like ye olde Hachette Book Group is looking to make their own titleless mark. I’m a fan of the photo. Very appealing but I do wonder if any kid who is not yet already a Jerry Spinelli fan will feel inclined to pick it up.
Other Reviews By: A Year in Reading, Our Lady of Syntax, Scholarlybrio, Pam's Postings, and a host of others that aren't showing up on Google's blogsearch.
By: Betsy Bird,
on 5/16/2007
The Theft and the Miracle by Rebecca Wade. Katherine Tegan Books (an imprint of Harper Collins). $16.99.
Mystery watch 2007 continues unabated. The latest entry for possible inclusion in my Great Mysteries to Watch Out For: “The Theft and the Miracle” by Rebecca Wade. This one had a lot of built in potential. The possibility of supernatural elements. An appealing heroine. Suspense. Fear. An unnameable threat. And for at least half the story I was on board. The book has a lot of promise to it, but delivering happens to be another matter entirely. In the end, you’ll agree that while Rebecca Wade deserves to wield a pen, her fledgling effort cannot sustain the weight of its own narrative. A great premise and set of ideas that ultimately falls apart.
There’s nothing out-and-out wrong with Hannah’s life. Let’s get that straight right now. I mean, she’s a little overweight and her skin isn’t all the fabulous. There’s are girls in her school that are prettier and more popular that she is, but at least she’s got her best friend Sam by her side at all times. Yep, life is pretty normal for Hannah until the day she gets caught in the rain and shelters in a church to wait it out. The local cathedral is the pride and joy of the town, no question, and resting at its heart is a carved image of the Madonna and Child. Without realizing what she’s doing Hannah starts to draw the statue in a kind of trance. Then the next day the Baby Jesus is stolen and all hell (so to speak) breaks loose. Someone’s destroyed Hannah’s house in search of something. There are mysterious strangers following her. But most of all, the Baby Jesus is missing and Hannah, it seems, is the only person who can track it down. What she doesn't realize is that the mystery of the theft and the mystery of who Hannah really is are inextricably tied together.
Let me say right here that Hannah is a great character. She’s self-conscious like any and all adolescents (pre and post) but she still has a sense of humor. It is my personal belief that anyone who can realistically sustain their humanity through that particular age is someone worth knowing. Author Rebecca Wade knows how to use humor too. I was quite attached to sections where Hannah’s in the church and sees “strange modern signs, which seemed to be warnings against exploding lunchboxes but in fact were only forbidding flash photography.” Plus there are lots of great ideas in this book. You can say a lot about a character by showing rather than telling. For example, Hannah has drawn the big brother she never had (because her mother miscarried) for years. “… she had drawn him many times, at each stage in his life, or rather the life he might have had.” And heck, how many children’s books can you name off the top of your head that casually discuss the word “Satanism”? I’m sure that if this book weren’t so unapologetically Christian (that comes up later) selections of this sort might have been cut out. As they stand, they’re there but mighty unexpected.
Wade sets up her mysteries fabulously too. There’s a rather believable section that requires Hannah and Sam to decode a seemingly ordinary notice posted on their school’s wall. Plus the reason why Hannah is being pursued by creepy unknown characters is believable. Yet while Wade sets up her mysteries well enough, she just doesn’t know how to solve them. There’s nothing wrong with the set-ups in this book. It’s the explanations that come later that are a bit garbled.
Consider this a bit of a spoiler alert for anyone who’d rather not know the rest of the tale.
It’s the book’s tone, you see. It’s off. You think you’re reading a fun realistic mystery story and then you get sideswiped by a ton of religious meanings and goings on. About the time I ran across an odd fellow sporting a card that said, “Gabriel Jones. (Arch.) Practical Assistance Offered In All Areas. No Job Too Great,” I was incredulous. Wait… what? I mean, sure there was a mild miracle in the very first chapter of the book. But about the moment Gabriel (uh-huh) shows up the story is suffused in angels. I have nothing against angels, of course. Madeline L’Engle made them worthy kidlit fodder. But you can’t just start throwing angels into a book out of the blue. It feels, in a way, like the book has split itself into two. The first half is this cool mystery with possible time travel and subtle supernatural elements. Then the second half is blatant, with angels waltzing about the joint and the plot falling apart. Besides, I don’t know how some people are going to feel about the villain saying stuff like, “I can show you the secrets of the great masters. Leonardo, Michelangelo, they knew the mystic power of darkness.” Really? Did you really want to go there? In this book the Wiccans can be cool but Michaelangelo’s the spawn of the devil? Didn’t he, I dunno, paint the Sistine Chapel? That’s the problem with the villains you find here. They draw inspiration from the oddest sources.
Speaking of the villain, this is another problem with the book. You’re never quite sure what they're trying to achieve or what power is being bandied about. You see, much of this story centers on the fact that Hannah unknowingly has a broken finger from the Christ statue. And if the stolen Christ child statue gets its finger back then it’ll be bad for the good guys because…. no idea. Because then the villain wins, I guess. At one point the antagonist is taunting Hannah and offering her the usual power beyond that of mortal men, etc. But this isn’t Darth Vader offering Luke the chance to join him. You knew what that was all about. Here the villain offers vague powers to a girl who doesn’t really need them anyway. And then, AND THEN, when we get to the end of the book the Christ child statue has…. wait for it…. cured Hannah’s acne. So odd.
“The Theft and the Miracle,” started out strong and then just sort of slowly collapsed under its own weight. It’s a real pity too since I was looking forward to having a new mystery to pump up to my library patrons. Just between you and me? I think Rebecca Wade has loads of talent. She just needs to reign her expansive ideas in a little and focus more on what makes a novel interesting. She’s perfectly competent on characters, dialogue, humor, and foreshadowing. It’s just the plots that need some wrangling. Here’s me looking forward to her next book then.
Notes on the Cover: A curious marketing ploy. First of all, the same cover for this book was used in both the British and American publications. It isn’t the original image, however. A quick glance at the galley shows the same image, but with one significant difference. In the ARC, just under the title, an image appears of the Madonna and Child. The Madonna is doting, but where Baby Jesus should be there's only a bare blank outline and white gap. It's kind of cool and I wonder now why it was removed. Maybe the publishers were hoping the original picture could tap into residual "DaVinci Code" goodwill. Then, as time went on, they decided that tying this book into a distinct religious image might limit its potential audience. Maybe. There’s always the fact that mysterious guys in cloaks always make for good covers anyway. I do like the final result. Mary and Jesus made a nice touch, but this was the cover I felt drawn to in the bookstore.
By: Betsy Bird,
on 5/14/2007
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.
By: Betsy Bird,
on 4/29/2007
The Baptism by Sheila P. Moses. A Margaret K. McElderry Book (imprint of Simon & Schuster). $15.99.
I have a love/hate relationship with the books of Sheila Moses. No. Wait. Let me correct that. More of a love/severe dislike relationship. Which is to say that when she wrote, “The Legend of Buddy Bush,” I loved it. Anachronistic yellow telephone and all. But then she followed it up with “The Return of Buddy Bush,” and I didn’t like where she’d taken the novel. In both of those books a Ms. Pattie Mae is the protagonist, telling the tale of her Uncle Buddy’s trials (both literal and figurative). By the end of “Return”, though, I found I seriously didn’t like my narrator anymore. She did not appeal. But remembering how much I liked “Legend”, when I picked up the third in Moses’s series, I had high hopes. Hopes that were never disappointed. In “The Baptism” we have ourselves an entirely new narrator, a new set of circumstances, and a great little story that deserves a lot more serious attention than it has so far received.
“I figure I have six days to sin all I want to. Luke got six days too, if he will go along with the plan.” Twin Leon knows the drill. You turn twelve and suddenly you’re expected to give up all the fun stuff that goes along with being a kid. Part of that? Getting baptized and sinning no more. Well he knows the deal and he knows he doesn’t want any part of it. Sure, it’s his Ma’s intention to get him on the “morning bench” where he’ll be accepted and baptized, but that doesn’t fit in with Leon’s plans. Plus he has a lot to deal with these days. His older brother (who he’s dubbed “Joe Nasty”) is a sneak who doesn’t do any work. His stepfather (“Filthy Frank”) is a no good cheat and gambler. His twin brother Luke (“Twin Luke”) is some kind of Mr. Perfect. And his mom is constantly on his case about being good this week and not sinning. In the course of eight days, Leon will get into trouble, fight the elements, escape from work, get pulled away from fun, and witness the breaking apart and coming together of his remarkably strong family. Set in rural North Carolina during the 1940s, this novel explores big themes with a small intricate little novel.
If there’s one thing Sheila Moses does well it’s write characters with minds entirely of their own. The kids in her books are so headstrong and smart that it’s a wonder that even their author is able to wrangle them into place from scene to scene. In Twin Leon you have such a great kid. Anyone who can say right at the start that if baptizing means not sinning then they just won’t get baptized is going to be fun to watch. But when Leon catalogs his sins you can see that they aren’t all lighthearted Dennis-the-Menace-type romps. He lies, and steals extra cookies, and beats up kids cause they’re white, and calls his older brother Joe Nasty because he doesn’t bathe regularly. Moses slips in the serious with the silly so skillfully you might miss it if you blinked. At the same time, she asks big questions couched in the mind of a twelve-year-old boy.
Leon’s slow change over the course of a week from unapologetic sinner to baptismal hopeful happens over a brief span of time but never feels false or hurried. Really, it’s amazing that Moses is able to pack in as much as she does. There’s Leon’s story regarding the baptism, and his various pranks and problems. Then there’s the story of Buddy Bush on the side. There’s also the story of Leon’s mom and her husband Filthy Frank and how she has to stand up to her abusive new husband. And THEN there’s a story in there regarding the family and how they’re not too distantly related to a local white family because of their long dead patriarch’s philandering during slave times. All this and the story is fast-paced, punchy, and consistently engaging.
It’s a shorter book than its predecessors. Standing at a mere slip of 144 pages, it’s amazing that Moses is able to pack in as much thoughtful commentary as she has. It’s an exercise in watching an author get right to the heart of a concept without extra frills and furbelows. That isn’t to say that she doesn’t punch up the language in all the right parts. Twin Luke, the kiss-up, sometimes agrees with his mom, “like he was going to eat the shoes right off her feet.” The sun coming out behind the rain is what happens when “the devil is beating his wife.” Older brother Joe Nasty hearing about the crimes of his stepfather gets angry and, “All the man in Joe Nasty just rise up like the water down in the river right after a big rain.” And Twin Leon is prone to saying things that just sound good when you read them aloud. “She know that God know I don’t want to get baptized in the name of the Father, the Son, and nobody else. I just want to go home and shoot marbles.”
Now Ms. Moses hasn’t entirely grasped the concept of the stand alone novel yet. As such, she’s placed this book in a kind of award jeopardy by including an ending that, not to give anything away, places undue importance on the books that preceded “The Baptism”. This book does hearken back to the other “Buddy Bush” books she’s written, but for the most part you really don’t need to have read them to enjoy this story. Unfortunately, the last moment in the book falls a bit flat. It doesn’t ruin the story or anything, but it’s a distracting coda in an otherwise forthright novel.
Altogether, this is a keeper. Some people might try to convince you that due to some of the serious themes that come up, this is a young adult novel. Personally, I do not agree. It’s got all the kid-appeal and excitement an eight to twelve-year-old would want, but is also packed full of thoughts and ideas that make it perfect for book discussion. A great addition and quite possibly Moses’s best work yet.
Notes on the Cover: All right. So normally I don’t like it when someone sepia-tones a cover image just for the sake of sepia. But Debra Sfetsios did a really stand-up job with this puppy. First of all, it isn’t really sepia. Not really. More golden than brown, the image has all the faux fading/wear and tear of a photograph, but with a kind of interior light. The church on the left and the people being baptized on the right frame an image of Leon. He himself is the source of the picture’s glow and just LOOK at this kid. You could not have picked a better Leon. He’s the right age, he’s handsome, and the expression his face is absolutely pitch-perfect. I’m going to nominate this book for a potential Best Cover of the Year Award, because it manages to balance the publishing industry’s current yen for photographic jackets with something faithful to the text that ALSO happens to be beautiful.
Also Reviewed By: Brooke of The Brookeshelf. It's a good micro-review and it offers an alternate take on the book's accessibility.
By: Betsy Bird,
on 4/20/2007
Letters from Rapunzel by Sara Holmes. Harper Collins. $15.99.
Gail Carson Levine has a lot to answer for.
When Our Lady of “Ella Enchanted” proved that biggie awards could go to fairy tale-inspired fantasies, this knowledge launched an unprecedented variety of fairy tale freakouts. As we speak we are still in the midst of a kind of folktale maelstrom, so you’ll forgive me if my initial sideways glance at “Letters from Rapunzel,” appeared to produce just more of the same. The winner of the 2004 Ursula Nordstrom Fiction Contest (run by Harper Collins for those first-time never-before-published types), Ms. Sara Lewis Holmes won it fair and square and this here book is the result. Despite its cover and title, the book is not, in fact, one of the fairytale ilk. Using the Rapunzel motif, Holmes paints a picture of a family whose patriarch is suffering from chronic depression. Balancing out its painful subject matter with its heroine’s wit, whimsy, and disconnect from reality, “Letters from Rapunzel” manages a delicate balancing act that comes to a happy end for both character and reader.
She’s been sending letters to an unknown post office box ever since her father disappeared from her life. For Rapunzel (the name she chooses to give herself) life was fine until her dad went through a new bout of crippling depression and had to be taken away to recover. What does that mean for our heroine? It means trying to put up with teachers and principals who think that just because you aced some test they gave out, you’re a genius. A genius, mind you, who’d rather write letters to a stranger than end up in some lousy class for smart kids where Andrew, the boy she hates, is waiting to torment her. As for the letters, Rapunzel started writing them when she found a letter from her father written to an unknown address. Hoping against hope that maybe she’ll be able to contact someone who can help her dad shrug off his “evil spell”, Rapunzel does everything she can to contact her mysterious someone. Yet when she meets only silence and an increase in her own problems, it takes some detective work and self-possession to get to the bottom of what exactly happened to Rapunzel’s father.
To whip together both fairytale and realistic elements like this is a risk. It would be all too easy for the book of this sort to make a sideways stumble towards the land of twee. Cute references to the story of Rapunzel in the midst of a family drama? The danger that it could become too sweet is immense. I’m still not entirely certain that it was wise to equate Rapunzel’s father’s depression with the moniker “an evil spell”, but at least the author makes it clear that when it comes to equating reality with fantasy, our heroine isn’t the most reliable of narrators. The story is also an interesting take on the usually staid and solid “problem books”.
A librarian making a list of books dealing with mental illnesses might just slip this title under the “Depression” category without a second thought. I do think that it’s lighter and, I dare say, more interesting than a lot of books on this topic for kids out there. That is not a criticism. If every book written on depression rendered the reader (forgive me) depressed, a fair share of kids would be disinclined to delve in that area. Holmes has had the sense then to imbue her book with some fun. I initially resisted it, but I ended up liking the heroine. When handed a charming science assignment that requires her to find ten different ways to rescue the character of Rapunzel from her tower using simple machines, our heroine is inventive enough to say, “but hey, the assignment didn’t say we had to keep her alive, did it?” Hence method number one, “Use a giant lever to pry her out. Be prepared for the funeral.” Holmes doesn’t overdo the humor, letting it float the top of a page here and there without breaking up the action or appearing where it might be inappropriate. For example, the ritual that comes with birthdays, wherein the birthdayee feels older, is described as, “just a cake-and-icing-induced hallucination.”
The letter element is, of course, the hook. It’s a booktalking point. The idea of mysterious letters sent into the vast unknown is a bit old-fashioned in this high tech day and age. That might account for books like this and “The Mailbox” by Audrey Shafer that play on the mystery and allure of sending mail to unknown personages. The book also splits apart continually into little asides that serve to break up the text. I’m beginning to suspect that this is some kind of new trend in children’s book publishing since I’m seeing it in a lot of other books as well. Kirsten’s Miller’s “Kiki Strike” did it. “The Thing About Georgie” by Lisa Graff has lots of them. And in this particular book you’re likely to trip over one of Rapunzel's “Fairy-Tale Fortunes” or school assignment every three pages or so. Does it hurt the book in the end? Not necessarily. It’s just hard to get into a story or take it seriously when you’re constantly being jerked out of the central tale as frequently as is found here. It makes for more enjoyable reading, perhaps, but does it make for a worthwhile read?
You will be happy to hear that “Letters from Rapunzel”, doesn’t have any easy answers. No miracles or unlikely coincidences spring up. It is not, I should add, a book that Holmes should stop with. While well told, the book feels like a novel found in an author’s early career. And as it’s not the only Rapunzel-like story out this year, feel free to also check out “Into the Wild” by Sarah Beth Durst and “Into the Woods” by Lyn Gardner for your standard retellings of classic folktales (and their skewed results). This may even make a good crossover title for those kids who only like fantasy and need some kind of fantastical hook to lure them into the scary realm of realistic fiction. Fun and smart enough for your consideration.
Notes on the Cover: Looks to me as if Harper Collins wants to have its cake and eat it too. Deliberately playing up the Rapunzelish elements on the right, the left-hand side of the image is downright mod. A kind of suburban kitch. I’d have appreciated this more if the Rapunzel-like girl actually bore some resemblance to our heroine at large. As it is, plenty of kids will be suckered into thinking this to be a kind of fantasy novel. Sneaky, Harper. Very very sneaky.
By: Betsy Bird,
on 4/13/2007
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.
By: Betsy Bird,
on 4/3/2007
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.
By: Betsy Bird,
on 4/1/2007
Jack Plank Tells Tales, written and illustrated by Natalie Babbitt. Michael di Capua, Scholastic Press. $15.95
I was sitting at the children’s reference desk the other day when a parent came up to me with a request. “I want a bedtime story to read to my daughter. Nothing cutesy or anything. Just some really nice tales to tell her before she goes to sleep. She’s seven.” Requests of this sort are a delight. You wait and hope for them. Not as many parents as I would like think to look for this kind of material, so when I get a request of this sort it’s all I can do to keep from hopping up and down with glee. After one flash of inspiration I tried to sell the mom on “Toys Go Out,” by Emily Jenkins. No such luck. Not because she didn’t like the book, mind you, but she’d already read it with her kid and wanted something new. We did some additional searching and I found her some nice books, but all the while I kept thinking to myself, “Why oh why oh why hasn’t ‘Jack Plank’ come out yet?” Because, you see, “Jack Plank Tells Tales,” by the legendary Natalie Babbitt had not yet been published, but I’d seen a particularly enjoyable advanced reader’s copy that had just charmed me. These days there’s been a kind of upsurge in good bedtime reading that doesn’t necessarily stink of either nostalgia or uber-cuteness. Finding the right balance can still be a challenge though. Maybe the time is ripe, then, for Natalie Babbitt to break her twenty-five years’ worth of silence so as to bring us a book that feels like something your parents might have read to you when you were young.
Jack Plank’s a lovely fellow, but the fact of the matter is that when it comes to pirating, he stinks. I mean, he gets along with everyone and he’s been with his ship, The Avarice, for years and years now. But pirates always have to consider the bottom line and when it comes right down to it, Jack doesn’t plunder very well. Not very well at all. So off he goes to find a job. While doing so he settles into a boarding house run by the kindly Mrs. DelFresno and her daughter Nina. Each day Jack and Nina go off to find him an occupation, and each day they come back empty handed. Fortunately, for every job that Jack turns down he’s able to tell a rip-roaring story for why becoming a baker, a fisherman, a goldsmith, or a host of other places of employment might be too much of a reminder of his days back on his pirate ship. In the end, Jack has told stories involving everything from a girl raised by seagulls to squid-men, vengeful ghosts, mermaid lovers, and trolls. Fortunately, sometimes the best job is one so glaringly obvious you don’t notice it until someone points it out to you.
Stories are so much fun, but they’re sometimes difficult to promote properly. My library’s folktale/fairytale section circulates beautifully, no question. Yet most of what goes out are picture books of individual tales. Collected stories gather dust, usually because people aren’t sure how to use them with their children. The nice thing about “Jack Plank,” however, is that the main story (Jack trying to find a job) carries quite nicely from chapter to chapter. So there’s a single story you’re trying to get to the end of, alongside short tales of very brief length. And man oh man, talk about kid-friendly. Some of these tales do touch on things like ghosts and murder, but I would argue with you that a kid as young as four or five would get a kick out of hearing this book night after night without any nightmarish repercussions. There are pictures to look at (all penned by the author, no less), and original tales that you may have seen different versions of here and there but never in this format.
Come to think of it, y'all are familiar with Ms. Babbitt’s work already, right? Her best known work, “Tuck Everlasting,” is one of those Great American Children’s Novels. She disappeared without a trace for twenty-five years (which is to say, she didn’t publish anything during that time) and now this book is her return to the fold. Happily I report to you that her writing is as keen as ever. In fact, what I like about Natalie Babbitt is her ability to tell a children’s tale with true simplicity. She’s just good at what she does. The stories are top notch, always interesting, and fun to read aloud. The characters have wonderful names like “Waddy Spontoon”, “Captain Scudder”, and “Leech”. And the character of Jack himself is a lot of fun. It’s hard to put a narrator's personality aside so that you can use him as a kind of storytelling vessel, but Jack just comes across as a genuinely nice guy with a gift of gab and his own way of looking at things.
Basically, I’m going to sell this to skeptical parents as pirate tales. Pirates have sort of hit a Renaissance right now (or, in pirate speak, a Ren-ARRR-sance) and any book that even hints at having piratical underpinnings is certain to circulate and sell relatively well. Label “Jack Plank Tells Tales” a lovely return to form for the eloquent Ms. Babbitt. Here’s hoping she has a couple more stories hidden about her person for the perusal of all. If your bedtime story collection runs a bit low, this is a lovely way to stock it up again.
Notes On the Cover: Ah. Yes. Well. Okay, there is a problem with critiquing this cover. First and foremost, Ms. Babbitt herself drew it. And yes, there’s Jack telling a tale. And there’s one of the seagulls that raised the wild girl Flotsam alongside a crocodile charmed by music played by one of Jack’s fellow pirates. And there’s even a Jolly Roger hung up in a corner to give you a sense of the piratical connections in this tale… I mean, it’s a very well done cover, all in all. I just don’t know if anyone of the adult persuasion is going to be particularly inclined to pick it up without having heard something about it. The pirate leanings are a bit too subtle here. I think Babbitt should have featured some of the mythical creatures populating the stories. Just something to make it clear that rather than sleepifying tales told by a fellow named Jack, these are great stories of magic, and mystery, and mayhem, and murder. At the very least, Jack needs to look more like a standard pirate. Just give 'im a peg leg or parrot. The cover is in exquisite taste. So, naturally, I wonder if we might scale that back a bit.
By: Betsy Bird,
on 3/27/2007
Emma-Jean Lazarus Fell Out of a Tree by Lauren Tarshis. Dial Books (a division of Penguin Young Readers Group). $16.99.
First and foremost I want to stop right now the temptation anyone may have to compare this book to "The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time". It ends here. “Emma-Jean Lazarus Fell Out of a Tree,” is a treat. A delight. An engaging romp, if you will, but it is NOT to be compared to Mark Haddon’s book, no matter how tempting a prospect. Let us consider this book entirely on its own merits and leave speculations regarding the main character’s mental state to the readers themselves. Newbie first-time author Lauren Tarshis has written a book with some serious buzz flitting about it. Memorable and supremely interesting, this is a book worth holding on to for a very long time.
She’s not like other girls, that Emma-Jean Lazarus. She doesn’t burst into tears every day in middle school or giggle about boys with her friends. Come to think of it, she doesn’t seem to have all that many friends to begin with. That’s okay, though. If Emma-Jean is anything, she’s comfortable being herself. That’s something Colleen Pomerantz would probably pay anything to be. When Emma-Jean finds Colleen sobbing in the girls’ bathroom (which is just as illogical as it is out of character) she vows to help Colleen out any way she can. Of course, that may mean some forgery here and there, but Emma-Jean is confident in her abilities. Now, however, she has mixed feelings towards her widowed mother falling for the nice Indian guy boarding with them, while at the same time learning that this whole “friendship” idea may not be as straightforward as all that. People don’t always make sense and the world is not always fair, but sometimes change can be good. Even if it's not entirely comfortable.
I’ll level with you here. I read this book roundabout a month ago. The thoughts that have percolated and popped in my noggin are not first-impressions or sudden flashes of inspiration. So as I picked this book up to review it, something strange occurred to me; I could remember everything in it perfectly. I could remember the plot, and the characters, and teensy tiny little details here and there. When you review a lot of children’s books, they all tend to run together after a while into a big old slurry blur. Not this book.
Part of Tarshis’ strength lies in her characters, of course. Emma-Jean isn’t emotional, but at the same time she isn’t so cold that the reader doesn't care for her. You warm to her instantly, even as she puzzles through the peculiarities of middle school interactions. I like that from page one you get a sense of Emma-Jean’s personality. “. . . crying was not a logical way to express one’s opposition to the seventh-grade science curriculum,” she thinks after two girls cry at having to dissect a sheep’s eyeball. As for Colleen, she was exactly the kind of person I could understand. “. . . Colleen was always thinking and worrying and obsessing about things.” Been there. Most of us have. It's just rare to see that feeling fleshed out so well into a living breathing person.
The writing, in and of itself, is subtle, but not so subtle that it won’t make for good discussions. For example, when Colleen decides not to get angry at Emma-Jean it reads, “She couldn’t be mad at Emma-Jean, because poor Emma-Jean didn’t understand anything about anything.” The heck she doesn’t! Emma-Jean is a uniquely skilled individual. When she wants to hook her teacher up with the man boarding with herself and her mother she knows how to drop a dinner invitation with a sly, “You could bring your boyfriend if you like,” to determine her teacher's relationship status. Descriptions pop out at the reader with a bit of intensity you wouldn’t expect off-hand. When Colleen feels terrible, the pink wall color, “made her feel like she was trapped inside an old dog’s ear.” Not just any dog, mind you. An old dog. Ick.
The assumption is going to pop up (hence the “Curious Incident” reference at the beginning of this review) somewhere suggesting that Emma-Jean has some mild form of autism. Yet the book never says that, and the book is, when you think about it, the only reference on the topic we have. I don’t think we can go about leaping to conclusions willy-nilly. Just because someone isn’t doesn’t act like everyone else, do we have to label them? When Emma-Jean explains why she doesn’t want any friends she simply says, “They are too complicated.” You don’t have to diagnose a person to agree with a statement like that.
Now I run a homeschooler bookgroup, and recently I’ve been taking the time to assess the readability of the books that come my way. For example, recently my kids and I read "Rules" by Cynthia Lord and we were just bowled over by how well that title works as a point of discussion. It engages the child readers so much so that everyone loves the book. So I’m gonna go out on a limb here and say that Tarshis ’ book does the same thing. It has that indefinable quality that makes the reader just want to pick up the title again and again and again. The ending is top notch (coming up with a quilt-related solution to one of Emma-Jean’s woes that gives me shivers to read), the beginning biting, and the middle engaging and endearing in turns. Recommended with a "yes, indeed" for kicks.
Notes on the Cover: As someone pointed out on this blog not too long ago, it does the book no favors. It’s not a terrible cover by any means. And you can even tie it into Emma-Jean’s pet bird, the trees she and her father loved, and the fabric that is eventually sewn onto her quilt. That said, this is not a kid-friendly cover. This is the kind of cover you put on an adult book of poetry (one that uses words like "thrush" and "entirety"). So it’s nothing against you, Dial, but when this pup comes out in paperback (and it will if it gets the attention it deserves) let us take into consideration the possibility of doing something just as classy but with a touch of child-friendliness to boot. Let us, to be blunt, make this book like like it’s worthy of its buzz.
By: Betsy Bird,
on 3/14/2007
Diary of a Wimpy Kid by Jeff Kinney. Amulet Books (an imprint of Abrams Books for Young Readers). $12.95
The world has not yet invented a method of finding the best webcomics currently available on the Internet for kids. So basically, for every twenty low-quality/poorly thought out amalgamations of crap, you get one bright shining star. “Diary of a Wimpy Kid,” the webcomic, was one such star. The only conclusion I can really draw at this point is that somebody at Abrams is a friggin’ genius for plucking the comic up and making it into a book. Now normally I don’t like to separate titles into “girl books” and “boy books”, but Jeff Kinney has written such a marvelous “boy book” that for every parent that walks in the door of my library I’m going to be cramming this title into their arms. Heck, I’ll slip it into their purses if I have to. This book is going to reach its intended audience whether I have to wrestle skeptical parents to the floor with it clamped firmly in my teeth. Want to transfer your Captain Underpants lovers from graphic novels to fiction? This book won’t do that. It’s just something that every single person will get a kick out of.
First things first. Boys do not have diaries. Girls have diaries. Let’s get that straight cause things could get messy if we don’t. Basically, what we have here are the gathered thoughts and memories of Greg Haffley. Greg’s got a pretty average life, all things considered. His older brother is a jerk, his younger brother annoying, his best friend a doofus, and his parents perfect dweebs. To top it all off, Greg’s been thrown into his first year of middle school and things are really weird. Suddenly friendships are shifting and Greg’s not sure who he wants to be. Add in some haunted houses, wrestling, downhill games involving bodily injury, forbidden cheese, and basic family fears and you’ve got yourself one heckuva debut.
I should specify that in spite of the fact that this book is based on a webcomic, it’s not a graphic novel. Not really. Comic illustrations appear on every single page and complement the storytelling, but this is really more a (what’s the term again?) illustrated novel. What this appears to be, more than anything else, is a notebook that’s been written in by hand with the occasional cartoony illustration here and there for effect. It never breaks up into panels or long illustrated periods. There are just tasty little comic treats on each and every page.
Now the term “laugh-out-loud funny” is not to be bandied about. When I say that something is “laugh-out-loud funny” I don’t want to be talking titters, mild chuckles, or undersized, underfed guffaws. I want to describe something so amusing that you think about it later and start laughing in an embarrassing manner on the subway. Jeff Kinney gave me that more than once. There was the moment when Greg’s trying to get out of performing as an apple-throwing tree in his school’s production of, “The Wizard of Oz.” He thinks that maybe if he screws up what he has to say, that might be his out. “But when you only have one word to say, it’s really hard to mess up your lines.” The next thing we know, “Dorothy” has picked an apple and Greg’s trying out a tentative, “Owwwchhh?” Oh! And the form thank you letters! Greg figures out that he says basically the same thing to all his relatives. So he just cranks out a form letter and fills in the details. This works great until he gets to something like, “Dear AUNT LORETTA, Thank you so much for the awesome PANTS! How did you now I wanted that for Christmas? I love the way the PANTS looks on my LEGS! All my friends will be so jealous that I have my very own PANTS.” I think I was laughing over this for a good three hours after I read it.
There’s something particularly charming about Kinney’s illustration/cartoons too. The lines are incredibly clean and precise, even as they are showing some pretty raucous stuff. Kinney’s grasp on visual gags is without comparison. At one point Greg happens to mention that if you “mess up in front of Dad” (i.e. kick over your little brother’s toys maliciously) he’ll throw whatever he has in his hands at you. We then see two shots of Greg misbehaving. The first is labeled, “GOOD TIME TO SCREW UP:” and shows him kicking over some blocks while his dad is holding the newspaper. The second reads, “BAD TIME TO SCREW UP:” and shows him doing it while his dad is cementing together a brick wall. Comedy gold, people! The comics are drawn over lined paper, making the whole enterprise really feel as if you’re poring through someone else’s journal.
And for all that, the writing’s not too shabby. When Greg talks about week-ends he says, “The only reason I get out of bed at all on weekends is because eventually, I can’t stand the taste of my own breath anymore.” Been there. Tasted that. Kinney’s able to point out all kinds of funny school details we adults may have forgotten, but that kids will recognize instantly. For example, why should you tell kids that “It’s great to be you,” when a lot of people really should think about changing themselves? We see two bullies shoving some poor kid down at this point yelling, “It’s great to be me!,” you you have to concede the point. I mean, Kinney remembers what it was like to roll a really big snowball and then see that you were ripping up the grass on your lawn in the process. No one remembers that! Characters are also lovingly delineated, not only in words, but in their little comic illustrations. Take as your example the character of Greg's fellow student and neighbor Fregley. Fregley is weird. So how would you, as the writer/cartoonist, convey this? You might want to have him say things like, “Wanna see my secret freckle?". You might draw him with a mouth wider than his head. You might have him stabbing kites in his front yard, shirtless. For a start, anyway. Every character in this book feels real. Even Greg’s annoying, practically mute, little brother.
And so much more. Such as the name of Greg’s older brother’s band. Loaded Diaper, only it’s spelled “Loded Diper” with an umlaut over the “o”. Greg suspects his brother thinks that it really is spelled that way. And there are the small failures and triumphs of your average pre-adolescent. No one in their right mind would ever want to return to the days of Middle School, but if Jeff Kinney keeps churning out books like this one, I’ll follow him there any day of the week. This title has already been getting some pretty choice reviews here and there. Can I make a nomination for funniest children’s book of 2007? Consider it a necessary purchase.
On shelves April 1, 2007.
Notes on the Cover: Apparently (and I'm getting this through the author's blog so don't quote me) the hardcover version of this book is going to have, "cool special effects like fake Scotch tape." I don't know if that means that there will be fake shiny scotch tape or what, but it sounds neat. I am rather partial to the design of the book too. The cartoon character on the cover, who looks like he was drawn on notebook paper and then slapped on a leather (slightly scuffed) diary. It's nice. Makes it look as if the publisher really cared about the subject.
For Additional Info: The series originally ran as a webcomic on www.funbrain.com.
Other Blog Reviews: The Goddess of YA
The What the Font Forum (wherein the poster obsessed over the choice of handwritten font)
Fuse, kudos to you for bravely taking this step in writing a "not so stellar" review. I know you have struggled with this idea. Hopefully the comments can be taken by the author as well worded feedback they can grow from.
You'll be seeing more of them. I just don't like to give negative reviews prior to the books' release.
Ha! I rejected that book. Nice to know others feel the same.
Oy. You know what, Fuse? If this is going to turn into a mean party, I'm leaving. It makes me a little bit sick to see a pile-on when someone's heart and soul are out there twisting in the wind.
R.
R., it was a very respectful review. This sort of thing is useful and necessary. Well done, Fuse.
Marian.
The review was fine -- a little sarcastic.
The salivating rejector who posted above me? Not nice. Criticism can certainly be appropriate, but I hope this won't be a place where people come to revel in the open mocking of another's work.
And I have never met, or even previously heard anything about, the author of the book at issue here.
R.
Sarcastic? Shoot, dude, I was doing my darndest NOT to be sarcastic. I mean, I gave that book some serious props even though it often offended me.
Due to the fact that the book's rights have been purchased and AnnaSophie Robb is about to play the lead, one little opinion isn't going to make much of a difference at this point. If that film comes out, the book's going to make a mint.
Well now, here's the deal. Obviously everyone is entitled to their own opinion. And in that you conceded that my review was "fine" then your sole objection appears to be with a single comment from someone who is not me. I don't think that's going to lead to a pile-on, especially as I only know of only one other person who has read this book.
As for the heart and soul of the author, she just sold the film rights to this book and it's being made with Anna Sophia Robb. That's the young lady who recently starred in "Because of Winn Dixie" and "Bridge to Terabithia". So while I'm sure she feels a kinship to her book, if that movie ends up being a hit then she's going to have lots and lots of kids reading this title anyway. She will not be too terribly concerned with a single review that isn't even in a print format. Rest assured.
Many thanks for the nice comments about the cover and illustrations - always nice to get feedback.
The cover was actually commissioned by Orion Books in the UK, not Dial (the book was published over here last August).
You may be interested to know that this is the first of four books in a series - the second "Dolphin Song" is to be published in the UK next month with, hopefully, a US edition to follow.
D