Middler Books and More

2011-09-14T05:44:00.000-07:00

Gray, Eva. Tomorrow Girls: Behind the Gates (Book One). Scholastic, 2011. 211 pages. ISBN 13: 978-0-545-31701-6. This book is for grades 4 and up, or ages 9 and up, depending on reading level. This is also an excellent high-low selection for middle schoolers (3 1/2 stars out of 4).

During the Harry Potter craze, I feared a literary world that was forgetting the scientific and futuristic elements of science fiction. I felt better after reading M.T. Anderson’s Feed and Rodman Philbrick’s The Last Book in the Universe, but with the release of Behind the Gates, the first installment of the four-book series Tomorrow Girls by Eva Gray, it is clear that science fiction is alive and well. The immense cross-over popularity of the Hunger Games trilogy has created such an interest in the dystopia/scary future subgenre that it has finally filtered down to the 9-year-old crowd. Ms. Gray, who on the verso of my advance copy appears to be sci-fi author Suzanne Weyn, author of the solid, 2010 “scary future” sci-fi novel Empty, has written Hunger Games-lite, a suspenseful buddy tale about a group of kids who grow up quickly as they face challenges they think are larger than themselves. But instead of highlighting the political machinations that make Suzanne Collins’ work so engaging, Ms. Gray/Weyn simplifies the story and the setting, creating a much more accessible work that can appeal to not only a broader and younger audience, but also one that may be intimidated by a major novel’s length and appearance.

It is the near future and the world is a mess. Much of the South and Gulf Coast have been destroyed by hurricanes due, it can be assumed, to climate change. Fresh water is rare and meat is practically extinct. The United States is at war with a group called The Alliance that is in the process of invading Canada. Louisa and her BFF Maddie are two of the fortunate young people in this difficult new America. Since both of Maddie’s parents are fighting in the war, Maddie has moved in with Louisa and she is pretending to be her twin sister. Louisa enjoys the privilege of having two parents who, as doctors, still have lucrative jobs and can afford to send their children away to a “safe” boarding school, away from all threats. The Country Manor School appears to be that solution, assuring parents and children alike that their safety is paramount. When their cell phones, electronics, computers and even jewelry are taken, the children are assured it is “for their safety.” But Louisa cannot part with her locket, and its pictures of her parents and grandparents: “I reluctantly reach back to unclasp the locket’s chain. My hand trembles slightly. I can’t stand to part with this. It would be like giving away my parents—and my grandparents!” (36). This and other seemingly unreasonable demands and restrictions, like not being allowed to communicate with the adjoining boys’ school or anyone outside of the school, even their families, creates suspicion, especially in one of the girls’ new companions, Evelyn, who sees conspiracy everywhere. The three girls are thrown together with Rosie, a jock and alpha-type who at first seems caustic, but who grows on Louisa. The four girls are given survival skills classes and told they will be the leaders of something called the New Society. Maddie sees this New Society as an elitist group to which she would not even belong if she was not Louisa’s faux sister, but Louisa likes the idea: “It gives me a feeling of having a serious purpose. I’d never felt like that in school before” (71). However, it is clear that there is more to Country Manor School, and the mysterious, stern headmistress Mrs. Brewster, than meets the eye, and the four girls may be in more trouble than they have ever known in their mostly sheltered lives.

Years of experience working at B. Dalton and Waldenbooks taught me that genres are not truly popular and entrenched until they come out in pulp form. I could not be certain that vampires were entrenched when everyone asked for Twilight; I knew they were when Scholastic released their Vampire Plagues and Poison Apple series. Science fiction is clearly hot—it has filtered down to permeate every level. Pulp is not necessarily a bad thing: this work is no Harlequin romance, but its weaknesses due to an overemphasis on plot and simplistic character development are not fatal flaws, they are what makes the material more accessible. This is not a classic or masterpiece, but it is a very readable version of the latest craze in YA fiction for an important market segment, tweeners and pre-tweeners. I recommend Tomorrow Girls: Behind the Gates by Eva Gray/Suzanne Weyn even though it is derivative and reasonably predictable because those qualities are appropriate to its targeted level.

2011-09-14T05:42:00.000-07:00

Kowitt, H. N. The Loser List. Scholastic, 2011. 207 pages with frequent illustrations. ISBN 13: 978-0-545-24004-8. This book is for grades 3 to 7, or ages 8 to 12, depending on reading level (3 stars out of 4).

Boys are back. In the tweener publishing world’s post-Wimpy Kid, “mangafied,” graphic world of multimedia interfaced reading, in which kids are watching the book’s teaser video on YouTube and playing games and chatting on the book’s website before they even read it, someone finally figured out what eight-to-twelve-year-old boys like. Mix together two teaspoonfuls of wry, pre-adolescent humor and innocent wisdom born of charming naiveté, a couple of tablespoons of embarrassment and guilt from being at an awkward age, a smattering of humorous, simplistic drawings, a quarter cup of bully (occasionally complete with his or her posse), and 2 cups of near misses in which the unlikely hero almost gets beaten up, expelled, grounded, or all of the above. Optional ingredients include half a teaspoon of annoying siblings and a dash of lose-your-best-friend-by-not-being-true-to-yourself. The Loser List by H. N. Kowitt is another unspectacular but appealing example of what boys transitioning from Captain Underpants to the high-low group including Bluford High and/or Orca novels. For the record, I am not denying girls’ interest in this sub-genre, and Dork Diaries does circulate well, but this type of hybrid novel is particularly appealing to boys.

Danny Shine is not looking for trouble, he is just trying to fly under the radar and finish 7^th grade without drawing too much attention to his geekiness or his obsession with comic books and drawing macabre images. But when bully Chantal Davis tries to extort Danny’s favorite drawing pen, his coveted twelve dollar T-360, he must defend himself, regardless of the personal cost: “Chantal’s locker is crammed with stuff people have ‘donated.’ Well, I’d already given plenty to the Chantal Davis Fund, and I didn’t feel like making another contribution” (4). As punishment, Chantal puts Danny and best friend Jasper on the Loser List in the girls’ bathroom, which ultimately leads Danny to inadvertently start a food fight, annoy his secret crush Asia O’Neill, and antagonize Gerald Ford Middle School’s other bully, Axl Ryan. When Danny is sent to detention for another offense, Axl is waiting to repay him for his food fight humiliation: “Axl rolled up his shirtsleeves, showing a slice of homemade Sharpie tattoo. In spite of my terror, the artist in me was curious. Did Axl draw it himself? I stretched to get a better look” (55). Danny may be able to use his artistic ability to save him from Axl and his friends, the Skulls, but Danny knows that an unholy alliance can lead to trouble far greater than an occasional jab because of his appearance on the Loser List.

I am still enjoying this recent rash of hybrid, doodle-enhanced novels. Ms. Kowitt’s twist, bulleted, humorous descriptions and drawings of new characters, is both cute and current: that is the way much of young America encounters, digests, and assimilates information. In a world in which even the book is a toy with a screen, buttons, lights, and Internet access, someone has to write books for the Digital Native Generation, complete with graphics, notes, and narration neatly merged together into one cohesive package. The Loser List by H. N. Kowitt is one such package, not all that unique, but just fine for its audience.

2011-09-14T05:40:00.000-07:00

Rylander, Scott. The Fourth Stall. Walden Pond Press (an imprint of HarperCollins), 2011. 314 pages. ISBN 13: 978-0-06-199496-8. This book is for grades 4 and up, or ages 9 and up, depending on reading level (3 1/2 stars out of 4).

There is something about gangsters and the gangster life that still intrigues us. From The Godfather through Goodfellas and culminating with The Sopranos, the illusion of glamour, camaraderie, and power has always uncomfortably accompanied what is by definition a rough, dangerous, amoral, and illegal lifestyle. I have no doubt that the average fan of the gangster genre does not think that the gangster life is for him, any more than a fan of Superman thinks she can fly outside of her dreams. However, vicarious lives do not require the baggage of reality, so it is fun to imagine ourselves as a Corleone or a Soprano living the fast life, attending high class parties and low class funerals, champagne, gowns, and beautiful people (along with copious amounts of blood) flowing like water from a seemingly endless tap. Although rookie author Scott Rylander has not resurrected all of the ambience or violence of the mafia, he has created, with The Fourth Stall, a funny and well-crafted tale of winners and losers, of elation and desperation, of loyalty and betrayal, and most importantly, of failure and redemption.

Although Christian “Mac” Barrett (nicknamed for the ever-resourceful MacGyver) is only in sixth grade, he seems to control his K-8 school. With his best friend Vince keeping the “books” and Joe for protection, Mac oversees his business from the fourth stall from the high window in the East Wing Boys’ bathroom. Anyone who needs a favor, service, or commodity can see Mac, and for the right price, Mac will deliver. Vince and Mac are die-hard Cubs fans, and their beloved losers are finally on the brink of the World Series. They are committed to buying game tickets with their fund. However, when a third grader named Fred comes to the fourth stall and warns Mac that the legendary student thug Staples is back in town, taking bets and fixing games all over school, Mac is compelled to provide both protection and a plan for removing the rough and dishonest Staples before he drives out the relatively benign Mac and Vince for good: “We couldn’t live like this. The only way to end this was to get Staples out of my school for good. We definitely needed to do more than simply protect Fred; we needed to take down Staples” (58). However, when Staples seems to know every move Mac and Vince make, the possibility of a traitor seems more and more likely. If Mac cannot figure out the leak in his organization and find a way of neutralizing Staples, he will be out of business forever, his school will fall under the thumb of a greedy, heartless thug, and he and Vince will never get to see the Cubs in the World Series.

Just as we are accustomed to the good cop-bad cop scenario from watching Kojak and Starsky and Hutch, we seem to tolerate the good thug-bad thug scenario just as well. I like Mac and Vince as the good thugs, even though they break the law, even though they seem to be underhanded at best, even though they manipulate others for their own benefit. One cannot blame the liquor store for turning people into alcoholics. The pint-sized Dons are only providing a service, albeit a shady one. Although there is some light violence in this novel, Mac and Vince are not fighters and they do not advocate violence; they have people for that. In fact, Mr. Rylander’s description of the Rogues’ Gallery who Mac and Vince hire to take out Staples’ Collector, Barnaby Willis, is the highlight of the novel. With names like iBully, Kitten, and Great White, this colorful cast of characters belongs in its own novel. I believe The Fourth Stall will appeal to mainly boys who are looking for something funny to read that does not have to have explosions every chapter; the action develops slowly but smartly. Like Jack Ferraiolo’s The Big Splash, Mr. Rylander’s debut effort is a highly stylized and well-constructed mystery that will leave readers wanting more adventures from the fourth stall from the high window.

2011-09-14T05:38:00.000-07:00

Magoon, Kekla. Camo Girl. Aladdin, 2011. 218 pages. ISBN 13: 978-1-4169-7804-6. This book is for grades 4 and up, or ages 9 and up, depending on reading level (3 stars out of 4).

I recently read in People that Jennifer Lopez was named the World’s Most Beautiful Person. I would not dare to argue J. Lo’s bootyliciousness, but that title is not only one of the most arbitrary pronouncements ever, it is also one of the most damaging. Beauty and its perception cause far too much anguish, stress and suicide. Feeling pretty is a tall order these days, despite the countless aids and accessories available. Several entire industries exist because of our desire to be more attractive, and as their advertisements suggest, we need them to feel good about ourselves. Camo Girl by Kekla Magoon lyrically explores the natural insecurities tweeners (ages 9-12) feel about beauty, acceptance, and loss. The beauty conflict is provided by the protagonist, Ella, who has “camouflage” skin tone with different shades and splotches of brown on her face. Ella is an imperfect narrator who sometimes sounds too mature and experienced for her age and life, but she mostly captures the pain of looking different and feeling ugly with intimacy and verisimilitude.

Ella and Z have been friends forever even though Z has changed over the past few years after Ella’s father died of illness and Z’s gambling father abandoned his family. Z and his mother live clandestinely at the local Wal-Mart (where she works) outside of Las Vegas. Z lives in a quixotic, fantasy world of dragons, knights, and quests in which the limits of reality are blurred: “See, it’s not that Z doesn’t know what’s going on. It’s not that he doesn’t know what’s real and what’s not. It’s just that he can’t stop pretending that the world is a better place than it actually is. If that makes him sick, then I wanna get me some of that flu” (13). Ella is accustomed to being picked on by jerk Jonathan Hoffman, and she has learned to accept her ostracism from any popular group, even her former BFF Millie’s crowd. But when new kid Bailey comes to school and he is not only the only other African-American at her school, he is cute too, Ella feels torn. Could Bailey find her “camo face” attractive? Would he accept Z as he is and not care that he is the butt of the school’s jokes? Could he actually understand the loss and fear that Ella and Z share? Ella must decide if Bailey is interested in popularity or real, in-your-face friendship.

There are too many books about beauty queens, beautiful people, and supermodels and not enough books that celebrate and exalt the ordinary. We are not all born with the potential to look like J. Lo or Kate Middleton, Duchess of Cambridge. Many of us are overweight, have bad skin and are bald (like me) and will never be one of the beautiful people. I like Camo Face by Kekla Magoon not only because it is beautifully written (reminiscent of the lyrical prose of Cynthia Kadohata), but also because the message is powerful: a book does not require a beautiful cover to be a beautiful piece of art.

2011-09-14T05:36:00.000-07:00

Choldenko, Gennifer. No Passengers Beyond this Point. Dial Books for Young Readers, 2011. 241 pages. ISBN 13: 978-0-8037-3534-7. This book is for grades 5 and up, or ages 10 and up, depending on reading level (2 stars out of 4).

It is sometimes hard to remember that I am an adult, and not a young one at that. When I read a story, novel, or narrative that I have “read before” my first thought is to condemn it as derivative. However, let’s face it: my students (and most others, I imagine) are not as well-read as I am. I am not trying to blow my own horn, but I have watched many teachers berate students for not knowing something that only adults normally know; as educators, we need to understand that we have taken classes in this stuff and that we have years of experience and a meta-understanding of YA lit that no 12-year-old can possess. Having said that, authors do not always deserve a break for reinventing an existing story. Yes, Wendy Mass’s 11 Birthdays is Groundhog Day in YA novel form, but it is utterly charming. However, Gennifer Choldenko’s new work No Passengers Beyond this Point, an obvious homage to the 1960s British groundbreaking teledrama The Prisoner, is neither charming nor effective.

India, Finn, and Mouse Tompkins, fourteen, twelve, and six respectively, have lost their home. Mom tried her best, after Dad’s death six years ago, to keep it together, but a perfect storm of financial trouble finally led to foreclosure and repossession. The children, one moody, self-absorbed teenager, one quiet, dutiful tweener, and one precocious child genius with an invisible friend, Bing, will have to move to Colorado to stay with their Uncle Red while Mom cleans up some business and finishes out her school year as a teacher. While on the flight to Fort Baker, Colorado, the plane encounters some turbulence and lands instead in Falling Bird, a mysterious place in which the normal rules of life do not seem to apply. They know something is wrong when India notices that the flight did not last long enough and they look out the window at a surreal sky: “She nods hesitantly, then raises the window shade to peer at the sky. It’s night now, except for this one patch of blue—a puzzle piece from the wrong puzzle” (49). During their arrival, they are celebrated and cheered, given huge houses and tons of clothes, all in their own styles. However, all is not as it seems, and it appears that the children must choose between this world and the real one. Staying is easy; it is extremely difficult, a “1-in-10,000 chance” according to one Falling Bird resident, to get back to the reality with their mother, uncle, and friends. To complicate matters, not all three children are sure they want to return from where they came; they must all make difficult decisions if they want to stay together and build a future they can believe in.

I was almost sure I would like this novel because I am so fond of the author’s other works, specifically Al Capone Does My Shirts and If a Tree Falls at Lunch Period. Although I did like certain aspects of No Passengers Beyond this Point, like the drawings at the beginning of each chapter and the different characters Ms. Choldenko uses to skillfully narrate each chapter in authentic voices. Also, the author starts the novel with an all-too-true representation of the housing crunch that affects so many Americans; this is a timely and poignant message. However, although I normally like a little puzzle to solve in a novel, there is too much mystery surrounding Falling Bird. Is it real or a dream? Are they really there or still on the plane? The combined narratives give a consistently incomplete description of everything that would give the reader a firm footing in a strange world. Ms. Choldenko, due to a surprising and disappointing lack of description, explanation, and raison d’etre for Falling Bird, fails in her attempt to compel the reader to emotionally join the three main characters on their journey through varying stages of adolescence and pre-adolescence. I believe that with more explanation and description, this could have been an effective novel; as it stands, it is merely an enigma.

2011-09-14T05:33:00.000-07:00

Shang, Wendy Wan-Long. The Great Wall Of Lucy Wu. Scholastic, 2011. 312 pages. ISBN 13: 978-0-545-16215-9. This book is appropriate for grades 3 to 6, or ages 8 to 12, depending on reading level.

(3 1/2 stars out of 4)

As a former high school English teacher, I have a tendency to shy away from books that are “young.” I like the issues and complexities of “older” novels; it’s a tough transition from Paradise Lost to Junie B. Jones. However, sometimes new works look so utterly charming that I cannot resist—books like A Crooked Kind of Perfect and Larry: the King of Rock and Roll have made me laugh far more than anything on my middle school’s shelves, and both of those books would be as welcome in a third grader’s hands as they would be in a fifth or sixth grader’s hands. When I picked it up, I hoped that The Great Wall of Lucy Wu by first-time children’s author Wendy Wan-Long Shang would be one of those cute, funny, occasionally clever and/or insightful novels and it did not disappoint. I was so thoroughly engaged in the melodrama of the protagonist that I will even forgive the new author’s use of the word “schlep” (what 11-year-old would say that?). I chuckled from beginning to end and laughed out loud several times during my afternoon with Lucy Wu, which may be the best endorsement available for a middle-level novel.

Precocious 11-year-old Lucy Wu is certainly envious of her gorgeous, Chinese-speaking sister Regina and always feels misunderstood, underappreciated and disrespected in her family, but Lucy is convinced that Regina’s move to college will kick off the best year of her life. However, as soon as she and BFF Madison finish planning a massive redecoration of the bedroom Lucy used to share with Regina, she receives what she perceives as terrible news: Lucy will have to share her room with an old aunt from China named Yi Po. Yi is Lucy’s deceased grandmother Po Po’s long lost sister, and she has finally surfaced. Lucy resents Yi Po for being alive while her beloved grandmother Po Po is gone, and Lucy builds a wall between her space and Yi Po’s space in their room: “Now the desk and bookcase formed a wall between the two beds. The Great Wall of Lucy Wu . . . And I hid my favorite picture of my grandmother, the last one we took before she got sick, in my bookcase” (72). Lucy gets angry at herself because she is starting to lose her distinct memories of Po Po, and angry at Yi Po for reminding her of that sad fact. Even Po Po’s world class noodles, reproduced by Yi Po, depress Lucy: “I can’t remember what Po Po’s noodles tasted like anymore. I wish there were a way to record flavors the way you can record music, and then you could play it over and over in your mouth” (83). To make matters worse, the family of her acquaintance Talent Chang has opened a Chinese school and Mr. And Mrs. Wu have told Lucy that she must go. Unfortunately, Chinese school is scheduled during practice for Lucy’s one true passion, basketball. Lucy desperately wants to be team captain, but even if she could play, the bully Sloane Connors also wants to be captain, and her band of Amazons are ready to pounce on anyone who gets in Sloane’s way. Lucy must make some hard decisions about her future on and off of the court, and she must somehow learn to accept Yi Po’s odd yet hauntingly familiar ways if she is ever to find harmony in her life.

I was instantly taken with Lucy as a character because of her authentic voice; I know many 11-year-olds who have the same manic disposition, the same insecurities, the same overreactions to everything. She is annoying at times, but only because she is real. Ms. Sheng is careful to make the Chinese-American Wu family just as American as Chinese; Lucy’s favorite food is Italian, although dumplings and Chinese noodles do play a prominent role in the story. I particularly enjoyed the author’s use of Chinese idioms and language; I even recognized one of the stories from Jon Muth’s brilliant and quirky Zen Shorts. The Great Wall of Lucy Wu by Wendy Wan-Long Shang is a fine first novel that poignantly and humorously paints a picture of two worlds—old and new, Chinese and American. Not surprisingly, although the two worlds seem disparate, they are more alike than anyone realizes; it is both their similarities and their differences that strengthen both the characters and the narrative.

2011-03-16T19:06:00.000-07:00

Crowley, James. Starfish. Disney/Hyperion, 2010. 310 pages including references and glossary. ISBN 13: 978-142312588-4. This book is for grades 5 and up, or ages 10 and up, depending on reading level.

I have lost the current narrative of Native Americans. Frankly, I am not even sure if the politically correct term is Native American, Indian, or something else. I lost my connection to the narrative 10 or 15 years ago, when I first visited Foxwoods casino. Tragically, from that point onward, I have only heard about Native Americans in 2 contexts: casinos and alcoholism. We have wronged Native Americans so profoundly throughout our shared history that they are reduced to incorporating our capitalism into their lifestyles to survive. It can be argued that alcoholism did not exist before colonialism; we passed on the worst of ourselves to our captives while taking the best of what they had. Any reason to celebrate the rich traditions and rituals of Native Americans is welcome, so in that vein, Starfish by James Crowley is a good novel to introduce young readers to a valuable and vanishing piece of history. It is a rather slow tale as adventure tales go, and it feels a little contrived, but it still opens our cruel past enough to allow visitors a glimpse of early 20^thCentury colonialism at work.

Orphans Beatrice and Lionel, 12 and 9 respectively, live at the Chalk Bluff boarding school on the Blackfeet reservation. Although Lionel is reasonably cooperative with the Christian brothers and the soldiers who reside and teach there, Beatrice clings stubbornly to her Indian ways, keeping her hair long, singing Indian songs, and performing small rituals that her grandfather taught her, like casting tobacco to the wind and praying: “She turned west, holding the tobacco as an offering, then south . . . Lionel could see Beatrice’s lips move as she sang a song quietly to herself. He felt a slight breeze from the north as if somebody or something were actually listening” (16). When soldiers Jenkins and Lumpkin threaten Beatrice after she and Lionel find a frozen Indian in the snow and the soldiers defile him, she and Lionel run away, frantically searching for their grandfather’s residence in the Montana hills. Along the way, the children meet a colorful cast of characters like Corn Poe Boss Ribs, the generally unwanted and obnoxious but charming son of Big Bull Boss Ribs; and Avery John Hawkins and his son Junebug, who may hold some secrets about the army, the mountains, and their grandfather. The winter is harsh and traveling is difficult, but Spring and Summer finally arrive. Beatrice and Lionel may feel safe for a short time, but they have stolen an army horse, they are fugitives because Beatrice attacked Sergeant Jenkins before running away, and Beatrice has spent the entire time attempting to recover from Tuberculosis. Without even knowing what freedom will feel like, Beatrice and Lionel still struggle to discover, maintain, and embrace their identities as Blackfeet.

Starfish by James Crowley is a capable first novel, but it does nothing new with its genre. Although I was pleased to read a book about the Native American plight, and it appears that Mr. Crowley did his homework concerning the setting of this work, I was not surprised to read that he is a screenwriter; this book had after-school special or Disney movie written all over it. Mr. Crowley paints scenes well but his character development is weak. The characters act in very stereotypical ways, and when characters like the Captain show mercy, the reader does not know why, since he allowed so much cruelty in the past. The grandfather has Karate Kid-type wisdom; the soldiers are drunk and mean, the children establish their own Lord of the Flies hierarchy, Lionel becomes “more Indian” and discovers his “true self” as the novel unfolds: these are all devices I have seen before, either on television or in novels or in both. I understand that this is a coming-of-age novel, but I want more from authors. In the era of L. H. Anderson’s Chains and Forge, Philbrick’s Homer P. Figg, and M. T. Anderson’s Octavian Nothing, the bar has been raised for historical fiction. Starfish reads like an old dusty book off of the shelf: informative, occasionally enlightening, but rather old-fashioned and slow.

2011-02-02T03:49:00.000-08:00

Landon, Kristen. The Limit. Aladdin, 2010. 291 pages. ISBN 13: 978-1-4424-0271-3. This book is for grades 6 and up, or ages 12 and up, depending on reading level (3 stars out of 4).

Dystopia is the new vampire, which in turn was the new wizard, which in turn was the new Lemony Snicket. Now that The Hunger Games series has reminded the YA reading audience how much fun and how powerful dystopias can be, many authors (and publishers, who tend to like whatever is popular and whatever people will buy) have clamored to get in on the act. Some very good books, like James Dashner’s Maze Runner series, have continued the dystopia tradition well. The latest entry is The Limit by Kristen Landon, and although I do not think it will be a series, it is a story for our times that presents a frighteningly realistic look at our future, in which we become so powerless over debt that we allow our children to pay our way.

Thirteen-year-old Matt Dunston is great at math, but his skill cannot save his family from Federal Debt Ordinance 169-D. In Matt’s world, probably only a few years removed from our own, everyone has a “limit,” a financial ceiling that no one may exceed. If a family does spend over its limit, the government has the right to force reduced spending by limiting credit, or to take one or more of the family’s children to a workhouse so the child or children can work to pay off the family’s debt faster. After an embarrassing scene at the supermarket in which the clerk had to deny a purchase because the Dunston family limit had been reached, Mrs. Dunston and her children return home to find a shiny black limousine sitting in front of the house. Sensing what is going to happen, Mrs. Dunston fearfully turns to Matt, her oldest son and therefore the vulnerable one: “She gave my thigh a tense squeeze. ‘Whatever happens, remember I love you. We’re going to fix it’” (34). Instead of fixing it, Matt is whisked away to a workhouse and tested. Fortunately for Matt, he is a very talented young man and therefore qualifies for the “Top Floor,” in which kids live in apparent luxury with seemingly limitless spending accounts. However, after Matt overhears a possibly dangerous conversation between the authorities and one of the other Top Floor children begins getting crippling headaches, Matt starts to wonder about the true nature of the workhouse: “Headaches. Crab Woman’s [the main lobby guard] voice from the night before grated like gravel in my mind: It was easier when they just got headaches. You going to have to dump this one too?’” (72). When Matt starts using his impressive math and problem solving skills to investigate and hack into some systems, he finds much more than he bargained for, and danger may be closer than he thinks.

Like Haddix’s Shadow Children series, The Limit by Kristen Landon highlights a new twist in the dystopia genre, in Landon’s case, a financial element that makes children fiscally responsible for their parents’ sins. Completely unsurprising in an age in which YA novels often feature functional children of dysfunctional parents, this new preoccupation is perfectly appropriate for the times. After all, don’t our children always pay for our actions, whether it is by cleaning up the environment, fighting our wars, or assuming our debts? Also, the Dunstons are a perfect example of the post-digital family: Mom consumes but is clueless about her consumption; children are glued to electronics, and Dad seems to recklessly live larger than his means, buying and spending thoughtlessly. Although underdeveloped in the novel, the family symbolizes America’s stubborn denial that we as a country have lived too large for too long. Its helplessness is our helplessness over a financial system that has been stretched too thinly for too long. The Limit by Kristen Landon is a fine suspense novel, but its success relies less on quality writing and plot development and more on a disturbing idea that we understand but do not internalize: eventually, our children will pay for our bloated lifestyles, and that payment may come sooner, and be harsher, than we think.

2011-02-02T03:47:00.000-08:00

When I started reviewing books for this column I sent most of the major publishers a letter asking for advance review copies of new YA novels. Most companies ignored me, but Scholastic put me on their list. I try not to review their books more often than anyone else’s and I certainly never allow their generosity to influence my opinion. However, I must thank Scholastic, because had I not been receiving its advance copies I would not know about many of their very accessible and readable series they publish for the 8-12 tweener crowd. Targeted mostly for girls, these series have a middle class, suburban feel and they tell simple, fun stories. Lacking the edginess of the Bluford or Hazelwood High series, Scholastic’s offerings are more Disney than Twilight, and they have a broad appeal, especially for the surprisingly healthy number of patrons not interested in or not allowed to read books containing violence, cursing, and mature situations. I recently read two new series and liked them both. One of the series, B Magical, was released in 2009 as Spelling B but I confess that I missed it the first time around.

Connor, Lexi. B Magical: The Missing Magic. Scholastic, 2011, originally published 2009. 130 pages. ISBN 13: 978-0-545-11736-4. This book is for grades 4 to 6, or ages 8 to 12, depending on reading level.

When Beatrix (friends call her B) turned eleven, she expected to get her magic like everyone else in her family of witches. B expected to be able to make up a rhyming couplet to cast a spell like her parents and her big sister Dawn, but B is at a loss as to why she has been singled out for shame and weakness. When B wanders into Dawn’s room and finds her in a make-up and fashion session with her witch friends, she is asked by the friends to display some of her “newbie magic,” but B is terrified because she may have to reveal that she doesn’t have any magic, newbie or otherwise: “B panicked. She opened her mouth to say she couldn’t, then clamped it shut again. There had to be a way out of this mess!” (37). When Mr. Bishop, B’s new replacement English teacher, proposes a spelling bee and offers tickets to the hottest concert in town for the winner, B is determined to be the best speller in school, even if it means overcoming her terrible fear of speaking in public. However, ironically, being the best speller may spell out disaster for B and the contest when the tickets go missing, the expected culprit may actually be innocent, and all signs point to disaster for B unless she can solve the mystery.

Daly, Catherine R. Petal Pushers. Scholastic, 2011. ISBN 13: 978-0-545-21450-6. This book is for grades 4 to 6, or ages 8 to 12, depending on reading level.

Life is about to turn upside down for Del (short for Delphinium) Bloom and her family. Del’s grandparents own the only flower shop in their small New Hampshire town but they have decided to retire in Florida. Del has worked at Flowers on Fairfield for a while and is both organized and responsible. But her creative mother, with help from English professor Dad, has decided to run the store on a trial basis much to Del’s chagrin. Del is not convinced that her parents can make this work, and she starts to sound like her old, curmudgeonly Aunt Lily as she fears that the store will be lost: “Yeah, I thought to myself rather meanly, things will be much better with both Mr. and Mrs. Disorganized in charge . . . I didn’t like the way things were going. Not one bit” (51). Del begins to worry even more when she finds out Fleur, a fancy new 21^st-Century flower shop, opens in town. Things reach a fever pitch when Del discovers that her arch-rival, the mean Ashley Edwards, is a member of the biggest wedding party of the year, and that party may be leaning towards using the brand new mall flower shop. Complicating matters even more is Hamilton, a new boy at school who may be Del’s first legitimate crush but may also be whisked away by the vicious Ashley. Del must not only work hard to save the sale and the shop, she must also learn to be more flexible in her thinking if she wants to save her relationships with her family, friends, and potential crushes.

2011-02-02T03:45:00.000-08:00

Mass, Wendy. The Candymakers. Little, Brown & Co., 2010. 453 pages. ISBN 13: 978-0-316-00258-5. This book is appropriate for grades 4 and up, or ages 9 and older, depending on reading level and interests (3 1/2 out of 4 stars).

I felt like a fan after meeting New Jersey author Wendy Mass at the NJASL convention last month, and I confess that I am reviewing her new, excellent page-turner The Candymakers from a signed copy, but I will try not to let those facts color my opinion of what is a fine addition to Ms. Mass’s repertoire. Author of noted tweener works like A Mango-Shaped Space (2003), the tweener take on Groundhog Day (the movie), 11 Birthdays (2009), and my personal favorite, the definitive, modern YA boy-finds-father-and-finds-himself, coming-of-age novel Jeremy Fink and the Meaning of Life (2006), Ms. Mass has obviously done some homework in preparing for her surprisingly fresh take on the ins and outs of the candy making industry, and she has stepped up the level of her writing in the process. Ingredients and confectionary processes are described with the ease that results from research, and characters are both developed with gusto and interwoven with craft, incorporating intricate, detailed plot mapping. Feeling like a fantasy but grounded in reality, cinematic in scope and exciting like a thriller, The Candymakers may be a surprise hit to everyone but those, like readers of this column, who know and admire Ms. Mass’s work.

The stakes are high when the Confectionary Association announces the four twelve-year-old local contestants in the annual contest to create and produce a new candy. Odds seem to favor the Candymaker’s son, Logan, but there is something Logan either does not know or does not understand, something disturbing and conspicuous that Miles, the quiet but sincere contestant with the mysterious backpack, is drawn to upon their first meeting: “In an instant, Miles knew he wanted more than anything to be this boy’s friend. It wasn’t because he felt sorry for him or anything like that. Logan radiated something that felt like goodness. In a weird way, he made Miles feel peaceful” (138). Although Logan seems to be damaged, all four characters carry their baggage partly for the world to see and partly hidden, sometimes even from themselves and their own families. Daisy, a seemingly bouncy and vivacious girl, holds surprisingly powerful secrets and seems to possess unusual strength, while Philip seems to be spoiled, rich kid who expects to win because of his ruthless and insensitive attitude, molded by his Machiavellian older brother and father, but he is hiding something in his notebook that, if revealed, could rock his world and change everything, something known only known by a trusted family servant, Reggie, the Alfred to Philip’s Batman: “He hated that Reggie knew his secret. He supposed it was inevitable, though. Reggie had been a constant shadow since the day his mother died, when he was three” (258). Although the four contestants at the Life Is Sweet Candy Factory do not know it, their fates will intertwine in ways unexpected by any of them, and their individual success will be dependent upon a shifting set of criteria and expectations unforeseen by all.

Ms. Mass does not insult her audience, she fills its voids. I wondered when I saw the length of this work. At 452 pages, I initially feared that students would be scared off, or that the author simply wrote too much or that her editor did not have enough discipline with her red pen. Happily, my fears were groundless. Ms. Mass deftly creates and energizes four distinct characters, each with enough surprises and angst to carry them through to the end of a long novel. In a creative and innovative fashion (for this genre), she characterizes not only through the actions of her characters but also by those characters’ reactions to each other. Also, the length is welcome, not scary. I have many students who, by reading Harry Potter and Twilight, have demonstrated that they will read long novels. Length is not intimidating, reading level, vocabulary, and sophistication of structure are. With The Candymakers, Wendy Mass has given the candy making industry, a topic that felt hackneyed after Willy Wonka, a new perspective and spin for the modern reader. I predict much popularity in my libraries for The Candymakers; I had better go make some room on my Fiction “M” shelf and buy two or three more copies.

2011-02-02T03:41:00.000-08:00

Gosselink, John. The Defense of Thaddeus A. Ledbetter. Amulet Books, 2010. 228 pages. ISBN 13: 978-0-8109-8977-1. This book is appropriate for grades 5 and up, or ages 10 and older, depending on reading level and interests. This is also an excellent high-low selection (3 stars out of 4).

Although Jeff Kinney’s illustrations, explanations and angst are simplistic, he has created a sensation with the Wimpy Kid series, so like the spate of fantasies after Harry Potter and the glut of vampire books that followed Twilight, I expected an overabundance of quickly constructed, poorly conceived, and hastily drawn, derivative imitations of Greg Heffley all over the publishing world. Either the publishers did not think anyone else could catch lightning in a bottle like Mr. Kinney, or authors just have not produced, because up until now, I have not had copycat series or stand-alone novels to recommend. However, Austin, Texas, educator John Gosselink must have his finger on the pulse of something, because I am confident that the Wimpy Kid crowd will quickly latch onto his first novel, The Defense of Thaddeus A. Ledbetter. Its freestyle approach, quirky illustrations, and intentionally juvenile, faux-official look will entertain its readers as much as the main character frustrates his school community (and occasionally his readers as well).

Thaddeus A. Ledbetter (soon to be Esq. as he is quick to point out) feels he has received a bum rap. If you ask this precocious twelve-year-old, he will tell you that he is a repeat victim of circumstance, punished for trying to help his fellow man. However, after incidents in which he nearly sets fire to his pastor, causes $50,000.00 in damage to Crooked Creek Middle School, and instigates a series of events culminating in Thaddeus’s bus attacking an obese bystander mistaken for a Volkswagen Beetle (among other absurd and outrageous incidents in which Thaddeus is involved), the beleaguered Principal Cooper sends Thaddeus to his own, personal In-School Suspension for his entire seventh grade year. From ISS, Thaddeus mounts his “defense,” a series of documents featuring quirky illustrations that he submits regularly to Mr. Cooper in lieu of any of the actual schoolwork he is assigned (and mostly ignores). For example, when Thaddeus lobbies for an “important student lane” that would allow important students, like Thaddeus, to get around the building, Mr. Cooper, as frustrated as anyone over the maelstrom that seems to thrive in and around Thaddeus, still responds with level-headed wisdom: “Who and what determines who the ‘important’ students are? I have a feeling you would volunteer for such an assignment, but we like to think all of our students here at Crooked Creek are important” (20). Thaddeus is a loose cannon who must be stopped, but there are reasons for his unusual and obsessive behavior that must be considered. After all, he is only twelve and should not be able to disrupt the world all that much, he does occasionally make a lot of sense, and there should be services available for students who have trouble operating efficiently within the normal confines of the school environment. When a campaign is mounted to free Thaddeus from his “imprisonment” (one part of Thaddeus’s portfolio is his “prison journal”) Mr. Cooper and the rest of the adults surrounding Thaddeus must decide if they can forgive and move on, or if Thaddeus must, for his safety and the safety of the community, stay in ISS.

I was entertained by The Defense of Thaddeus A. Ledbetter, and I laughed frequently at the protagonist’s antics with the same laughter I normally reserve for The Three Stooges or Lucille Ball. John Gosselink has written a slapstick book, complete with over the top villains, colorful guest stars, and hapless heroes who, despite their best intentions, just cannot catch a break. However, there is an underside to this work: the kid is downright annoying. Thaddeus is every teacher’s and administrator’s nightmare, and he is allowed, in this unrealistic school setting, to run amok. He is asked, not required, to do his work, and he is not provided school services until much later than indicated. Thaddeus’s behavior is obnoxious and obsessive-compulsive, neither normal nor acceptable. I laughed at Thaddeus, but not always with him; although I do not think tweeners will care or notice, I found his behavior occasionally infuriating. Despite my problems with the protagonist’s attitude, I still like The Defense of Thaddeus A. Ledbetter by John Gosselink, and I will still recommend it; it is a bit more edgy than Diary of a Wimpy Kid, more for the older tweener rather than the younger one.

2010-12-03T11:14:00.000-08:00

Grant, Michael. The Magnificent 12 Book One: The Call. Katherine Tegen Books, 2010. 243 pages. ISBN 13: 978-0-06-183366-3. This book is for grades 5 to 8, or ages 10 to 14, depending on reading level (3 1/2 stars out of 4).

There is no shortage of fantasy on the YA shelves in late 2010. The Harry Potter/Twilight phenomenon has spawned a whole cast (all puns intended to the work of P. C. Cast, one of the most popular fantasy authors in my middle school library) of second generation wizards and vampire-wolf-zombies, and I would speak more about them if I knew more. However, frequent readers of this column know that I do not review much fantasy because I do not like it. I comprehend fantasy’s popularity, I respect its quality authors, and I buy a healthy amount of new and classic fantasy for my students, but like ballet and cooked spinach, I understand their importance but I do not appreciate them. I make no apologies for my likes and dislikes, but I try my best to be fair when a new series comes along that I could review. I am always surprised when I like a fantasy, but The Call, the first book of the new series The Magnificent 12 by Michael Grant, is the kind of work that everyone can like: it is funny, its characters are charming even when they are unsuccessful, and an unlikely hero a la The Karate Kid gets to be a star, even though he is seemingly an ordinary kid.

David “Mack” MacAvoy does not want or need to be a hero. Frankly, he does not believe he could handle it anyway; he is mediocre in every way, surely not the stuff of heroes. However, even though he is medium regular in seemingly every way, there is another side to him that will eventually save his life: “His eyes were brown, too, which is the most common eye color in the world. But there was something else about his eyes. They were eyes that noticed things. Mack didn’t miss much” (3). After nearly getting killed by the guild of bullies at Sedona’ Arizona’s Richard Gere Middle School, he saves the life and arm of Stefan Marr, king bully, who misses Mack with a punch and instead punches a window. Shortly thereafter, a strange man named Grimluk informs Mack that he is actually a member of the Magnifica, a group of twelve guardians who have kept the Pale Queen and her minions trapped for 3,000 years. Grimluk is the last of the old guard, and Mack is charged with finding and assembling the new twelve so they can re-defeat the Pale Queen, aka the Dread Foe, and her evil but alluring daughter, Princess Ereskigal. Stefan the bully decides that Mack is now “under his wing” and he becomes Mack’s protector. Mack is mysteriously provided a replacement for himself at home, a Golem made of mud that looks and sounds exactly like Mack, so Grimluk implores Mack to enlist his newfound brethren around the world: “‘You must go! Now! For the enemy has your scent, and although the Dread Foe is still bound within her subterranean lair, her minions [six races of monsters] run riot” (87). Mack must save the world from an enemy he does not know with a group of people he has never met, traveling with his former bully across the world at age twelve. Who know life could be so exciting for “ordinary” people?

This book is a funny, clever romp and I enjoyed it from beginning to end. It is clearly the first in a series that could get as prolific as the Series of Unfortunate Events. Mr. Grant has Lemony Snicket’s love of language and sarcasm, two passions students have demonstrated they enjoy. The Golem starts a great feature about halfway through the book in which he begins a journal of his experiences that the audience gets to see; it is dramatic irony at its most hilarious, and one can just imagine what will happen to Mack when he attempts to return to his “normal” life and replaces his Golem. Mack is a perfect Everyman, a regular guy asked to be extraordinary and trying his darnedest to not let the world down. Cliffhangers and/or the Golem’s journal entries help to propel each chapter end, while colorful enemies dot the book’s landscape and give Mack a reason to feel more empowered; each day he lives, he figures he just might be better than the bad guys. The back story is effectively woven into the story with humorous flashbacks of Grimluk’s childhood so that the insanity Mack feels is not as insane in the mind of the reader. Also, if an elegant and sophisticated website is the sign of a good book (www.themag12.com) then this is the best work of the millennium; the website is very cool. Michael Grant has created a winner in The Magnificent 12; I hope he can maintain the pace and humor levels enough to last through all twelve participants.

2010-12-03T11:08:00.000-08:00

Barnes, Derrick. We Could Be Brothers. Scholastic Press, 2010. 164 pages. ISBN 13: 978-0-545-13573-3. This book is for grades 6 to 8, or ages 12 to 14, depending on reading level. This is an excellent high-low selection, rated 4.4 reading level (3 1/2 stars out of 4).

I have frequently lamented our lack of good high-low fiction, especially for boys and especially for people of color, but last month’s The Cruisers by Walter Dean Myers and this month’s We Could Be Brothers by Kansas City’s Derrick Barnes have given me hope. However, I had an intriguing problem while reading Mr. Barnes’ engaging short novel: I did not know all of the slang. I was suddenly back in college English class, reading the first page of James Joyce’s Ulysses and trying to figure out what “Chrysostomos” is. When the two main characters in We Could Be Brothers talk about giving each other “dap,” I have no idea what they mean. I assume my students know what they mean, but it bothers and intrigues me that I do not. I could probably infer the meaning of it, but I found myself caught off-guard; Mr. Barnes either has his laptop firmly on the pulse of the youth of America, or he is using last year’s “in” words and comes across as corny. I like the experience of treading on new linguistic ground, and I will ask some of my middle schoolers if “dap” means what I think it means. I applaud Mr. Barnes for giving his characters authentic voices; at least, they sound authentic to me. Although their actions are sometimes too pat and pleasing to the continuity and message of the storyline, at least they do not sound like me trying to sound like I am an urban 13-year-old.

Robeson Battlefield wonders if he will ever see Kansas City’s Alain Locke Middle School again after his bad fortune: Robeson has been assigned to dreaded Post-School Suspension for three days. He must travel down the Bermuda Hallway to a dusty, dingy room in which he must sort papers for the unpleasant and insensitive Mr. Patt. However, it turns out that one of PSS’s mainstays, tough-guy-type Pacino Clapton, may not be as street as he seems. And Rosilyn, who shares her Literature class, is fine, in the most attractive sense of the word. When the three middle schoolers start to know each other, they discover that one thing separating them is language. For example, Robeson refuses to be called the N word and substituting “brotha” seems plastic to Pacino; however, he agrees: “Pacino looked at me like he couldn’t care less. ‘Whatever, brotha. That just ain’t the way I get down. But if you want me to call you brotha, I will. Nobody will believe we’re really brothas anyway’” (59-60). Difficult at first, and coming from “different sides of the tracks” the boys nevertheless begin to form an unlikely friendship, partially because of a mutual enemy, the troubled and dangerous Tariq Molten, bad news even to the street-wise Pacino: “‘Tariq’s mama’s an alcoholic. He’s had about ten stepdaddies, and I hear that almost all of them whupped his butt on the daily . . . Every now and then, his grandma will come get him, I hear. But then he’ll do something stupid again and end up right back in trouble. I think even his granny has given up on him’” (65). Although neither young man will admit his fear, both of them know that tangling with Tariq is not in anyone’s best interest, and both of them know the confrontation will eventually occur. However, Robeson may have a surprise or two up his sleeve, rendering him less helpless than he appears, and Pacino may not be as tough and fearsome as the image he portrays to the world.

Mr. Barnes’ new effort is a solid read, drawing readers into the characters’ very different worlds seamlessly. Character development is a bit slow, but the action is fast-paced and exciting. The themes of empowerment, personal and neighborhood responsibility, and staying true to oneself are modeled well, and refreshingly, with the exception of Tariq’s family and the PSS teacher, the adults act like adults you would want to hang out at the barber shop and kibbitz with. They form an action group to assist in the community and are respected by most folks in town. They are parents to emulate, not fear or abhor. Although I feel that the story wraps up a little too nicely and the once imperfect parts by the end seem a little too new and improved, We Could Be Brothers by Derrick Barnes presents an excellent model for an exemplary way to live and lead: take care of yourself and take care of your brothers, and remember that everyone is your brother.

2010-11-03T15:05:00.000-07:00

Grisham, John. Theodore Boone, Kid Lawyer. Dutton Children’s Books, 2010. 263 pages. ISBN 13: 978-0-525-42384-3. This book is for grades 4 and up, or ages 9 and up, depending on reading level (3 stars out of 4).

I am always happy to see adult authors cross over into YA literature. Although success is not automatic any time an author chooses a new venue or genre, more established authors like Francine Prose, Carl Hiassen, and in this case, John Grisham, risk less than others because their name recognition helps to sell books. I admit that the main reason I picked up Theodore Boone, Kid Lawyer is because John Grisham is the author. Mr. Grisham is the king of the American legal thriller, and although I do not read much popular fiction due to time constraints, I confess to being up until 3:45 am on a school night many years ago reading The Firm until my eyes blurred, dying to know how it ends. Not since the Dan Brown phenomenon have I felt that kind of excitement about a bestseller. Although his first foray into YA is not perfect, Mr. Grisham does a capable job of making the intricacies and intimacies of the legal world refreshingly understandable and sensible.

Theo Boone is only 13, but he already feels he is at the top of his game. His only desire in life is to become a trial attorney, and he knows every lawyer, judge, and police officer in town. Theo also dispenses legal advice like Encyclopedia Brown, and he is a good resource to have if your sister or dad get into a little trouble. However, when the biggest murder case in 50 years engulfs the town, Theo inadvertently gets involved when a friend, the relative of an illegal immigrant, reveals that he may have previously unknown information relevant to the case. Theo may be in over his head when he is sworn to secrecy but desperately feels the need to see justice served: “How could it be that he, Theodore Boone, knew the truth about the Duffy murder . . . The town’s biggest crime since something bad happened back in the 1950s, and he, Theo, was suddenly in the middle of it” (119). Theo must seek help from normally unreliable sources, most specifically his estranged and mysteriously disgraced Uncle Ike, and he is desperate to find a way to keep his word and ensure that a guilty man does not walk free. However, the menacing Omar Cheepe, working for the defense, seems to be lurking around every corner, spying on Theo and everyone else.

John Grisham has a way of making the law come alive. In his nimble hands, the legal system is an orderly, logical, time-honored system that usually dispenses justice. I admire and appreciate Mr. Grisham for bringing that gift to YA literature; I am confident that legal hounds of all ages will appreciate the style in which Mr. Grisham personalizes and simplifies the law. I love that element of this novel, almost certainly the first in a series. However, there is a down side to the protagonist. Theo Boone is a great kid. He’s the judge’s favorite, he’s the teacher’s favorite, he’s the secretary’s favorite, and since he is an only child, he is his parents’ favorite. Although it’s great to be a great kid, the bar seems to be set a bit high in Theodore Boone, Kid Lawyer (all puns intended!). Perfect heroes who always feel the pressure of their futures bearing down on them place too much pressure on students just learning how to perform well. I regret that Theo Boone has to overachieve so much, has to work so hard at being liked, has to try so hard to be accepted, all so that he does not lose himself. His parents are successful attorneys, so his desire to pursue that profession is unsurprising. But Theo is driven by other desires and motivations, and I would feel better if Mr. Grisham took more time in this first novel to fill in his protagonist a little more. What, I wondered throughout the novel, is the side of Theo he does not show to his family, friends, and mentors? However, despite Theo’s imperfections, I enjoyed Theodore Boone, Kid Lawyer. It moves quickly enough, the action is satisfying, and the characters are likable. With healthy and clear explanations of basic law and courtroom protocol and concepts, it will bring the legal system to life for many young people, and our students deserve the right to understand the basics of the law; we all need it sooner or later.

2010-11-03T15:02:00.000-07:00

Schutz, Samantha. You Are Not Here. Push, 2010. 292 pages. ISBN 13: 978-0-545-16911-0. This book is for grades 8 and up, or ages 13 and up, depending on reading level. This book contains graphic situations and language (2 stars out of 4).

I have featured the chasm between guys and gals in this column before, and few if any discerning readers would argue that some books are targeted to males and some to females, while the remainder are targeted to the largest possible audience with money to spend. In my opinion, You Are Not Here by Samantha Schutz is clearly a “girl book.” The protagonist loves her tragic figure even though he does not satisfy her emotionally or socially, and I do not know why. When I was a teenager, you actually had to be nice to potential mates if you wanted them to like you and hang out with you. I am definitely from Mars, and that may contribute to my ignorance, but I think my lack of understanding says something about what people are willing to tolerate for the illusion of love. Annaleah sacrifices her friends and her life for an occasional rendezvous with an unpredictable (but charming and cute) guy who practically ignores her most of the time. Is that what we are reduced to? Is that social networking’s legacy? Is that the gnarled fruit the Blackberry has yielded. I sure hope not.

Annaleah and Brian would have ended up together—Annaleah is sure of it; well, almost sure. Their relationship, the first fully physical one for Annaleah, had its pros and cons to be sure, but Annaleah was sure she loved Brian, even though he seemed to treat her offhandedly at best; even though he excluded her from his life; even though he had no problem sleeping with her and then standing her up without proper explanation; even though Annaleah’s friends neither knew nor trusted him. Brian was practically a shadow to everyone but Annaleah, who had projected a whole life and future onto him. So Annaleah is devastated when Brian suddenly dies and leaves Annaleah with a thousand “what ifs.” What if they were meant for each other and now Annaleah’s fate and future have been shattered? What if Annaleah was wasting her time with a person who obviously showed no commitment to her? What if she can never love again? What if the grief, not able to be shared with anyone, never ends? What if her father never returns, and she can never resolve her relationships with anyone? What if her friends give up on her and move on without her? Although Annaleah acknowledges that she is a more experienced person due to her grief, she cannot help but define herself through the prism of hopeless love: “I don’t / have the energy to do anything besides watch TV, read, and visit Brian . . . Being alone somehow seems safer . . . My perspective is changed. / I don’t / think I can come back from that” (144). Annaleah must find a way to grieve and move on, or she will forever be mired in the malaise that seems to permeate every crack in her imperfect world.

Although in the past I had been wary of prose-poem novels, I was heartened over the last few years by such fine selections as Burg’s All the Broken Pieces and by Nelson’s Carver: A Life in Poems, so I am no longer afraid to read them. However, if the author chooses poetry as a medium, I expect the poetry to be tight and effective, and I was disappointed on both counts with Samantha Schutz’s new work You Are Not Here. Her use of concrete imagery to create setting and background was incomplete, so I never felt a true sense of place. I saw no particular reason to tell this story in verse, especially when it is neither pointedly descriptive nor freshly told. The narrator is believable as a depressed teenager distraught over the unexpected death of her occasional lover and even more occasional boyfriend, but I never get to know Annaleah well enough, because of the sparseness of full development that poetry invites, to know why Brian moved her so much; I thought he was a jerk from beginning to end. As a male reader, I was furious that Brian elicited so much grief from Annaleah that he did not deserve. Annaleah seems like an attractive, friendly, desirable young woman; why did she devote so much time to a loser? Is she trying to recreate her father in her life? Does she expect to be abandoned by Brian like her father abandoned her 15 years earlier? Does being cute really matter that much? Am I just being jealous? Like the proverbial question about how many licks it takes to get to the Tootsie Roll center of a Tootsie Pop, the world may never know. For the record, the fact that I do not think the book features effective, engaging poetry does not mean my students will not like it; I will recommend it to my Lurlene McDaniel crowd: older middle schoolers who are looking for a romance and don’t mind crying.

2010-09-28T20:20:00.000-07:00

Collins, Suzanne. Mockingjay: The Final Book of The Hunger Games. Scholastic, 2010 (4 stars out 4!)

Sometimes an artist achieves recognition by being in the right place at the right time, usually due to superior skill and ingenuity. But we know it takes more than just skill to create excellence; for every Beatles, there are thousands of other talented bands never heard by anyone outside of their respective Liverpools. Musicians like The Beatles, Elvis Presley and Michael Jackson articulated the narrative of their respective generations; artists like Andy Warhol and Robert Rauschenberg reinvigorated the way we see everyday objects; and writers such as Laurie Halse Anderson and Kevin Brooks have redefined the boundaries of young adult literature. All of the artists listed above produced major works at the “right time,” a moment in history peculiarly suited to their craft. Upon the publication of Mockingjay, the impressive end to the Hunger Games trilogy, Suzanne Collins has struck gold in 1848 California, writing the perfect book for this generation recognized for its wars, recessions, paranoia, xenophobia, intolerance, and dying decadence.

Katniss Everdeen just cannot catch a break. After being miraculously rescued from her latest foray into the Hunger Games arena only to find out her rescue was a carefully orchestrated plan by rebel leaders to begin a coup d’etat, she has been asked to be the face of the revolution, a role with which she is very uncomfortable. But Peeta, her public (and perhaps private as well) boyfriend has been captured by the Capitol, and Katniss is at the mercy of the leaders of the mysterious District 13, her new but untrustworthy compatriots. Katniss agrees to be the Mockingjay, the orchestrated and embellished voice and face of the revolution, but only so she can save Peeta and stay in the fight to kill President Snow. When former Head Gameskeeper Plutarch Heavensbee describes rebel President Coin’s plan to establish a republic just like our Roman ancestors (names and historical circumstances are freely borrowed from the best and worst of our Roman ancestry for this series), Katniss expresses skepticism: “Frankly, our ancestors don’t seem much to brag about. I mean, look at the state they left us in, with the wars and the broken planet. Clearly, they didn’t care about what would happen to the people who came after them” (84). Katniss knows she is a pawn in a bigger game, one she does not fully comprehend. However, in order to save herself, her loved ones, and her world, she must face challenges and decisions even more deadly and wrenching than her experiences in the ring during the Hunger Games.

I have never been more concerned about spoiling the plot than I was when writing the previous paragraph. I did not even read the feature article in the August 2010 School Library Journal until today (mid-September 2010) for fear of ruining even a small part of the story. I savored every delicious morsel of this novel, with its end-of-chapter cliffhangers and moral dilemmas around every terrifying corner. Suzanne Collins has written the morality play for her generation, the novel that, for today’s youth, defines the best and worst that humanity offers. Katniss bears the guilt and shame for the sins of her species nobly, alternating between unbridled fury directed at her puppetmasters and crippling remorse over the lives lost due to her actions and inactions. When brutalities like Michael Vick’s dogfights, Ultimate Fighting bouts, and the Jerry Springer Show clog the airwaves, how far off are the Hunger Games? Are we not entertained? Mockingjay confirms and solidifies Suzanne Collins’ place as one of the most influential writers of her time. Lionsgate purchased the film rights to The Hunger Games in 2009, so not only am I looking forward to Ms. Collins’ next book, I am also eager to see news about the film. I hope Ms. Collins is prepared to be very successful over the next few years.

2010-09-28T20:16:00.000-07:00

Myers, Walter Dean. The Cruisers. Scholastic, 2010 (3 1/2 stars out of 4).

My students love the Bluford High series as much as they enjoy A Child Called It by Dave Pelzer; the aforementioned selections are always the most requested at the beginning of the year by my middle schoolers. Although I admire his ability to survive deplorable circumstances, I cannot say that I enjoy Mr. Pelzer’s bizarre and disturbing tale; however, I love the Bluford books and I am always looking for comparable series. I originally bought Orca Currents and Soundings and reviewed several selections in this column a year or two ago. My students like the Orca books, but I seldom see in their eyes the excitement generated by the Bluford High (and occasionally Sharon Draper’s Hazelwood High) series. Therefore, I am thrilled that local legend Walter Dean Myers has decided to write The Cruisers, the first in a series of short, very readable novels about a group of smart slackers at a Harlem magnet school. I am gratified to see prominent authors step up and fill this important void in YA literature; it’s about time.

Most of the students attending Harlem’s DaVinci Academy for the Gifted and Talented compete and jockey for academic standing. However, Zander Scott and his friends LaShonda, Bobbi, and Kambui form the core the Cruisers, a group of unabashed underachievers who always seem on the verge of both success and failure simultaneously. The group prints and distributes an alternative newspaper that presents uncensored op-ed material without the harsh filter of the stereotypically mean and vindictive Assistant Principal Culpepper. The Cruisers’ patience, wisdom, and raison d’etre are challenged most strenuously when DaVinci Academy holds a mock Civil War and the Cruisers are charged with the monumental task of keeping the peace between the North and South. Mr. Culpepper is almost happy to see the group get such an improbable task: “‘She [Principal Maxwell] sees it as a final opportunity to prove you belong here. I see it as enough rope. If you get my drift’” (3). The project begins innocuously enough, but after bully Alvin McCraney forms the Sons of the Conspiracy and starts acting and speaking like a slaveowner (with the tacit approval of Mr. Culpepper), the Cruisers learn a powerful lesson from history: that slaveowners hid behind issues of property and free speech instead of openly addressing the immorality of slavery. By failing to include a moral element, Alvin and the Sons of the Confederacy could win the battle but lose their souls, almost like a drug addict selfishly satisfies the moment but does not want to be identified with his actions: “Maybe race was more like drugs than people thought. When they could use race it was good, but nobody wanted to own it when they got caught using it” (64). The Cruisers will have to learn history’s lessons well to successfully combat DaVinci’s widening racial divide without starting a huge fight and threatening their ability to attend the academy.

Young adult literature needs more 120-page, high-low books with urban backdrops, and Mr. Myers has the experience and skill to create effective stories regardless of length. The Cruisers is short but effective, and a series is promised and eagerly anticipated; the first few pages of the next installment appear at the end of this work. I enjoyed the chapter breaks, during which warring newspaper articles, journal entries, and poems cleverly highlight or illuminate the characters’ struggles and conflicts. The language feels real, and social networking is frequently employed for positive change, negative gossip, and both; it doesn’t get any more real than that. Each of the four main characters has an engaging backstory, and I believe my students will follow them with the same fervor they apply to authors like Paul Langan, Anne Schraaf, and Sharon Draper. Kudos to New Jersey native Walter Dean Myers for The Cruisers. Townsend Press, as supportive and generous as it is, had better watch its back.

2010-09-28T20:11:00.000-07:00

Haddon, Mark. Boom! (or 70,000 light years). David Fickling Books/ Random House Children’s Books, 2010 (first U.S. edition) (3 stars out of 4).

I cannot remember how many times I have rewritten my old poetry. Every couple of years, I cure my latest round of writer’s block by remembering that I wrote something like it (whatever poem I am writing at the time) in a notebook many years ago. I always find a way to make the piece better, not only because I get new and exciting ideas, but because I am a better writer now than I was when I originally wrote the poem. As long as our interest in writing remains high, we become better writers as we gain more experience. As related in the Foreword of his new novel Boom!, Mark Haddon, British author of the immensely charming The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time, has rewritten a YA novel he published in 1992 called Gridzbi Spudvetch! I did not even know Mr. Haddon was writing novels in 1992; since his prose in The Curious Incident . . . is so fresh, I assumed he was a new novelist. I do not know the original novel’s plot, intention, or concept, but Mr. Haddon has created, from the ashes of a long-forgotten novel, a likable story that pushes many of YA’s most important buttons: it has adventure, it has unlikely but fantastic action, it makes ordinary kids into heroes, and it is chock full of conspiracy theories.

When James’s (everybody calls him Jimbo) sister Becky tells him that his teachers are conspiring against him and that they are planning to send him to a reform school for his poor performance at school (minor to the objective observer but not to Jimbo), he and his best friend Charlie decide to place a walkie-talkie in the teachers’ lounge and listen to their conversations about Jimbo. When the teachers simply chat, Jim realizes he has been played by his sister until he and Charlie hear two of their teachers, Mrs. Pearce and Mr. Kidd, speaking in a strange language. After hearing their teachers say things like “Tractor bonting dross” and “Spudvetch!” to each other, they stumble upon a dangerous conspiracy of massive scope: “Forget Fenham [the reform school]. There was an adventure on its way, a nuclear-powered, one-hundred-ton adventure with reclining seats and a snack trolley. And it was pulling into the station right now” (29). When Charlie calls Jimbo in a panic and disappears the next day, Jimbo and Becky start the adventure of their lives, going first on a frantic motorcycle ride to Scotland, then to parts unknown. The siblings realize that what once seemed like a crazy intergalactic yarn is actually happening, and if they make the wrong move, not only may they inadvertently get Charlie killed, they may also get themselves killed by the burning blue light and the powerful brass bracelets the aliens (if they are aliens) wield so easily.

I confess that after reading his previous novel, I expected this work to be fresh, innovative, and original. Although I was generally disappointed on all three counts, that does not mean that Boom! is a poor novel, it’s just not new. As I read, I felt the influence of authors like Will Hobbs (Go Big or Go Home) and Adam Rex (The True Meaning of Smekday) sneaking in, making this novel fun, engaging, and somewhat exciting, but not unique for 2010. My students seldom care whether a book is original as long as it is a good read, so I will not levy any criticism against Boom! I enjoyed the story and I liked the pace, and I think my middle school students will appreciate them as well. I just wish Mr. Haddon had not set the bar so high with his first novel; I would have enjoyed this one more if I had never known what the author was truly capable of crafting.

2010-09-28T20:03:00.000-07:00

Feldman, Jody. The Seventh Level. Greenwillow Books, 2010 (3 stars out of 4).

I have long been disturbed by the idea of secret societies. From powerful ones like the neocon-based Federalist Society, to secret ones like the Masons and Dan Brown’s DaVinci Code-inspired Illuminati, to potentially fictional (but real-sounding) ones like Thomas Pynchon’s Tristero from the modern classic The Crying of Lot 49, I am disturbed by people’s need to publicly meet secretly. After all, I meet with my friends for board games every Thursday, but we don’t wear robes and perform time-honored rituals, unless mocking each other’s bald heads and lack of elegant, jet-setting lives can be considered ritualistic and not just corny, middle-aged attempts at humor. When Jody Feldman, author of The Seventh Level, introduced The Legend, a secret society at the protagonist’s middle school, I got nervous. However, Ms. Feldman makes it clear that she intends only good works and feelings to emanate from her quest to belong to the most secret (and cool!) society a middle school would ever want or need.

Travis Raines is used to trouble. He is not a bad kid but problems seem to follow him like a bad penny. After being blamed for a prank he did not do, one of his two best friends Matti explains to him why he always seems to be under suspicion: “’You know why,’ she says. ‘You draw attention to yourself, so you’re a perfect target. And you never get into big trouble, so people don’t feel guilty about aiming at you’” (105). So when this pre-growth-spurt 7^th grader at St. Louis’s Lauer Middle School (he’s still 4’6” while the rest of the world seems to be growing faster) gets a note from what looks the super-secret organization The Legend, he is both excited and suspicious. The Legend mysteriously sponsors and organizes the coolest activities ever conducted at a middle school, like cash grabs in glass booths, appearances by rock stars, and most importantly, fun but necessary food drives for those in need. The Legend seems to be sending him math and critical thinking puzzles to solve and offering him a road to membership, but unfortunately, when he makes progress on these challenges, Randall the school bully makes things tough on Travis, and every time Travis tries to follow the Legend’s directions, he seems to land in Mrs. Pinchon the disciplinarian’s office. However, as Travis gets more involved in his application for the Legend, he starts wondering if this “application” is actually the school bullies setting Travis up to get punked and in some real trouble he cannot cleverly talk his way out of, despite Mrs. Pinchon’s warnings that things are not always as they appear.

I like Travis Raines, and I know several shining examples of Travis at both of my schools. He is likable because his heart is pure despite his actions being somewhat less pristine, and he is charming in both his defeats and his victories. The plot’s pace picks up well as the story continues, and I am confident that my middle schoolers will appreciate the way Travis both solves the critical thinking problems (after, I hope, my students solve them on their own) and gradually discerns the truth about his future path. Also, there are enough twists and turns in the storyline to keep interested middle schoolers reasonably occupied as Travis contemplates whether he is capable of and worthy of the honor that seems to be bestowed upon him. However, do not look for creativity and originality in this work: Travis’s story is not unique, and his charm and charisma do not completely lift this pedestrian plot out of its mediocre design and execution. Like The Princess Plot by Kirsten Boie, The Seventh Level by Jody Feldman is fun and occasionally exciting, but seldom original or challenging.

2010-05-31T16:22:00.000-07:00

Quick, Matthew. Sorta Like a Rock Star. Little, Brown and Co., 2010. 355 pages (3 stars out of 4). This novel contains a few isolated examples of potentially offensive language.

One notable element in the recently reviewed 8^th Grade Superzero by Olugbemisola Rhuday-Perkovich is that at times, while working at the local homeless shelter, it is difficult to determine who is homeless and who is not. The novel reminded me that homelessness is a condition that can strike anyone at any time he or she receives a difficult blow. In his first YA novel, Matthew Quick paints homelessness with this brush, and his main character and her mother are products of bad luck and fate just as much as by their own actions and/or inactions. Whether or not a student behaves and quietly does her work is not so much a priority if that same child has not eaten for 24 hours or more, and acting out may not be totally inappropriate for someone wearing the same unwashed underwear for a week or more. We all feel compassion for those less fortunate than ourselves and we all want to help, but sometimes, the homeless will not let us into their worlds. I appreciate Mr. Quick for giving me a glimpse into homelessness that does not at all times feel realistic, but that clearly rings more true than false. He has also written a pretty good first YA novel, featuring (increasingly frequent in YA literature) positive Christian themes and a character who has a personal realtionship with God in the novel; several skillful examples of foreshadowing and suspense; and well-planned prose that meets the needs of the protagonist: stream-of-consciousness and rich when she is “on,” sparse and empty when she is down.

Amber Appleton is seventeen and a living contradiction. She lives in the school bus her mother drives that she calls Hello Yellow, but she has established many homes away from this temporary abode: she showers, changes, and sometimes eats at her autistic friend’s house, she spends afternoons either volunteering at a seniors’ home, teaching Korean women to sing soul songs in English at church, drinking tea with a haiku-writing, Zen-minded Vietnam Vet, or hanging out with her friends, the Franks Freak Force, a.k.a. The Five. Amazingly, Amber seems to keep it together, in spite of the tremendous odds stacked against her due to her condition, and her obvious and most influential handicap: an alcoholic mother who has almost completely given up on life. Amber seems to accept this fate with optimism sometimes, realism other times: “I mean, it’s a pretty pathetic story, and I’m not really all that proud to be my mom’s daughter right now. Homelessness reflects badly on both of us. True? True . . . [however] Mom is sure to come through one of these days” (8). Amber has role models in her life, and she dreams of attending Bryn Mawr College and Harvard Law School, but when an unexpected tragedy occurs, Amber must spend all of her energy just keeping herself from slipping into the same abyss that caused her homelessness. With a Nietzsche quote in mind, that people are particularly vulnerable when they spend all of their time on guard (like people who harbor a secret about being homeless), Amber must summon all of her energy to reinvent herself, or accept the same fate as her broken family.

Last year, I wrote about the increasing frequency of the theme of highly functional kids enduring highly dysfunctional parents in YA literature, exemplified by novels such as Lisa Yee’s Absolutely Maybe, in which the protagonist’s mother emotionally abandons her, and Linda Urban’s A Crooked Kind of Perfect, in which the protagonist’s father is autistic. Unlike some characters who are intentionally or blatantly abusive, neglectful, troublesome, or merely highly embarrassing (like the Elizabethan-era garb of Hamlet’s parents in the recently reviewed The Total Tragedy of a Girl Named Hamlet), Mom tries as hard as she can, which is not nearly enough because of her alcoholism, beaten-down spirit, lack of skills, attraction to toxic men, and bad luck. However, despite adverse conditions, her daughter is able to survive by planting roots not at her own nonexistent home but at the homes of others, from a Korean Catholic priest to a haiku-writing Vietnam vet to a seniors’ home to a little-respected Marketing teacher to a single-parent power attorney and her autistic son. Amber Appleton’s ability to form alliances, innovate, and charm the competition creates appeal across a wide spectrum of folks, and her mistakes and faults are felt across that spectrum as well. If it takes a village to raise a child, then despite some bumps and bruises, the Philly suburb of Childress does alright in raising Amber Appleton. The school scenes are sometimes unrealistic in the way Amber and her supporters treat the principal and school board, and some events are a little too convenient, making the story seem a bit contrived at times. But despite these minor flaws, easily forgiven for a new writer, I applaud Matthew Quick and his first YA novel Sorta Like a Rock Star for normalizing homelessness with humor; it reminds us that hardship we cannot even imagine is probably closer to our lives than we think, that mistakes bring us closer, and that a little human kindness goes a long way.

2010-05-31T16:18:00.000-07:00

Dowell, Frances O’Roark. Falling In. Atheneum Books for Young Readers, 2010 (3 1/2 stars out of 4)

One of my most vivid childhood memories is a recurring dream I had when I was five or six. My aunt, uncle and cousins lived in a big rancher in Dresher, PA, and I once dreamed every night for more than a whole week that their house had a secret door that only I knew about, and that door led to a magical room filled with endless rows of the coolest toys in the world. Unfortunately, the boogeyman and other similar monsters lived there as well, so every visit was an adventure of the highest magnitude (for a kid). It has been years since I remembered that time in my young life, but Frances O’Roark Dowell seems to know just what I experienced. In her new novel Falling In, she proves that she understands childhood imagination when she describes my dream almost to the letter: “Everybody’s had the dream where you find a door inside your house you’d never noticed before . . . Usually it’s filled with wondrous things . . .” (23). As regular readers of this column know, I do not read and review much fantasy, but I was intrigued after flipping through the book and finding that paragraph. I am happy to say that I was not disappointed, and that Ms. O’Roark Dowell’s Falling In is a fine Alice in Wonderland-type story about a girl who needs to find her place and herself in the universe, but cannot seem to do it in the regular world.

Isabelle Bean has never truly felt a part of this world. There is a buzzing in the world that she hears that no one else seems to notice, and since Isabelle is a loner who rarely attempts social interaction, she has no one with whom to share her insights. Isabelle is an outsider, or at least she feels like one: “There is a barely visible edge of otherworldliness to Isabelle, a silver thread that runs from the top of her head to the bottom bump of her spine. It frightens other children away. They’re afraid that if they sit too close, the thread will weave itself into their hair and pull them into dark places they can’t find their way out of” (14). This feeling of not belonging to this world is confirmed when Isabelle opens the school nurse’s closet and inadvertently steps into an alternate universe in which a wicked witch eats children who are always on the run from the grisly end they have been taught to expect if caught. When she first arrives in this parallel world, the local children think she is the witch because no one has ever actually seen her. Isabelle must prove her (reasonably) honorable intentions to not only the local strangers but also to Hen, a girl who may have befriended Isabelle primarily because she wants help in killing the witch. When the two adolescent ladies are taken in by Grete, a mysterious hermit and herbalist, Isabelle must open her mind and heart as the secrets of her innermost being become revealed. As she learns the Truth, Isabelle’s world and her destiny unravel with little hope of returning home, if that is even possible.

Although I cannot pretend to understand the process completely (as a man), young ladies definitely go through life-altering changes during puberty. Drastic and sudden changes can lead to culture shock and self-alienation as the individual no longer understands herself or her world. I have always read Alice in Wonderland as a metaphor for the female puberty journey from childhood to young adulthood, and I read Falling In by Frances O’Roark Dowell the same way. Ms. O’Roark Dowell’s inspired use of imagery, particularly sound, spreads an air of mystery across the entire novel; i.e. “In Mrs. Sharpe’s classroom the buzz had been a distant thing, felt more than heard. Here [in the alternate world], wherever here was, the buzz flattened out into a low-pitched hum, the sound of tiny motorcycles, maybe, or an off-kilter ceiling fan endlessly running, issuing a quiet whine. Isabelle stood, determined to find its source” (28). When Isabelle finally does start to solve her mysteries, as expected, she ends up with more questions than answers. But she is a resourceful and fanciful young lady who will succeed and find herself, despite whatever fate tries to inflict upon her. Isabelle Bean is a model of originality and creativity; Ms. O’Roark Dowell has created a memorable and dynamic character who is not afraid to stare down her destiny until it yells, “Uncle.”

2010-05-17T11:19:00.000-07:00

Wiles, Deborah. Countdown. Scholastic Press. 377 pages, plus author’s notes and background. ISBN 13: 978-0-545-10605-4 (2 stars out of 4)

Although I do not watch much television (who has time?), I am aware of and familiar with most popular shows just by listening to the radio and perusing a general smattering of popular monthly magazines. One show, AMC’s trendy Mad Men, has even created nostalgia for a long-gone and little-glamorized period, the early 1960s, the era of such happy times as the Cuban Missile Crisis, JFK’s assassination, and Freedom Ride murders. All of a sudden, it’s cool for men to wear suits and hats, smoke, and womanize again (as if it were ever cool to begin with), and women get to “enjoy” that second class status they so poorly deserved and worked so hard to eliminate over the last 50 years. Using primary sources such as song lyrics, biographies, and symbols/pictures from the era, Deborah Wiles has hopped on the early 1960s bandwagon with her latest effort, Countdown. Although her author notes indicate that she started this work as a picture book in 1996, the current early 1960s craze has certainly contributed to its release now. Frankly, as an adult idea, this type of book has promise, but as a book for upper elementary and middle schoolers, I fear it lacks relevance for today’s youth.
Franny Chapman lives in fear and insecurity most of the time. 1962 is a transitional year, and Franny seems to have trouble with change. Her best friend Margie appears to be friends now with Gale, daughter of the local (and off-limits) divorcee. Franny’s sister Jo Ellen, who frequently receives mysterious letters from someone named Ebenezer, is away at college and disappears for days at a time. Worst of all, Franny’s Uncle Otts, still scarred from the horrors of World War I, insists on building a fallout shelter right in the middle of their suburban Maryland yard. Suffering tremendous embarrassment, fear of reprisal, and concern for his health, Franny tries but fails to get Uncle Otts to stop: “There’s a crater forming in the front yard. Uncle Otts wipes his face with a handkerchief, loads up the wheelbarrow with chunks from our front yard, begins to roll the wheelbarrow toward the bushes, and then . . . the wheelbarrow topples onto its side. Uncle Otts staggers backward several steps, drops his shovel, and topples like a domino” (95). It is October 1962, and Franny’s world, along with everyone else’s, is being turned upside down and inside out because of the Cuban Missile Crisis; additionally, Franny’s dad is an Air Force major whose job brings world events right into the Chapmans’ living room. Franny must find a way to regain her best friend (or make a new one), save Uncle Otts from himself, discover Jo Ellen’s secrets, and avoid the Russians’ plan to conquer the world, all while finishing fifth grade without alienating her classmates and teachers. Whether deserved or not, Franny definitely feels the weight of her problems and the world’s issues firmly on her shoulders.
Countdown by Deborah Wiles is a cool idea, but not for the targeted age group. Middlers of this generation do not know about the Cuban Missile Crisis, and they generally do not learn that material in my district until 8th grade. The novel contains YA biographies that look like they are fresh from our SRA readers of the 1960s, but they do not stop in 1962, so the impact of their inclusion is diminished; it would have made more sense to make the biographies appear as if they appeared in Franny’s Social Studies or Language Arts textbook. Now, they simply appear out of context. My students (and sometimes, even their parents) have no context for the grace of Jackie O, the protest of Pete Seeger, or the commitment of the SNCC and the Freedom Riders, so their stories may be lost to today’s students. Also, coincidentally, there is no mention of what the political Right was up to in the early 1960s; where is Goldwater beside Kennedy? The pictures and song lyrics are provocative, but only to people who understand their context. I admire the creation of a new genre, and this “non-fiction novel” is an admirable effort, but I fear its subtleties will be lost on its target demographic. Choosing Jo Ellen the college student as the protagonist might have drawn in a more mature and knowledgeable audience that could better appreciate the book’s message. I am concerned that students will think Countdown by Deborah Wiles is too much like a history textbook and that, like Bert the Turtle, they will duck and cover when they check it out on the shelves.

2010-05-17T11:15:00.000-07:00

Carman, Patrick. Trackers: Book One. Scholastic Press, 2010. 224 pages. ISBN 13: 978-0-545-16500-6. (3 1/2 stars out of 4)
The paper, binding, and ink that sheltered me under their protective and expansive umbrella while growing up are disappearing in a blur of e-readers, anime, and video, probably never to be seen again except during the inevitable nostalgia movement in about twenty years. After missing out on The 39 Clues series and Skeleton Creek, two of Scholastic’s recent attempts at cross-media books incorporating video and internet use, I decided it was time for me to see what the fuss is about. Frankly, I never expected to like Trackers by Patrick Carman, and now, after reading it, I am embarrassed for my pre-judgment—I liked it quite a bit, and I can understand why my students will like it as well. I spent hours (without ever intending to, I assure you—it was that absorbing) trying to defeat the three glyph game levels to unlock videos at www.trackersinterface.com, as well as explaining to colleagues and students walking by, who were wondering why I was playing a video game, “It’s a literature website and this is related to a book—I swear!” I finally had to finish the puzzles at home. Although the videos and game are not essential to understanding the material, they definitely enhance what is otherwise a pretty standard Spy Kids-ish suspense thriller. I would rather have my students watch video in this context than numb their minds with too much anime.
Adam Henderson is a computer genius, but he is more than that. Ever since he was five, he has been working at his dad’s Seattle computer repair store, Henderson’s Chip Shop; for Adam’s ninth birthday, Mr. Henderson gave his son a surprise that would define the rest of his youth, a technology workroom of his own called The Vault: “‘Consider it your laboratory,’ he said, nodding toward the door. ‘Anything that gets left behind [at the repair shop], you can have.’ The vault was small and stuffy, like a closet, but it was mine. I turned around and hugged my dad as if he’d just given me a dirt bike, twelve thousand candy bars, and another dirt bike” (7). Adam uses his talents to build supercomputers and high-tech surveillance equipment he plans to sell someday to the highest bidder, but he needs field operatives he can trust to test his hardware. When he hooks up with friends Finn, Emily, and Lewis, his tracking team is complete. The trackers are not interested in harming anyone or anything, they just like each other and share both mutual interests and complementary skills. Adam also invents a symbolic language using symbols called glyphs that play an important role in the action. At first, the team simply conducts tests of new cameras and other technology, but after discovering that others know about glyphs and may have sent him a secret message, Adam stumbles upon a mystery so dangerous that it threatens the actual fabric of the internet: a back door program may exist that can hack anything on the internet, or even shut the net down completely. Team members must decide if they are willing to risk their lives to combat this threat, but they may already be in too deeply to turn back.
Although the novel ends like a book with a sequel, very much like Haddix’s Found, I enjoyed the total experience of Trackers by Patrick Carman. The website, www.trackersinterface.com, contains cool games related to the glyphs, and as the reader delves deeper into the action, more and more videos become unlocked so readers can both see some of the action and place faces and traits with characters. This can be especially important not only for special needs classes who appreciate multiple information delivery formats, but also for all boys who just like to manipulate stuff, look at stuff, and move around while they read. The videos are reasonably well-acted, on a par with the old after-school specials but updated for the times. The book is narrated from some type of official holding facility, and only Adam’s safety is assured throughout the novel, so there are many questions left to ask and many mysteries left to uncover. No one, including the reader, knows who to trust, so Patrick Carman has succeeded with Trackers. Add it to your high-low list and your list of good books for boys, although everyone can enjoy it.

2010-04-18T03:54:00.000-07:00

Draper, Sharon M. Out of My Mind. This book is appropriate for grades 4 and up, or ages 9 and up, depending on reading level. This is also an excellent high-low book (4 out of 4!).

I try to tailor my library instruction to suit the needs of every student, and I attempt to differentiate instruction when it is indicated. However, because of my time constraints as a librarian in two large buildings, I know that I fall short on the edges: gifted and special needs. In order to make library lessons relevant for patrons who may not be able to even read a spine label because of visual challenges, patrons who may be at a 2^nd grade reading level but at an 8^th grade interest level (or 8^th graders reading at an 11^th grade level), or patrons who I just do not understand because of their inability to express their needs to me, I have to make time-consuming accommodations to my lessons, and I confess that I do not always spend enough time on modifications. Sharon M. Draper seems to understand these types of constraints; if she is not a teacher, she sure knows how to sound like one. Ms. Draper’s new novel Out of My Mind, about a brilliant girl with cerebral palsy who cannot tell the world what she knows, has the authentic voice of someone who understands this issue firsthand; her daughter has cerebral palsy as well. Unsurprisingly, the protagonist’s mother in the novel is a strong advocate for her daughter’s rights, but she only gets in the faces of the bad people; she’s not a raving parent. I am glad that Ms. Draper wrote this obviously personal novel, because more people should reexamine their treatment of people with special needs; sometimes, as in Melody’s case, people can possess unexpected or unknown qualities that shine more brightly because of a disability.

Melody Brooks is almost eleven and she has never spoken a word. Although she is quite brilliant, with a photographic memory and synesthetic sensations that enable her to see colors when listening to music, cerebral palsy excludes her from many activities, including speech. Only in her dreams is Melody a “normal” 5^th grader: “I get picked first on the playground for games. I can run so fast . . . I call my friends on the phone, and we talk for hours. I whisper secrets . . . When I wake up in the morning, it’s always sort of a letdown as reality hits me” (51). Melody is bored to tears in her self-contained classroom, but she cannot tell her teachers what she wants and needs, and most of them assume she is incapable of understanding, not simply incapable of communicating. When Melody ponders why her goldfish Ollie suddenly decides to jump out of his bowl, she is actually pondering her own condition: “Maybe he was sick and tired of that bowl . . . Maybe he just couldn’t take it anymore. I feel like that sometimes” (64). When Melody starts inclusion classes, she feels like an object of derision and mockery by her fellow, cold-hearted students. One student, Rose, befriends Melody, but they both learn the challenges and complications of friendship with Melody because of her requirements for intimate assistance in activities most folks take for granted, like eating and using the bathroom, severely curtailing their potential friendship. When Melody investigates ways to allow her to speak à la her hero Stephen Hawking, a whole new world may open up to her. But that world contains problems far more dangerous than the boredom or occasional prejudice she faces currently.

Sharon M. Draper has crafted a superior novel out of the trials of a young woman without a voice to liberate her. Like much of her other fiction focusing on African-American youth, often burdened with the same yoke as Melody— but caused by society, not genetics—Ms. Draper bestows an authentic and engaging voice upon the voiceless, forcing the rest of America to listen to what was previously unheard and potentially distasteful. Ms. Draper’s use of imagery to paint the scene; i.e. when Melody hilariously/tragically describes her self-contained classroom, brings even more life to characters already bubbling under the surface with energy, tension, frustration, and confusion. Out of My Mind by Sharon M. Draper transcends issues like target age or audience, so I will recommend this morality play to just about everyone I see. It taught me to reexamine my approach to my special education students, and I think it has something to teach to everyone about the way they treat and think about other people with significant differences.

2010-04-18T03:48:00.000-07:00

Dionne, Erin. The Total Tragedy of a Girl Named Hamlet. This book is appropriate for grades 5 to 8, or ages 10 to 14, depending on reading level (3 stars out of 4).

I don’t know how often in past columns I have addressed the issue of “girl” books and “boy” books and if ever the twain can meet, but reading Erin Dionne’s new novel made me ponder the topic. My 5^th through 7^th grade female students liked Ms. Dionne’s last novel, Models Don’t Eat Chocolate Cookies, so I was eager to read the new one, The Total Tragedy of a Girl Named Hamlet. Reading Hamlet prompted some confusion on my part because of an obvious shortcoming about which I can do nothing: I am a guy. Although I am able to overlook my gender through almost all of the books I read and review, there are certain books that just don’t cross the girl-boy barrier well. Twilight is a perfect example. Through most of the novel, I said to myself, “Please, Bella, will you just stop whining for a minute?!” However, when I expressed this sentiment to some of my female colleagues, they looked at me in astonishment. I was told that I simply didn’t understand, that it’s a girl thing. If that is true, that certain books cannot be understood easily by guys, then I predict overwhelmingly female support for Ms. Dionne’s new novel featuring a girl who feels that she has a lot to whine about.

Hamlet Kennedy has survived until 8^th grade by staying under the radar. It’s her sister Desdemona, the seven-year-old child prodigy super-genius, and her kooky parents, the Shakespearean scholars who dress up in Elizabethan tights and velvet cloaks, who enjoy and savor the limelight. Despite her unusual name, Hamlet wants nothing more than to survive her last year of middle school without embarrassing herself to death. However, her life takes a drastic turn when Dezzie (Desdemona’s nickname) starts taking art and music classes at Howard Hoffer Middle School. Drama increases for Hamlet when the mean girls Saber and Mauri befriend Desdemona so they can extract text and project information from her, and Hamlet cannot seem to prevent her sister from being used. Two more complications raise Hamlet’s tension level. First of all, her best friend Ty may like “like” her, which is a bit gross to Hamlet. Secondly, and more significantly, she discovers that she has an ironic and disturbing talent for reading and acting Shakespeare that may shine a very unwanted and unwelcome spotlight on her: “I hated Shakespeare. He was responsible for ruining my life. And as far as I was concerned, being able to read his words was no gift. It was just another thing that made me different—what I wanted to avoid at all costs” (94). Hamlet must find a way to address the rising waters in her life that want to drown her in a torrent that feels more complicated and hopeless than the Bard’s play that bears her name.

As a former 12^th-grade British Lit teacher who taught Hamlet for years, there are several elements of The Total Tragedy of a Girl Named Hamlet by Erin Dionne that I like. I enjoy how occasionally Hamlet will set the scene for the reader in her mind, a clever device that sheds light onto her thinking process and forwards the narrative. Also, my English teacher side cannot fail to appreciate Ms. Dionne’s numerous Shakespearean quotes and references, especially now that I am old enough to “get” them. However, there are times during this novel when the action slows down too much because of Hamlet’s insecurities and fears and it gets a little boring. Clearly, when it comes to primal girl angst, it’s just like ballet to me: I can watch it, I can understand what it is, I can appreciate its process, but I just don’t get it. Ms. Dionne’s book is not poorly written, but I feel a little excluded from its secrets. I surmise and hope readers will respond to Hamlet much like they respond to Twilight’s Bella, with empathy and understanding, not scorn and annoyance. I think it’s a safe guess that I will not get many male readers for The Total Tragedy of a Girl Named Hamlet by Erin Dionne, but I have been wrong about that type of thing before, and I do have quite a few male readers of Stephenie Meyer. My greatest wish for this novel is that it normalizes Shakespeare for future readers with a little comedy and a little tragedy.

2010-03-12T03:26:00.000-08:00

Kadohata, Cynthia. A Million Shades of Gray. This book is for grades 5 to 8, or ages 10 to 14, depending on reading level (4 stars out of 4!).

Responsible citizens constantly question authority. Sometimes, it’s not clear exactly who is in charge, so it can be difficult to work for big changes. For example, as a school librarian, there are several layers of management I would have to wade through if I wanted an audience with the real boss, the school board. If there are problems in my building, whom do I blame? Is it the supervisors who may not have worked their usual 60 hours that week; the vice-principals who are usually too bogged down with discipline to do much else; the principal whose hands are usually tied by the superintendent, or the assistant superintendents who are necessarily obsessed with test scores because funding depends on them? Y’Tin, the bittersweet protagonist in Cynthia Kadohata’s latest gem, A Million Shades of Gray, wants to place blame, but his sense of innocence and guilt has been shattered by years of war. A member of the Dega, a group that lives in the jungles of Vietnam’s Central Highlands, he has no problem in blaming both the Americans for leaving (although he cannot help admiring Americans), and the North Vietnamese for persecuting them, mostly because they helped the Americans when they were present. To a young teen, right and wrong are not normally this skewed, to the point in which right has been destroyed. Cleverly, Ms. Kadohata’s title refers not only to the color of the elephants that inhabit this novel, but also to the only “truth” that Y’Tin and his peers find, tainted and “grayed” by racism and the terrible misfortune of being in the wrong place at the wrong time, in the middle of a civil war that does not end when the United States leaves.

Y’Tin Eban is determined to become the youngest elephant handler of the Rhade tribe of Vietnam’s Central Highlands. Even though the war is still on, it is 1973 and the Americans are still present in the country. In fact, Y’Tin’s Ama (father) has worked with the Special Forces for a while; Y’Tin even gets to go on one of their missions. However, foreshadowing dark times for his people, it is on this ill-fated mission that Y’Tin witnesses and feels responsible for the first death he ever sees: “Soon he heard a soft, soft sound and realized it was his father crying . . . Ama had worked for the Special Forces for several years, but he’d been lucky—this was the first time anyone had been killed on one of his father’s missions. Y’Tin knew it was his fault . . . Was the guilt he felt part of war?” (18-19). Two years after the mission, Y’Tin’s world collapses. Having achieved his goal of becoming Lady’s handler, he may lose Lady and everything he holds dear if the NVA or VietCong attack. Even his lifelong goal of quitting school to handle his elephant full-time turns into a pyrrhic victory when he is finally allowed to miss school because of the impending attack from the North: “Then he remembered that he didn’t have to go to school today and might never have to go to school again. And all of a sudden, he actually wanted to go to school. School had been predictable, but now he wanted a predictable life” (65). Y’Tin must face the imminent peril of a hostile attack and save both his elephant (and her unborn calf) and his family as they struggle to find a haven from war. As Y’Tin’s father has said many times, “the jungle changes a man,” and if they must seek the jungle, Y’Tin must find a way to retain his humanity and morality while recognizing that he must forgive those close to him who may struggle to show true maturity, bravery, and compassion in the face of danger.

Some writers have an incredible knack for always using the right voice for their stories. Cynthia Kadohata has once again created the perfect voice for her champion, lyrical but pragmatic, full of insecurity but bold when necessary, thoughtful but goal-oriented. The story, straightforward and linear, is perfect for Y’Tin’s tale, because he can only move toward the future; his past dissolves before his eyes until all he has is now. His struggle is an excellent model for young people who want to know how to respond in an emergency: Y’Tin is compassionate, determined, and loyal, even in the face of betrayal. He is not perfect, and he certainly resents many things in his life, but he does let his resentments affect his abilities. Yes, he makes enemies, but the reader knows that a simple, sincere apology goes a long way. Despite oppressive circumstances, Y’Tin is able to potentially navigate a path to self-respect and accomplishment. A Million Shades of Gray is a poignant portrait of a tragic time and place in history, and one young man’s struggle to make sense of it. This is an excellent novel for readers who have faced uncertain times in their lives; in other words, everyone.

2010-03-12T03:20:00.000-08:00

Rhuday-Perkovich, Olugbemisola. 8^th Grade Superzero. This book is for grades 5 and up, or ages 10 and above, depending on reading level (3 stars out of 4).

I admit it: I’m an old hippie. I still believe in causes, and on a good day, I am fairly certain that we can make the world a better place. I believe that peaceful protest can make a difference, and I also believe in the intrinsic goodness of almost everybody. Under the right circumstances, I believe that love is all you need and that thinking globally and acting locally makes the world better. I try to turn off the lights or the water if I’m not using them, and after getting a $500.00 P S E & G bill last month, I know I’m going to use less heat; I can’t afford to be warm at home anymore. I bring all of this up because 8^th Grade Superzero by New Yorker Olugbemisola Rhuday-Perkovich features public service, in this case in the form of volunteering at a local homeless shelter, and I like it. I think the novel has some flaws but the model and message are right on: the world gets better when we work to make it better, and making the world better makes us better as well. Protagonist Reggie McKnight learns that there is no other way for him to grow but through service to others, and if I could, I would broadcast that message on the P.A. system in my two schools every morning and afternoon.

Reggie McKnight is ready to impress his classmates on the first day of school at New York City’s Clarke Junior School. Instead, he earns the nickname “Pukey” on stage in front of the entire school. Reggie’s dad has been out of work for a while and his mom is working much of the time, so things get tense at home. Reggie struggles to find a place he feels at home until, through his church’s youth group and the reasonably cool Pastor Dave, he finds Olive Branch Shelter and he knows that this is where he can make a difference. As a bonus, Reggie can get a fresh start and respite from being Pukey: “This is not Clarke, I remind myself. I’m not a joke here [in youth group] . . . I’m feeling the whole community service thing. It matters” (50). In the upcoming school election, Reggie is conned into managing the campaign of crass overachiever Vicky Ross, and he quickly discovers that the self-centered Vicky is not interested in any of Reggie’s (or anyone else’s) ideas; she only wants to defeat perennial popular guy Justin Walker: “Vicky bombarded me with e-mails the entire weekend. I made some more suggestions for the platform, like cleaner bathrooms or a fund-raiser for a community organization, but she just ordered me to hand stuff out after school” (51). Reggie must navigate some difficult territory, both moral and physical, as he continues to pine after the beautiful Mialonie, who, like Charlie Brown’s Red-headed Girl, always seems just out of reach. Reggie will have to summon from somewhere the bravery to chase what is worth chasing and to give up what must be given up.

There are many good things about the mechanics and style of Eighth Grade Superzero by Olugbemisola Rhuday-Perkovich. The chapter titles featuring date and time effectively provide the reader a sense of time and place (and urgency when indicated) during the action. Also, the author manages many characters in the novel, and they all add to the overall tension and movement of the action; there are no unnecessary people clogging up the story. However, some of the flat characters, especially rival Donovan, seem too over-the-top in their rather stereotypical, predictable manners. Also, unlike Lara Zielin’s Donut Days that simply featured Christian characters and themes, this novel felt preachy at times, and I felt as if the author was clearly stating that activist Christianity is the only answer to Reggie’s (and everyone else’s) problems. However, it is an important part of Reggie’s life and rehabilitation, so it belongs in this work. Despite some flaws, I feel that 8^th Grade Superzero packs a powerful punch, is charming and poignant at the right times, and is well worth reading.

2010-01-31T13:31:00.000-08:00

Dashner, James. The Maze Runner. Random House Children’s Books, 2009. 374 pages. ISBN 13: 978-0-38573794-4. This book is appropriate for grades 6 and up, or ages 11 and up, depending on reading level (3 stars out of 4).

I was lucky enough to take a linguistics course while still in high school, so I have long appreciated authors who take chances with language, even if they do not always work. Some of my favorite works as an undergraduate English major—Ulysses, 1984, A Clockwork Orange, The Waste Land—all featured experiments in the structure, nature, and power of language. Therefore, when an author starts playing with language, I pay attention. Of course, to authors like M. T. Anderson and Cynthia Kadohata, beautiful, provocative language comes naturally, but some need to work at it, and I am guessing that James Dashner belongs to the latter group. Mr. Dashner creates a mini-slang vocabulary a la Battlestar Galactica (frak it!) for his new novel The Maze Runner, and I like it, even if it gets a bit stale after a while. It does manage to hide some weak dialogue, a result of the novel’s excessive length. However, more importantly, the story moves well albeit a bit slowly, and although there are many hints to the ending, it is both reasonable and well-planned. A dystopian series is clearly planned, and if the author can maintain the tension and excitement, it is welcomed as well.

Like all of the other boys before him for two years, Thomas wakes up one day in a metal box with all specific memories of his past wiped clean. Outside of the box is the Glade, home for the 60 or so boys who live there, the place inside the maze. None of the boys know why or how they are in the maze, why they cannot remember more, or the purpose of the obviously artificial environment in which they are trapped: “He remembered lots of little things about life—eating, clothes, studying, playing, general images of the makeup of the world. But any detail that would fill in the picture to create a true and complete memory had been erased somehow. It was like looking at an image through muddy water” (33). However, Thomas feels different somehow, as if he may have knowledge or experience trapped underneath the corners of his brain. He vaguely recognizes this simulation, and he somehow feels responsible for it. Thomas wants to become a Runner, a person who goes out into the maze to map it and search for an exit (the walls shift nightly and the four entrances lock each night), but the other members of the group are unsettled by the newcomer. The tension between Thomas and leaders Alby, Newt, Minho, and Gally is obvious, but if the “Gladers” are to ever get out and find the Creators to learn the secret of their enslavement, they will need each other more than they can imagine.

Suzanne Collins recently succeeded in combining science fiction sub-genres with the Hunger Games series, and James Dashner walks down a similar path. I like the way Mr. Dashner incorporates the sub-genres of post-apocalypse dystopia, the enslavement of Man by his own technology, and the boogeyman-gonna-get-ya adventure/thriller. In this case, the boogeymen are Grievers, half-man/half-machine monstrosities that live in the maze and hunt anything that moves. It is a good effort that I believe my students will like, but I fear they may agree with my overall assessment that it is too long (and they may subsequently lose interest). If the novel was 100 pages shorter, I would have felt more comfortable with the language and the Lord of the Flies mentality, but at 374 pages, it got old, like that moment you realize a movie is too long and you start wondering when you can use the bathroom instead of how the protagonist will solve his problem. But the themes of isolation, feeling lost in a confusing world, and not being able to control one’s environment will resonate in students’ brains, and I admit that I am already looking forward to the sequel and making my own guesses about the next installment, the standard mark of a successful series starter.

2010-01-31T13:27:00.000-08:00

Adoff, Arnold, and Kacy Cook (Eds.). Virginia Hamilton: Speeches, Essays, & Conversations. Blue Sky Press, 2010. ISBN: 978-0-439-27193-6. This book is for grades 6 and up, or ages 11 and above, depending on reading level. This book is also appropriate for high school and adult reading (3 1/2 stars out of 4).

Virginia Hamilton holds a unique, lofty place in young adult literature as an African-American author who features African-American protagonists in her works: no other modern author can claim her longevity, relevance, and vision as they relate to young adult literature. There are many great authors who may compete someday, such as Christopher Paul Curtis and Sharon M. Draper, but Ms. Hamilton and her body of works have already made it. She is almost the Langston Hughes of her time, producing books in multiple genres (never far away from poetry because of her husband, Arnold Adoff) and representing a new type of Black literature, grounded in history but poised for immortality. Virginia Hamilton: Speeches, Essays, & Conversations highlights her background, philosophy, and approach to writing in her own words, and just as Ms. Hamilton’s fiction and non-fiction are well worth reading, her speeches and essays are too.

Similar themes in this collection emerge about Ms. Hamilton and her place in literature. Ms, Hamilton speaks about the creative process, and more specifically, her creative process, a great deal. She admires writers who can move others: “The linguistic stylist may be a demagogue, a crook, a saint, a hero; whoever he is, he possesses the power to persuade” (24). Ms. Hamilton asserts that she has worked to support nonwhite literature, or literature from what she calls “parallel cultures,” partly because of a stunning concept pertaining to Americans: “All of this has its basis in the proposition that American children have the right to books that reflect their cultural and racial heritage” (38). Ms. Hamilton has filled the emptiness of nonwhite literature with an impressive list of protagonists and stories, and she feels it is no less important because it belongs to a parallel culture: “I believe in what I write for young people, that its call is important—the call being the essence of the people’s lives it depicts—and the depiction is necessary, as well as art” (104). If certain elements of life are not present in fiction, they can be ignored or passed over: “Our young adult literature tends to remove from the young adults themselves. The slim presence of parallel culture literature would give the impression that such large parallel cultures have no presence and do not exist in America” (168).

Another theme prominent in this collection is the idea that American readers want and deserve to be challenged in their imaginations and in their lives, but they have no frame of reference for reading cultural fiction with depth : “They are often lazy readers. What I attempt is not too hard and not too difficult for them. But it may be true that they must first familiarize themselves with the degree of difficulty that results in our comprehending one another when our society allows the separation of its groups culturally and socially from one another” (129). Ms. Hamilton does not believe unduly in her own self-importance, but she does understand the power and range of her message: “Good Lord, children don’t need my books . . . The fact that you come to believe it and see it as real simply reveals how similar is the spiritual struggle of one group to that of another” (41). Children are people to Ms, Hamilton, and they deserve the same respect in reading as do adults.

The last prominent theme in this book is Ms. Hamilton’s desire to pass on what she knows of Black culture and history to a generation who may or may not know that heritage: “My fictions for children, young people, descend directly from the progress of black adults and their children across the American hopescape” (104). It is important to pass on the myths, folklore, language, and traditions of a people for no other reason than it is sometimes all they have of their past. Ms. Hamilton, like her hero Langston Hughes, claims both cultural and family heritages: “Echoes of long past times serve to feed my imagination. They may sound of African dreams or my own family truths” (105). Fortunately, Ms. Hamilton had a rich family tradition with long-lived ancestors who could share stories of their past with her.

Virginia Hamilton: Speeches, Essays, & Conversations should definitely be on every library’s shelf, but do not expect it to fly out of the building. Its message is as complex and deep as the author, and at times somewhat inaccessible to inexperienced readers and writers. Teachers and older students may get more out of it, but I would offer it to middlers just as quickly; we do not, as Ms. Hamilton warns, want to underestimate their ability to comprehend and internalize complex material. I was a bit surprised by a couple of things in this collection: Ms, Hamilton gives an overly flattering (in my opinion) assessment of the state of young adult literature and of politics in the old Soviet Union, and after displaying such a gentle soul for the entire book, she writes a scathing review at the end of her life against an article in Horn Book magazine. Despite those brief, but human lapses, however, this collection is filled with the gentle wisdom and experience of a woman who achieved her life’s goal and wanted to share it with the world. Fortunately for us, she succeeded on both counts.

2009-12-15T19:22:00.000-08:00

Frank, Lucy. The Homeschool Liberation League. 2009. 279 pages. ISBN 13: 978-0-8037-3230-8. This book is appropriate for grades 5 to 8, or ages 10 to 13, depending on reading level. (3 1/2 stars out of 4)

At some point in almost every middler’s life, he or she wants to be free. That freedom may revolve around parents who restrict their actions too much, schools or teachers who do not allow enough free thought or expression, or friends who do not allow enough individuality into their peer groups. Freedom is a fleeting and oversimplified concept to the young teen, as we adults know from our lifelong but often brief relationship with it. However, freedom is a powerful concept and goal, and it lights the path to our dreams as we imagine how we can get to do the things we want to do and avoid the things we do not want to do; i.e. how can I have English and Social Studies all day and not have to bother with those stinky math and science classes, because when I am an adult, I will not need them anyway (so I mistakenly thought all throughout school). But teachers know that all subjects are important, not necessarily for content, but for what the process teaches our brains, and frankly, 13-year-olds do not normally appreciate that type of long-term intellectual investment. Therefore, when I first started reading The Homeschool Liberation League by Lucy Frank, I was concerned for the main character, Katya, because I could see her mistake in thinking that freedom, and not learning, is the goal of education. We know that learning enables freedom, but Katya must learn her own lessons; fortunately, she does so both humorously and with some style.

On her way to her first day in eighth grade at Martin Van Buren Middle School, Kaitlyn Antonucci decides she cannot stay and goes home. Evidently, Kaity, who wants to be called Katya after her Russian camp counselor named her that last summer, has decided that she wants to be homeschooled. As Katya begins a journal as a method to justify her decision (Look! I did more writing on my own that I ever did at school; can’t I just stay home?), she ponders seventh grade in which she hid a lot of trouble from her parents: “I wondered if I dared put in something about my ‘bad attitude’ at school, my ‘acting out behavior.’ Explain how it was kind of hard to stop when so many kids liked me so much better that way. Admit that I was worried I’d get so good at acting dumb and stupid, it would no longer be an act” (14). Neither of Katya’s parents are college graduates, but they are receptive to her pleas and decide to go see the principal, Mr. Westenburg. Surprisingly, Mr. and Mrs. Antonucci start to understand Katya’s points, and they arrange to start homeschooling, with Katya helping at her mom’s salon in-between “classes.” Everything becomes complicated, however, when Katya’s mom gets serious about home schooling and Katya starts to feel the same restrictions she felt at Martin Van Buren Middle School. Additionally, life gets very interesting after Katya meets Milo, a sulky but very cute 14-year-old. Milo is also homeschooling but wants to return to school because of the rigors being a young, accomplished violinist with endless practicing and plenty of pressure/encouragement from his father. To explain her tenuous and often uncomfortable situation to her friends, Katya concocts a group to which she, Milo, and other homeschoolers now belong, the fictional Homeschool Liberation League. Through all of the problems and untruths Katya has woven around her life, she and Milo must find a way to pursue their dreams and be happy with their lives before they are separated from the things they love and forced to play by the rules that seemed to chain them to an unhappy life and bleak future.

I am always leery of a book in which the main character sulks and sulks until she finally gets what she wants, so it is refreshing when Katya must actually work for a living like the rest of us. Katya could have been an annoying, whiny character who is clever enough to fool the world, but that would have made her boring and predictable. Instead, she is a funny, resourceful, and occasionally curmudgeonly but charming young woman who is looking for herself but not seeing an appropriate model in any of the other archetypes at school or home. Katya lies often, but they are the kind of lies that the liar always thinks are more damaging than they are, and because she has a conscience, Katya always reminds us that she knows when she is wrong. Also, part of Katya’s charm is the way she ironically learns life’s lessons; i.e. her work with the elderly reminds her of her youth; meeting a boy helps her to meet herself but not lose herself; being forced to do uncomfortable things like work at Mom’s beauty shop helps her to see that comfort is not necessarily the goal, etc. I enjoyed The Homeschool Liberation League by Lucy Frank and I believe it is a great selection for the 5^th and 6^th grade crowd who like books with a humorous narrator like No Talking by Andrew Clements, Bud, Not Buddy by Christopher Paul Curtis and Al Capone Does My Shirts by Gennifer Choldenko.

2009-12-15T01:57:00.000-08:00

Gold, Maya. Cinderella Cleaners: Change of a Dress. Scholastic, 2010. 209 pages.

Cinderella Cleaners: Prep Cool. Scholastic, 2010. 155 pages (3 1/2 stars out of 4). These books are appropriate for grades 4 to 7, or ages 9 to 13, depending on reading level.

I don’t know about you, but I am surprised that reality television has lasted this long. I must sound like my great-grandparents in 1955 claiming that “damn noise” called rock and roll wouldn’t last the decade. The reality genre has spawned its own cottage industry of B-grade stars and personalities, feeding other shows like Dancing with the Stars, so it feeds on itself like the paradoxical snake that eats its own tail. The most disturbing contradiction about reality shows is that the whole point we watch them is to experience the plight of Everyperson, but the subjects of the shows become famous because of their exploits, thereby nullifying their Everyperson status. What I like most about the two books that begin the Cinderella Cleaners series by Maya Gold is that main character Diana Donato does not become famous when she is brushed with fame; she does not taunt when she has the opportunity to flaunt. She remains an Everyperson whatever happens, and when she makes mistakes, she understands why and rectifies them for the right reasons. The bottom line is that I like Diana, and I think readers will too.

The first book in the Cinderella Cleaners series, Change of a Dress, sets up the series. Eighth-grader Diana Donato and her best friend Jess Munson attend New Jersey’s Weehawkin Middle School. Diana is furious because she has to miss the school play when her stepmother Fay insists she get a job, but fortunately, her father owns a dry cleaners and she can work for him. The store has a cast of colorful minor characters who occasionally pop in and out of the story; I can imagine future books featuring one or more of them in more prominent roles. Diana’s two favorite things are Broadway and acting, and when she is going through a jacket at the cleaners and finds amazing tickets and cast party passes to the hottest show on Broadway, Angel, featuring new hottie Adam Kessler (imagine a cross between Nick Jonas and Robert Pattinson), she desperately wants to go, even if it means “borrowing” a customer’s dress under repair. Diana must decide how to get to New York without her parents’ knowledge, get fitted for the dress, and hope against hope that the owners of the dress and tickets do not show up to ruin her dream night.

In the shorter second Cinderella Cleaners novel, Prep Cool, friend Will (and maybe—just maybe—a secret crush for Diana) gets his first musical gig at an exclusive local prep school party. He invites Diana and Jess to the party even though everyone there thinks they own the place (and probably do), and our middle-class heroines are out of their league. Jess meets a guy and immediately falls for him, and she entrusts Diana with her bag and her prized cell phone. Trouble ensues when one of the local female fashionista bullies sees Jess with the boy she wants. Revenge knows no lows to the villainous Brooke, and although Jess risks some embarrassment, Diana may be dealing with the end of her relationship with her BFF because of her mistake.

I like the Cinderella Cleaners novels for a few reasons. The action is not outrageous, it is just outside of the realm of the ordinary, in that netherworld between the very possible and the utterly fantastic. I like the main characters, and although many of the minor characters are little more than stereotypes, they may be developed in future books. Ms. Gold uses simple but effective visual images like the Empire State Building at night or the hectic, fly-by culture of the cleaners to spruce up the action, and it is an effective method to increase the reader’s connection to the North Jersey and New York City characters and settings. Also, Diana realizes throughout the two novels that although her life has troubles; i.e. her stepmom isn’t perfect, she must navigate the beginning of interest in relationships, mean girls at school occasionally taunt, her boss at the cleaners can be a challenge, etc., she is better off in her middle-class life than in many other seemingly glamorous lives. Diana accepts and embraces who she is and does not dream of being someone else more pretty, or more wealthy, or more famous like this week’s morally deficient Jon & Kate. Diana is comfortable in her own skin, although she continually has to prove it like every middler. I believe Maya Gold has tapped into a winning formula with the Cinderella Cleaners series; after all, not everyone wants to be a vampire or a werewolf, right? Like the Candy Apple books, this series will be great for reading over a break or at the beach this summer.

2009-11-17T02:30:00.000-08:00

Daneshvari, Gitty. School of Fear. Little, Brown & Co, 2009. 339 pages (2 stars out of 4)

There is something exciting about the release of a new Pixar film. I particularly like movies such as Toy Story, Ratatouille, and Finding Nemo because I know I am part of the target demographic, not just my kids. When Mr. Potato Head rearranges his face and shouts, “Look at me, I’m a Picasso,” the joke just flies right past my kids’ heads while I give a knowing chuckle. Beavis and Butthead may have been funny, but not to me. I was an outsider to the marketers’ intended audience; the characters were not versatile enough to appeal to teenagers and me. Unfortunately, School of Fear by Gitty Daneshvari strikes me as more like our “heh-heh-heh” growling friends than like Ed Asner and that boy scout in Up: the novel’s predictable plot and spoiled, hackneyed characters do not resonate in my literary sensibilities. However, like many books reviewed here, that does not mean that your students will not like it.

Madeleine, Theo, Lulu, and Garrison are all super-wealthy kids with a problem: each possesses and clings to a paralyzing phobia. When each of the families are told, in great secrecy, about an exclusive, expensive, guaranteed school to cure their children, the parents are generally elated, but this school is unlike any other. When Madeleine Masterson’s parents are told about the fabled School of Fear, Maddie’s school counselor privately describes the most unusual school: “Mrs. Kleiner explained that School of Fear is an exceedingly exclusive program run by the elusive Mrs. Wellington; it is actually so select that few people are even aware of its existence . . . rigorous background checks are performed on both candidates and families. These background checks are so thorough that Mrs. Wellington often learns information that belies logic” (17). At first, Maddie’s fear of spiders and bugs, Lulu’s fear of closed spaces, Theo’s fear of mortality, and Garrison’s fear of water not only seemingly cripple the students, they also create conflict among them. However, to survive the school’s eccentric headmistress, her odd assistant Schmidty, and the mysterious Munchauser, the 12- and 13-year-olds must find a way to work together to conquer all of their fears and shared problems, not only their phobias.

I hesitate to criticize this book too harshly because I know that its target audience has not seen and read this story as often as I have. Students may appreciate the perceived peril of the characters, and they may feel the characters’ discomfort as they struggle through their problems. Also, the author cleverly lists the words for different phobias at the beginning of each chapter with a picture hinting at the new chapter’s action. However, I did not feel the desire to share the characters’ journey. The four young adults are spoiled brats until the end, and even then, three out of the four are not particularly likable. Of course, I do not have to like characters to appreciate them (I don’t like Steinbeck’s George, but I never question my appreciation for his sacrifice or Of Mice and Men’s greatness as a novel), but these characters are not developed enough to become important to me. Their pampered lives are never at stake (we know rich kids don’t die in today’s novels; think of the legal ramifications!) and their change is too formulaic. Maybe my students watch Karate Kid and are shocked by the ending, but I expected the crane kick all along. School of Fear by Gitty Daneshvari is not poorly-written, just uninspiring. It may appeal to Lemony Snicket or Spiderwick fans, but I will not strongly recommend it to on-level sixth or seventh graders. This novel may be best used as a high-low selection for upper middle school or high school.

2009-10-19T06:57:00.000-07:00

Johnson, Louanne. Muchacho. Alfred A. Knopf, 2009. 197 pages. ISBN 13: 978-0-375-86117-8. This book is appropriate for grades 8 and up, or ages 13 and up, depending on reading level. This novel contains potentially offensive language, but it is a good high-low selection for high school
(3 1/2 stars out of 4).

I am always looking for good books with Hispanic protagonists and voices, because they not only serve our Hispanic population in Pennsauken (over 35%), they also inform the rest of us about the challenges and issues of other folks. When I began Muchacho by Louanne Johnson, I could not help thinking about her previous book, My Posse Don’t Do Homework, adapted into the popular Michelle Pfeiffer film Dangerous Minds. I had some problems with stereotypes and portrayals in the movie, and I did not take it that seriously. I know that should not impact my reading of Ms. Johnson’s new novel, but I am not always as objective as I think I am. Therefore, I was greatly relieved that the students of Bright Horizons alternative school had the young, idealistic, wispy, white teacher fired by the end of October. This was not going to be another amazingly improbable saga of a smart and progressive white educator who enters the ghetto and changes the world. Instead, Muchacho is a sensitive and powerful portrait of one Hispanic-American teen and his efforts to discover his creative potential himself, not through a teacher’s lens.

Eddie Corazon feels trapped in his small life. Eddie is a secret reader, because high schoolers in his New Mexico, especially those at Rosablanca’s Bright Horizons alternative school, get attacked for being too smart, too tough, too weak, too much of anything T. J. Ritchie or the bullies think is outside of normal. Eddie is tough enough to survive, and he has his family to protect him and not leave him alone so the drug dealers can enlist him. However, Eddie knows that he is not achieving his potential in the alt school, and total failure is not an option; one year when Eddie forgets Mamí’s birthday he makes her a certificate that guarantees he will graduate from high school. Eddie is an honorable teen who understands what a man’s word means: “I thought about hiding it or tearing it up, but it wouldn’t get me out of the deal . . . It’s probably a good thing I wrote it down, though, because otherwise I might have dropped out of school one of those days when I felt like breaking all the windows just to make something interesting happen instead of all those dumb assignments and tests” (43). With an occasionally abusive father, cousins and friends always tempting Eddie with “easy money,” and low expectations at alt school, Eddie feels he is going nowhere fast until he takes a ballroom dancing class and meets Lupe. Lupe is not only beautiful, smart, and strong-willed, she is able to awaken Eddie’s secret desire: to be Eduardo, an intellectual who is able to unlock and unfetter his neighborhood’s shackles. However, stumbling blocks are numerous on Eddie’s road to becoming Eduardo, and he may not even get the opportunity to make the changes he so desperately seeks.

Eddie Corazon is an Everyman who I like from page one. He speaks in slang and colloquialism at the beginning of the novel, but by the end, his grammar and usage improves, a nice subtle touch by the author. Eddie is acutely aware of his circumstances and he is impossible to stereotype. Lupe sees Eddie for who he actually is, not the front he shows to the rest of the world, and as Eddie’s heart opens, mine does as well. Eddie’s journey to self-improvement is not all that different from most people’s journey. He wants what is best and he is willing to work for it. The moment Eddie is understood on his level, and not on some Anglo’s assessment of what his level looks like, he responds like any intelligent, eloquent young person should, with respect and curiosity. The reader is left with the definite impression that when the Anglos in Eddie’s world finally view him as a peer and not as an outsider looking in, he will be every bit as successful as them, if not more so because of his experience. Muchacho by Louanne Johnson is excellent realistic fiction and a fine example of a modern character study. Readers will like and relate to Eddie (and Lupe), regardless of their station in life.

2009-10-19T06:54:00.000-07:00

Zielin, Lara. Donut Days. G.P. Putnam’s Sons, 2009. 243 pages. ISBN 13: 978-0-399-25066-8. This book is appropriate for grades 5 and up, or ages 11 and up, depending on reading level. This is also a good high-low selection for upper grades (3 1/2 stars out of 4).

Librarians and Language Arts teachers who keep current with Young Adult literature like to think they can always make a recommendation from their library or classroom library shelves, regardless of the request. If a student wants a mystery like Nancy Drew but scarier, no problem. If a student wants a book about people who explore alternative lifestyles, no problem. If a student wants urban fiction or manga, no problem. If a student wants an African-American theme, a Hispanic-American theme, or an Asian-American theme, no problem. But debut author Lara Zielin’s new novel Donut Days raises an important question that I was not, before I read this book, prepared to answer: What if a student wants Christian fiction? Frankly, most of my students are Christian, and some of them are evangelical like many of the characters in Ms. Zielin’s novel. Their needs should be met, and if that means bringing in more novels like Ms. Zielin’s delightful offering, I am ready to buy.
Emma Goiner is a sixteen-year-old embroiled in the middle of a turmoil or two. Her parents, the pastors of Living Word Redeemer, a 300-member evangelical Christian congregation, have just split the worshippers over a controversial sermon delivered by Emma’s mom in which she argues that Adam (yes, that Adam) was a hermaphrodite. However, larger problems loom, because the church is in crisis over fundamental differences between the pastors and the church’s wealthiest and most influential patron. Meanwhile, Emma is having her own set of crises. First of all, the problem patron also happens to be the father of Jake, Emma’s best friend (or maybe more . . .). Secondly, Jake’s sister is stealing Emma’s BFF Natalie and Emma feels powerless to stop it. Finally, Emma is experiencing a crisis of faith prompted by a hollow baptism that was supposed to be inspirational: “I couldn’t feel anything. I wanted to reach out to him [her father, Pastor Goiner], to have him dunk me under again, because not one thing had happened when I was baptized. Not [speaking in] tongues, a vision, or even a warm-fuzzy close-to-God feeling” (15). The more she tries to feel the spirit of God, the more she is disappointed, and worst of all, she feels her lack of attachment to the tenets of the church is on display to her entire world. But whether she is ready for it or not, Emma must confront the contentious factions in her life and achieve some sort of order that works for her, even if that peace has a stiff price, like the loss of a friendship or even the loss of a home.
I like Donut Days by debut author Lara Zielin for several reasons. The plot moves reasonably well, in spurts rather than leading up to one overpowering climax, which is appropriate when the climax is not expected to have the impact of a courtroom drama decision. The novel is visually effective, so I feel that I can see the action at all times. Little pieces of imagery like the dark prints on Jake’s khaki pants that mean he has been rubbing them due to nerves are welcome characterizations. Also, the minor characters, most specifically Bear and the biker gang, are fun and unusual enough to add even more color to an already vivid landscape. Finally, I enjoyed this novel because it managed to do something completely new for me: it normalized an entire demographic, evangelical Christians. Ironically, through their foibles, they are revealed as just like everybody else, with the same hopes, desires, dreams, and limitations. I will look for more Christian fiction for my shelves, and I will add the fiction of other religions as I find it or as students request it. Not carrying those types of literature is as absurd in theory as not carrying The Chosen by Chaim Potok or Keeping Corner by Kashmira Sheth, both excellent novels about important American cultures, values, and mores. Donut Days by Lara Zielin is not a perfect novel, especially in the convenient manner in which Emma achieves some very powerful wisdom very quickly and handily, but in the compressed world of fiction, a first-time author can be forgiven a little lapse. Overall, this is a fine novel and a fascinating, if simplified, portrait of the evangelical community.

2009-10-10T11:56:00.000-07:00

Brooks, Kevin. Dawn. Chicken House, 2009. 256 pages. ISBN 13: 978-0-545-06090-5. This book is intended for grades 8 and up, or ages 14 and up, depending on reading level. This book contains several examples of graphic language and situations. (3 1/2 stars out of 4).

I will admit that up until now, I had not read any Kevin Brooks. He leans toward the older side of what I teach (5-8), and his content is known to be mature. But his latest novel, Dawn, looked intriguing because when I searched it on the internet, I learned that in the UK (Brooks’ home), the novel is titled Killing God. I got hooked by the alternate title, and in fact, the protagonist does contemplate killing God. Fortunately for the reader, Dawn Bundy contemplates much more than that, and the richly woven narrative strikes to the heart of every teenager who has ever thought too much about stuff. Unfortunately, Dawn cannot focus on healing thoughts, only on darkness, symbolized in her tortured mind by a cave. This lyrical, moving, fresh novel is at times a psychological thriller, but it mostly serves as a portrait of the products of drug, alcohol, and sexual abuse, and the strength necessary to rise above those debilitating realities. Kevin Brooks lives up to his reputation both as a YA author who tackles tough issues and as a gifted writer and storyteller.

Dawn Bundy has just turned fifteen, and she has nothing to celebrate. She has no friends to speak of and claims she wants none. She has no hobbies except to listen to the alternative band The Jesus and Mary Chain, and since her Dad left two years ago, she has no company at home; Mom is a pill-popping alcoholic who lives in a haze: “Whisky and coffee is what she drinks. Whisky in black coffee. The whisky keeps her drunk, the coffee keeps her awake . . . And on top of that there’s the prescribed antidepressants, and the occasional joint, and the unprescribed sleeping pills . . . So it’s not really surprising that her eyes are kind of glazed most of the time” (37). Dawn wants to kill God because she feels He ruined her father. Dad has always been an addict and an alcoholic who lives on the edge, but when he is born again, he transforms into a stranger whom Dawn does not recognize: “It was almost as if he’d become some kind of born-again alcoholic. Like he’d found whatever he was looking for—he’d found his salvation—through drinking again, only now it was all mixed up with God, like some kind of abominable cocktail . . . it just seemed to suck all the Dadness out of him” (54-55). Although two girls have approached Dawn about doing more girlfriend activities and hanging out, Dawn resists. She lives mostly in her head, where she hides a terrible secret from her past that threatens to blow her apart.

This novel is not for the faint of heart middler, and graphic language and content abound. However, there are no graphic scenes of violence or sex; any episode of Law & Order SVU is far more disturbing than the concrete images in this novel. Dawn is a first-rate book by a talented writer. Mr. Brooks effectively weaves rock lyrics into Dawn’s already quirky narrative to produce an effective portrait of a troubled soul. He trots out the old English 101 trick of making lists to paint a picture, and Dawn’s lists are at once funny and tragic. Through keen characterization, due to her low self-image, Dawn only truly sees herself physically through others; this is particularly effective when she is with “friends” Taylor and Mel. Also, Mr. Brooks cleverly captures the existential mood of the characters by frequently having characters repeatedly ask each other, “Are you OK?” Although the song lyrics tend to be a bit pretentious (to me, probably not to a young teen) and the ending is not overly satisfying, neither issue detracts from what is an excellent effort. Dawn by Kevin Brooks is well-executed novel for older middlers who like to be disturbed while they are entertained.

2009-10-10T11:50:00.000-07:00

Couloumbis, Audrey & Akila. War Games. Random House Children’s Books, 2009. 229 pages with Author’s Note. ISBN 13: 978-0-375-98302-5. This book is intended for grades 4 and up, or ages 9 and up, depending on reading level. (3 stars out of 4)

The older I get, the more I am convinced that all history is tainted. We all know that history is written by its winners, and I remember many instances in which I was taught clearly questionable history, such as the relationship between the Pilgrims and the Native Americans; the unfair treatment of all women, African-Americans, Jewish-Americans, and other oppressed groups; and the deity of Oprah Winfrey. However, Truth is not at stake here, and Audrey & Akila Couloumbis’s new novel War Games is not a good or bad novel because its truthiness is in question. As a memoir, this work is one historical perspective almost in isolation: the Nazi occupation of Greece and its effects on one Greek village. In the end, history becomes perspective, and its integrity rests with the people recording it. War Games is a poignant presentation of one village’s struggles with impending occupation. It is an effective portrait of the unfair forces that sometimes cause children to become adults before their time.

Petros may only be 12, but he is a responsible young man who speaks both English and Greek because his family once lived in America. Changing everyone’s lives, news comes that the German occupation is near, so to decrease their chances of being singled out by the Nazis, all traces of America must be purged from the family’s lives. When Petros complains to his mother that he wants to keep some unread books, she responds with a steely disposition: “‘I feel the same way about my Life magazines, but I burn them all the more quickly’” (48). When cousin Lambros goes off to fight and legends begin to sprout about his exploits, Petros and his older brother Zola want to join the resistance. It all seems like an intricate and adventurous game to the boys; the danger seems far away as long as the Nazis are not in their town. However, war zones change, and plans change with them; what once seemed like juvenile games can transform almost instantly into harsh and brutal reality with dangerous consequences for patriotic risk-takers.

War Games by Audrey & Akila Couloumbis is a fine memoir, and it will appeal to many fans of novels like The Boy Who Dared and The Mostly True Adventures of Homer P. Figg who like a little adventure and a little humor in their historical fiction. A little slow in the beginning, it builds into small but satisfying climaxes, like serialized installments of an action hero story or chapters of a Hardy Boys classic. However, I am not sure it is an effective novel. The portraits of home life and the boys’ small adventures are important to the overall theme, that outside forces sometimes end innocence prematurely. But the authors do not always provide enough visual detail of the characters, their village, or their enemies for me to become attached to them. I have trouble distinguishing the characters because I cannot see them; I have trouble following action around the setting because I do not adequately see it in my mind. I do not know what effect more imagery would have on War Games, but I would have liked to know. I will still recommend this book to students interested in war fiction, because they may not miss the sensory language as much as I do.

2009-08-17T11:14:00.000-07:00

Wooding, Chris. Malice. Scholastic, 2009 (3 stars out of 4)

Horror has a safe haven in the imaginations of many of our middle-level students, and growing up on Fear Street and Cirque du Freak has poured the tinny but delicious taste of blood into many a young person’s mouth. Chris Wooding (Storm Thief, Poison) has earned a place as one of the new standard-bearers of horror/fantasy/sci-fi, and Malice is his latest effort to craft a dark, perilous, and exciting fantasy world. Using a hybrid novel/graphic novel format, Mr. Wooding creates an underworld complete with scary characters, life-threatening danger, larger-than-life enemies, and many mysteries to solve.

Malice is no ordinary comic book. The characters in the comic are disturbingly similar to real people who have disappeared, and English middlers Luke, Heather, Seth, and Kady get involved over their heads. There is a rumor that if a certain ritual is performed, the villain Tall Jake will appear and take the subject to Malice, a dreadful alternate world filled with killer machines and topsy-turvy reality. When Luke disappears after performing the ritual, leaving his cell phone in his room, Seth has trouble believing that the stories are actually true, but he knows something is amiss: “He snorted to himself in disgust. He was letting himself get spooked by the stories. He wouldn’t be surprised if Luke was winding him up on purpose, just for a laugh . . . But he would never have left his phone behind” (27). Something is indeed very wrong about Malice, Black Dice Comics where it is secretly sold, and the shady characters involved with the store. Answers must be provided to save lives, and there is only one way to find them: in Malice itself.

Mr. Wooding succeeds on many levels, but not all of them. Malice is a well-developed plot idea that is sometimes portrayed as scary, but it feels unintentionally campy as well. The characters seem a bit too successful and smug, joking through attacking machines and one violent encounter after another. The world itself is intriguing, with cleverly-designed sections and elements that all tie into each other using the skewed rules of dark fantasy; i.e. killer machines called Chitters eat time to live, and they steal it from the kids in Malice and store it in crystals. I also feel that the graphic portions of the novel are diminished by their small size and disjointed nature, but I believe that middlers growing up on manga and anime will not have a problem with the illustrations at all; in fact, they will think they are very cool. Mr. Wooding has created a series (the next book, Havoc, should appear next year) that will resonate well with its target demographic, but readers may be limited to specific fans of dark fantasy novels or comics like Sandman.

2009-08-16T06:05:00.000-07:00

Collins, Suzanne. Catching Fire: The Second Book of The Hunger Games. Scholastic, 2009. 391 pages. ISBN 13: 978-0-439-02349-8. This book is intended for grades 6 and up, or ages 12 and up, depending on reading level.

So many of my students have asked when Catching Fire by Suzanne Collins would be released that I feel compelled to make this new novel, the second installment in The Hunger Games series, the first review of the new school year. As a sci-fi fan, I have been waiting as impatiently for Catching Fire to be released as my students have, and I am not disappointed. Ms. Collins delivers, as I had hoped she would, another rip-roaring dystopian novel about a future world that uncomfortably feels too much like ours. It may start just a bit slowly, but once it gets going, the ride is dizzying.

Katniss Everdeen, now 17 and finally able to relax after winning the 74^th Hunger Games, goes on a victory tour through Panem’s 12 districts with her faux fiancé, Peeta. However, Katniss soon realizes that all is not as it appears, and relaxation becomes the last thing on her mind. She stayed alive in the last Hunger Games by threatening suicide with poison berries, and that was viewed as an act of defiance by both the government (that hated it) and its citizens (who loved it). In a private meeting, President Snow reveals that there have been problems and potential uprisings in the districts, and he threatens Katniss with her best friend (and potential boyfriend) Gale’s death if she does not sell the government’s lies about her loving marriage to Peeta and her love of country to the people of Panem: “‘Only you’ll have to do even better if the uprisings are to be averted,’ he says. ‘This tour will be your only chance to turn things around’” (29). Katniss promises to do what she can, but she knows her future is in jeopardy. As things grow gradually worse in District 12 and news spreads of growing unrest throughout Panem, dread builds over this year’s 75^th Hunger Games, called a Quarter Quell because it falls on a 25-year multiple from the first Games. Quarter Quells are known for their difficulty and ruthlessness, and anything is possible.

It is clear that Ms. Collins has borrowed from many sources to create The Hunger Games series, and at times, I felt like if I tweaked a few things, I would be reading Haddix’s Shadow Children series instead. However, Ms. Collins successfully recreates the tension, suspense, intrigue, and adrenaline-pumping action of the first novel in Catching Fire, so the point becomes moot. Her series is original enough, and I cannot wait for the last installment. Her characters may not be brilliantly painted, but they are both memorable and likable; I especially enjoy the banter of Kat’s stylists, Cinna, Flavius, Venia, and Octavia; listening to their conversation makes me feel giddy like an eavesdropper under a salon hair dryer or in a gym locker room. Catching Fire arrives where most other YA novels have merely attempted to go, to that nebulous land where morality, humanity, and authority get melted in a crucible and truth emerges. It’s a scary and crowded place, but don’t worry: there’s always room for one more.

2009-08-16T05:56:00.000-07:00

Gratz, Alan. The Brooklyn Nine: A Novel in Nine Innings. Dial Books, 2009 (4 stars out of 4!).

I have been a baseball fan for my entire life, and as a Phillies fan, I have suffered the pit of despair and the pinnacle of ecstasy, so I have developed an appreciation for the mythology of the game. After this year’s sudden passing of Harry Kalas, long-time Phillies broadcaster and the only voice of the Phillies I have ever known, I found myself remembering seeing games at old Connie Mack Stadium and Veterans Stadium with my father, working at Veterans Stadium in 1990 and seeing Terry Mulholland’s no-hitter, and the other baseball facts and memories that comprise each fan’s individual mythos. Alan Gratz has tapped into this rich vein of nostalgia with The Brooklyn Nine: A Novel in Nine Innings. Mr. Gratz has crafted a well-coordinated group of short stories revolving around two related families, and although each of the nine “innings” stands on its own (some stand better than others), together they present the history of baseball in all of its childlike, and occasionally soiled, splendor.

The nine stories begin and end with fire, and the starting year is 1845, when Felix Schneider, child of German immigrants, unwittingly becomes part of the New York Knickerbockers’ “three-out, all-out” game. Alexander Cartwright, acknowledged by many to be baseball’s founder, asks him to call a close play, but before he can marvel at his situation, he suddenly realizes that the Knickerbockers, also known as the New York Knickerbocker Volunteer Fire Fighting Brigade, have a bigger problem: “Felix didn’t answer. He was transfixed by something over Cartwright’s shoulder, a towering plume of smoke billowing up from the rooftops . . . Manhattan was on fire” (14).

About 50 years later, in 1894, Arnold Schneider learns a valuable lesson about stardom, fame, and the ugly side of sports. After being incessantly picked on by his peers because of his size and lack of athletic prowess, he accidentally wanders over to the vaudeville district, where he sneaks in to see his hero, baseball slugger King Kelly. Unfortunately, Kelly is at the end of his career and has deteriorated into a hopeless alcoholic. When Arnold arranges for Kelly to come to the playground and trade stories with the boys, Arnold’s star rises dramatically. However, Arnold knows it will not last, and that his success will have to be paid for: “Arnold knew he should have felt triumphant. He was a legend. He had brought King Kelly, the Ten-Thousand Dollar Beauty, to Pigtown. But how long would it last? How long before he was little “Arnie” again, picked last every game . . . When the excitement of King Kelly went away, what would be left?” (93). Kelly proves to be a disappointment, but Arnold has his moment, though it costs him more than he expects.

About 50 years after King Kelly, Kat Flint wants nothing more than to play baseball, and being a member of the Grand Rapids Chicks is a dream come true. Ironically, the only thing that can destroy her dream is the fulfillment of everybody else’s dream, that the war will end. She ashamedly confesses that once the men come home, she will not be satisfied when things return to “normal” for women: “‘I don’t—I don’t want the war to end. I want my dad back safe of course, but I wouldn’t be here, now, without the war. There wouldn’t even be a girls’ league. And my mom, she’s so smart, so good with numbers, but she only got a job as an engineer because all the men are off fighting’” (181).

Other distinctive “innings” feature a family who experiences anti-Semitism without even being Jewish, a girl who runs numbers under the watchful eye of her police officer father, and a boy who is trying to pitch a perfect game for his little league team. All of the stories feature Brooklyn prominently as setting or background, and the stories are presented in chronological order one generation at a time.

I will not beat around the Flatbush: I loved this book. I felt the history of America’s game coursing through my veins as I read each successive story and I laughed and cried with the colorful characters and situations as they illuminated our collective history from 1845 to the present. Cleverly, the book is written in nine sections (innings) with three chapter (outs) per section. Additionally, Mr. Gratz’s endnotes, in which he briefly discusses his research for the book, demonstrates an appropriate reverence for and devotion to baseball’s history that will appeal to fans of any age. This would be a great father and son or mother and daughter book. The Brooklyn Nine: A Novel in Nine Innings by Alan Gratz is a superior young adult sports novel that, like Gary Soto’s short baseball stories, not only presents real characters but also poignantly shows readers the best and worst that our country and its people can offer.

2009-08-16T05:45:00.000-07:00

Boie, Kirsten. The Princess Plot. Chicken House/Scholastic, 2009 (3 1/2 out of 4 stars).

Stephenie Meyer reminded all of us about the value of archetypes in YA literature. Her portrayal of a vulnerable teenager rescued and empowered by a dark, mysterious stranger has rekindled a voracious and seemingly limitless (until the next fad comes along) fire of vampire and monster books so that even Darren Shan’s series (Cirque du Freak, Demonata) have gained renewed popularity after petering out in my libraries. German author Kirsten Boie, in her first English novel, The Princess Plot, combines three other common but related archetypes, the princess yarn, the damsel in distress fairy tale, and the surprise identity ironic tale, creating a very readable novel. Using familiar themes and structures, Ms. Boie weaves a fast-paced, easy-to-follow-but-not-insulting novel.

Jenna Greenwood is 14 and she feels like she is missing out on life because of her overbearing single parent mother, an etiquette teacher. Mom is mysterious about the family’s past, and when Jenna asks about her family tree, Mom gives her nothing and Jenna must make up her tree for a class assignment: “Jenna looked at the almost-empty sheet . . . Maybe it would be fun to invent a few names” (19). When Jenna and her BFF Bea go to a movie audition at a local bowling alley, it is the plain Jane Jenna, not her more attractive friends, who is courted, almost desperately, by the movie people. It is hard for her not to feel special: “She suddenly felt quite light-headed. She had been chosen—of all the girls, she was the one they wanted, and that was the only thing that mattered. When she accepts the offer for a screen test, she is told that she must travel far away to take it, and she knows her mother will object. When Mom shockingly agrees by text message (she had never even sent a text message before!), Jenna is overjoyed and agrees, despite a feeling in the back of her mind that everything is not exactly as it appears.

Meanwhile, in the northern country of Scandia, Princess Malena has run away and disguised herself as a boy, interfering with the plans of the shady regent, Malena’s Uncle Norlin, and his advisor Bolström. Now, to complete their repressive and unfair plot, Bolström, masquerading as the “director” of the “film,” reveals the actual role the unwitting Jenna will play: “His megawatt smile made Jenna feel uncomfortable all over again. ‘You have the chance, Jenna, the unique chance, to stand in for the princess tomorrow at a party. You will act as if you were the Princess of Scandia’” (87). There is a reason that Jenna looks almost identical to the princess, and the nefarious plot, to attack North Scandia, hinges upon Jenna’s performance. However, Malena has friends as well, and she is doing everything she can to prevent the culmination of the plan. Risking great personal danger, they must ultimately seek each other’s help to do the right thing and save Scandia and the lives of all of the people embroiled in this conflict.

I confess that when I first started reading this novel, I thought it was just another mistaken identity story, but before I knew it, I got sucked into the plot like a sponge in water. The story moves very fast, with the short sections and quick cuts that many young people like. The vocabulary level is very reasonable, but I did not feel demeaned, making this an excellent high-low selection. Although the plot was fairly predictable, its audience will not bring a metacognitive understanding and familiarity with these types of stories to the table, so readers will probably enjoy the satisfying, happy ending, even if they know it’s coming. The Princess Plot by Kirsten Boie is an exciting novel that has the potential to rivet readers in their seats, asking if they can read just one more section before bed. The heroes are brave and loyal, the villains are believable and nasty but not over-the-top, and Jenna discovers and learns to utilize her previously-hidden inner strength and positive self-image throughout the course of the tale, an aspiration we hold for all of our students.

2009-05-08T05:17:00.000-07:00

I am going to change the structure of the column a bit for this review because I want to discuss three series by a new and exciting company: Orca Book Publishers. My students love Townsend Press’s excellent high-low (high interest, low reading level) Bluford High series, and while searching for high-low series similar to Bluford, I found Orca. According to Orca’s website, http://us.orcabook.com/, its books are targeted to reluctant readers in the childrens, middle school, and teen markets. The three series I purchased for my libraries, and that I cannot keep on the shelf, are: Orca Currents, books with contemporary themes, written expressly for middle-school students, ages 10-14, reading below grade level; Orca Soundings, contemporary fiction books targeted to teens ages 12 and up; and Orca Sports books, with exciting and fast-paced sports themes, targeted to ages 10 and up. The reading levels of all three series are 2.0 to 4.5, manageable for almost all readers 5th grade and up. All levels of readers are enjoying them at my two libraries, and the more I booktalk them, the more popular they become. Following are reviews from one of each of the three series mentioned above. All three books are recommended.
Brouwer, Sigmund. Scarlet Thunder.
Trenton Hiser wants nothing more than to be a film director, and at 17, he is getting a chance over the summer with his Uncle Mike, owner of a small film production studio. However, as he begins to work with Uncle Mike, he starts realizing that there is more to making a film than acting, shooting film, and editing. In fact, trouble erupts unexpectedly seemingly at every turn, beginning with some mice and an elephant that ruin a temperamental actor’s commercial: “That little episode had delayed the commercial three days . . . [The cost] had come out of Uncle Mike’s budget. He’d told me that his production company had actually lost money on the deal” (23). Trent is frustrated by the problems that keep popping up, but he is excited about their next project: filming the life of female race car driver Sandy Peterson. But that project is endangered by increasingly frequent production problems, and time is money for Uncle Mike; he stands to make a million if the film is on time, but he risks losing everything if he is late: “‘I agreed to the terms, because I need the bonus to get the next project I have in mind going. It’s one that could make my career as a director. I just never dreamed we would be late, so I figured it would be worth the risk’” (25). Trenton has big dreams, and they are riding on Uncle Mike’s success; Mike’s failure is Trenton’s missed opportunity. Together, they must figure out what or who is causing all of their problems and salvage the project before they are both ruined.
I enjoyed Scarlet Thunder by Sigmund Brouwer for several reasons: it was quick and easy to read, like a summer novel; it was exciting in the right way, because the action crept up on me until, before I knew it, I was totally engaged in the story; and it provided a lot of the background readers never see on television, enhancing the drama. Although I predicted the ending, I feel that the answers will be appropriately just out of reach of the target audience; if readers do figure it out, it can only increase their confidence and reduce their frustration levels, so they win either way. I am not a fan of stock car racing, but this Orca Sports selection drew me in like a popular movie novelization; it may not be the best writing in the world, but its audience will probably love it.

Denman, K. L. The Shade.
Safira Nelson used to love the water, but she spends part of her summer at swim camp and will not enter the pool. A frightening event eight months ago during a swim meet has made Safira scared of the water: “A lot can change in a moment. Especially if that moment was devastating. The sort of thing that yanks your identity” (4-5). However, Safira has bigger problems: on the eve of her sister’s wedding to a jerk that everyone (except sister Mya) dislikes, Safira sees a ghost that looks incredibly sad. Her best friend Trinity tries to help her discover, with a Ouija board, who the ghost is, but with no immediate answers, Safira grows more uncomfortable. Meanwhile, her sister Mya is making everyone miserable with her pre-wedding rants. When her fiancé Lino is rude to Safira and her friend again, Safira thinks she detects sadness in Mya’s demeanor: “Mya glances back at us, eyes narrowed, one side of her mouth pulled up into something that isn’t a smile. I can’t read her expression. It’s like she’s embarrassed, yet she’s daring us to notice” (28). As the wedding approaches, information about the ghost starts to appear, and there seems to be a connection between Mya and the ghost, who Trinity identifies as a shade, an image of the living, not the dead. Safira must put the pieces together, figure out how to prevent Mya from making a terrible mistake, understand why she has decided to never swim again, and have all of the answers before her sister says, “I do.”
Safira is a lot like many of the girls at my schools: she does not always understand how she feels or why she does what she does; she is uncertain about her past and her future; she has a kind, Gilda Joyce-like friend who pushes her to be more than she is, and she feels a bit jaded by the reality that she feels is stifling her growth. I like Safira, and I like her friend Trinity even more. Their personalities and relationship do not make The Shade by Canadian author K. L. Denman a perfect book, but they do make it an intriguing one. I think my students will appreciate the suspense of the story, and Safira’s voyage of self-discovery is the coming-of-age passion play that every middler experiences at some point in her young life. Also, Ms. Denman introduces some harmless occult and psychological elements, such as contacting the dead and realizing that water is the primary symbol of the unconscious, that appeal to our vampire-crazed readers. This is a fine short read for any middler.

Dekker, James C. Scum.
Megan Carter has been worried about her brother Daniel for some time, but she never imagined in her worst nightmares that the police would visit at 7:30 on a Friday morning with the most awful news imaginable: Daniel is dead. Detective Rossetti explains: “‘Danny was in a bar early this morning.’ It turns out he means three o’clock in the morning. ‘A couple of men came in and had words with him. One of them pulled out a gun and shot Danny. He died on the way to the hospital. I’m sorry’” (10). Dad and Megan seem to know of Danny’s indiscretions, but Mom seems to be shocked and shameful over the shooting, and those feelings leave her paralyzed: “My mother doesn’t go back to work. She doesn’t even get out of bed. My dad . . . makes her toast. He makes her sandwiches. He takes these things up to her on a tray and eventually carries them back down untouched” (25). No one at the bar will cooperate or say what they saw. There is a boy about Megan’s age named Titch who may be able to help, but whether or not the crime is solved, and regardless of the trouble Danny was in, the family must find a way to endure, even without total closure.
My students like these types of stories. Scum by James C. Dekker reminds me of an episode of CSI or Law & Order in which people try to solve a crime but also deal with the personal aspects of the situation; this story was heavy on the family survival aspect and light on the forensics, but both can be compelling. The plot moves reasonably quickly, and although the text is large and easy to read, the subject matter is not insulting to its audience; in fact, reluctant readers appreciate reading books about teenagers in trouble instead of reading 4th grade books simply because they match the students’ reading levels. The goal of this book, and other Orca books like it, is to encourage frustrated middlers and teens to read, and from my perspective, it is working. Teachers love the books as well, but the students will prove their value through a rapidly growing number of circulations. When I mentioned Scum to one of my students who has gotten hooked on Orca books, she said, “Oh, I just read that. I liked it. I think I read it in one day!” Any librarian who sees the light in a student’s eyes when she says she read her Orca book in one day cannot resist immediately calling his or her favorite vendor and making sure that, in September, there are plenty of Orca books on the shelf.

2009-05-08T05:09:00.000-07:00

Burg, Ann E. All the Broken Pieces (3 stars out of 4)
I admit it: I am a poetry snob. I buy all of the new, level-appropriate poetry books for my libraries; I support and recommend poetry to the students who like it (and some who do not); and I teach poetry forms, concepts, sounds, and devices; however, I must confess that my real love is the DWGs (dead white guys) many of us learned about in school. Give me Milton, Pope, Wordsworth, Tennyson, and a forest to walk in, and I am a happy camper. However, young people do not have the same relationship and history with poetry that I do, and they will never have the opportunity to develop their tastes without exposure to more than Shel Silverstein and Jack Prelutsky. Having enjoyed verse books like Virginia Euwer Wolff’s moving urban drama Make Lemonade and Marilyn Nelson’s insightful biography Carver: A Life in Poems, I decided to read All the Broken Pieces by new author Ann E. Burg. Employing straightforward free verse, Ms. Burg does a capable job in telling the story of a Vietnamese immigrant’s challenges in growing up in post-war, divided America.
It is the 1970s and the Vietnam War has ended. Matt Pin is one of the lucky children airlifted, by his biological mother’s request, out of the horror of war-torn Vietnam: “In choking mist / and wailing dust, / through sounds / of whirring helicopters / and open prayers, / I hear her. / You cannot stay here, / she says. / Here you will be like dust. / Bui Doi. / Dust of Life” (2). Matt is adopted by a loving American family, and although he is safe from the ravages of war, he harbors a tangle of feelings. He experiences guilt over leaving his mother and crippled brother, shame in having an American soldier (who abandoned his mother) he never met as a biological father, and fear that his American parents do not actually want him: “My parents say they love me . . . / But what about / my mother in Vietnam? / Didn’t she say / she loved me too? (67). When Matt tries out for the school baseball team, he encounters another roadblock, peer prejudice created by the bitterness and loss of an unpopular and deadly war: “When tryouts are over, / Rob Brennan bumps into me. / I fall into the bleachers. / When I stand up again, / he hisses into my ear, / My brother died / because of you” (48). Matt’s burden is overwhelming for an adolescent: he must come to terms with survivor’s guilt, find a way to accept two sets of parents separated by a gulf of fire and shame, and find a way to be an Asian-American boy and man at a time of high resentment against everything even remotely Vietnamese.
I will not pretend that All the Broken Pieces contains great poetry; Ann E. Burg is no Stephen Dunn or Billy Collins. She takes no risks; her poetry feels more like bulleted lists than innovative or distinctive lines, and those lines would be prose in another author’s hands who did not feel the need to break them into chunks and pretend they are poetic. I might even suggest that I would have enjoyed it more as a prose morality play like Sid Fleischman’s simply brilliant The Entertainer and the Dybbuk. However, she does not need to be brilliant to be effective, and her simple but poignant free verse, more potentially appealing to middlers than to English majors/teachers, is capable of moving and inspiring students to read and possibly write more poetry, and for that, she is to be commended. Although the characters lack concreteness and place (we never find out how old Matt is, where he lives, or background about everyone’s lives), they successfully make the author’s points about the tenuous relationship between prejudice and pain, guilt and remorse, and love and hate. The emotionally-charged images that Ms. Burg occasionally conjures evoke the alienation, fear, and insecurity every middler lives every day. In All the Broken Pieces, author Ann E. Burg invites readers to explore the issues surrounding a painful part of our collective history, and students who did not grow up with the Vietnam War as a backdrop to their lives will benefit from an initial exploration of the myriad ways the war affected America and Americans. I think my students will enjoy it, and like Mari Mancusi’s Gamer Girl, another book I did not like that much but that I heartily recommend to my students (even adding, because they are suckers for reverse psychology, that I did not like it), I will promote it. I just wish there was more for me in Ms. Burg’s spare poetry.

2009-03-23T09:35:00.000-07:00

Fitzmaurice, Kathryn. The Year the Swallows Came Early (3 1/2 stars out of 4).
What makes a good book good? This is a question I frequently receive from my students, and it is not always an easy question, not because I do not know the answer, but because I know it with my background and sensibilities. Sometimes, I cop out and say, “Read it, and you can tell me whether it is good or not—we can even have a debate.” When I do try to explain, however, I rely on a few standard concepts: use of imagery, movement of the plot, depth of characterization, lyrical prose style, unique voice, etc. The Year the Swallows Came Early by first-time novelist Kathryn Fitzmaurice is a good book mainly due to use of concrete imagery, lyrical style, and cleverly-crafted plot development (with one exception near the end of the novel, but I‘ll forgive a new novelist for not trusting her characters enough to finish their tale without outside drama). Featuring a common theme of highly functional kids with dysfunctional parents, but adding a couple of twists that make it unique, Ms. Fitzmaurice has woven a memorable coming-of-age tale.
Eleanor “Groovy” Robinson is shocked the day her father is arrested in their small hometown, San Juan Capistrano, CA, and her eleven-year-old mind cannot understand how he could be in so much trouble that he must go to jail: “It was true Daddy seemed to get the kind of bosses who ended up firing him . . . But people hardly ever went to jail for getting fired, and he always found a new job sooner or later” (8). The real shocker is that it is Groovy’s mama who has called the police, and when Groovy cannot get answers from her mama about what is going on, she unsuccessfully resorts to playing one parent against the other: “‘Daddy would never do this,’ I announced. ‘He would tell me what’s going on’” (23). Dad has taken something valuable from Groovy and he has acted very irresponsibly. Simultaneously, Groovy’s best friend Frankie is having his own parental problems, as his mother and stepfather left two years ago, saying they would be back in a week. Frankie chooses to pop antacids rather than deal with his anger and frustration: “Frankie held anything that had to do with his mother so tight inside that it made him sick—nothing serious, but still, sick” (47). After Groovy learns about her great-grandmother and namesake Eleanor Robinson, Groovy drops her nickname and insists on being called by her original name (Groovy is Dad’s nickname for her). As Eleanor, she must find a path that leads to both fairness and love for herself and her mama (and Daddy), and she must also help Frankie as he works through his anger and attempts to proceed with his life. Their lives are intertwined, and they will succeed or fail together.
One of my sons saw me reading this book the other day and asked if I liked it. “Yes,” I replied, “the author’s prose is very lyrical.” My son asked what lyrical meant, because he said he only knew that word from song “lyrics.” I knew I was in trouble. “It means the language is pretty and the beauty of it adds to the story,” I said, knowing that definition was woefully inadequate. Fortunately, my son let me off of the hook and moved on, but I was left thinking about the lyrical nature of The Year the Swallows Came Early by Kathryn Fitzmaurice. Ms. Fitzmaurice weaves concrete images very gracefully through the plot, and simple objects like strawberries, dandelions, cucumbers, and antacids assume added significance. The “foodie” element is also fun for aspiring young chefs. The chapter titles effectively evoke the images to the point where I was eagerly anticipating how each title image would be utilized in the chapter. The author’s planning and sketching is obvious and welcome for a first novel, and although readers never quite learn some details, like exactly why Dad is in jail, they do not require the information to appreciate the characterization and seemingly effortless style. This is a moving and gentle novel featuring a small town with a special significance, but introducing problems and potential solutions that could occur anywhere.

2009-03-23T09:23:00.000-07:00

Rallison, Janette. Just One Wish (3 stars out of 4).
Although it is not easy, sometimes while reading I feel it is necessary to turn off my background and knowledge about YA literature and what makes it good and bad. Not every writer is interested in creating a lasting masterpiece that will inspire readers for generations; in our post-modern, media-spoiled, hyper-connected-yet-fragmented world, sometimes just telling a fun story in a few hours is just what our students’ doctors are ordering. Although some of my students want to read Octavian Nothing, frankly, more want to read Diary of a Wimpy Kid. Into this maelstrom of quality versus accessibility enters Janette Rallison and her new novel, Just One Wish. Ms. Rallison’s plot-driven tearjerker does not necessarily appeal to my high literary sensibilities, but it is the type of book—a little exciting, a little romantic, and a little funny—that many of my students ask for regularly.
Seventeen-year-old Annika Truman’s life revolves around her six-year-old brother Jeremy, but she doesn’t mind; in fact, she wants desperately to make him comfortable and happy on the eve of brain surgery that will determine whether he lives or dies. As the novel begins, Annika wins a conflict with an obnoxious eBay addict in a toy store over an action figure of the hot TV show Teen Robin Hood; after “borrowing” the toy from his cart, she dashes for the door: “My older sister, Leah . . . says I’ve wasted most of my adolescence playing sports, but this is obviously not true. Running through the store toward the checkout line was just like running for a touchdown, except the other shoppers didn’t try to tackle me” (8). When Annika hints that the action figure will show up for the holidays (or even sooner), Jeremy shares his real wish: “‘I wish the real Teen Robin Hood—the one on TV—would come and teach me how to shoot arrows’” (22). Annika suggests to her best friend Madison that they take a four-hour road trip from their home in Henderson, Nevada, to Burbank, California to speak to Steve Raleigh, the nineteen-year-old hunk who plays Teen Robin Hood. When Madison questions Annika’s sanity, Annika first offers explanation, then only determination: “I clutched the phone harder and tried to make Madison understand. ‘This is something I’ve got to do. If you can’t cover for me, let me know and I’ll call someone else’” (32). Improbable as it seems, with little money and no actual plan, but a lot of grit and perseverance, Annika and Madison must find a way to convince Steve Raleigh to come back to Henderson before the operation and fulfill Jeremy’s wish.
Like Maybe in Lisa Yee’s Absolutely Maybe, Annika’s luck level is a little high for my taste, but television is replete with rags-to-riches tales of go-getters who will not quit until their goals are attained. Like a good television show, action replaces characterization when the latter gets too thin. Sometimes full characterization is not necessary to a good story. I occasionally watch one of the Law and Order series with an auburn-haired woman and a curly-haired man. They both have quirks that make them unique, but neither is particularly well-developed; I know little or nothing about their lives outside of their detective work; I do not know their friends; I do not even know what foods they like or whether or not they prefer tea to coffee. However, millions of Americans like me are content to watch stories through their eyes and ears because we inherently trust that they will ultimately entertain us; intimacy is not required. In this context, Janette Rallison’s Just One Wish is a good after-school special. I do not watch them now, but I sure did when I was thirteen, and my students want them, especially but not exclusively reluctant readers. Maybe they will read Cynthia Kadohata next.

2009-02-23T13:26:00.000-08:00

Philbrick, Rodman. The Mostly True Adventures of Homer P. Figg (4 stars out of 4)
Funny books often contain unusual settings; the juxtaposition of content and setting is often the vehicle for the humor. Gennifer Choldenko’s Al Capone Does My Shirts takes place at Alcatraz, one of the most depressing locales of the last century, yet I laughed; Adam Rex’s The True Meaning of Smekday occurs during the potential end of the world, yet I laughed. In this same vein, the Civil War, usually the setting of somber books like Paul Fleischman’s Bull Run, is now the backdrop for Rodman Philbrick’s very entertaining new book, The Mostly True Adventures of Homer P. Figg. Mr. Philbrick has struck gold by combining the elements of adventure and suspense from The Last Book in the Universe with the strong character development of Freak the Mighty. The result is a clever romp both fun and serious simultaneously.
Not only is 12-year-old Homer P. Figg an orphan, but he is soon to be alone as well. Homer and his brother Harold lost their parents before the war, and they are now under the care of their Uncle Squinton Leach, “. . . the meanest man in the entire state of Maine. I tell a lie—there was a meaner man in Bangor once, that poisoned cats for fun, but old Squint was the hardest man in Somerset County” (8). When Harold pushes Uncle Squinton into a mud pile after Squint almost hit the starving Homer for eating a piece of bread from the pig slop, he is illegally sold into the army for profit, even though he is only seventeen: “That’s what Squint done with Harold, sold him like a slave for two hundred and fifty dollars, even though he’s white and supposed to be free” (22). Homer escapes and commits to finding his brother before he begins fighting, beginning the adventure of a lifetime. His quest begins by being kidnapped by two slave bounty hunters who want Homer to spy on wealthy abolitionist Jebediah Brewster so they can locate twenty runaway slaves and collect the reward. Homer is taken in by Brewster and is shown the runaway slaves, then instructed by Brewster to make an ethical decision: report back to the kidnappers Smelt and Stink, run away, or stay and be safe. When Brewster’s housekeeper complains that it is unfair to give a boy such a difficult decision, Brewster sighs but cannot help the situation: “‘I know,’ says Mr. Brewster, sounding regretful. ‘But boys are fighting this cruel war. Boys are enslaved, and boys own slaves. None may escape. All must decide’” (64). Homer’s decision leads him eventually to Gettysburg, where the battlefield is more frightening than any beating from Uncle Squinton or threat from kidnappers.
Rodman Philbrick has produced a winner with The Mostly True Adventures of Homer P. Figg. It is both fun and serious, both entertaining and thought-provoking, fantastic yet tinged with a healthy dose of reality. Most chapters cleverly begin with an anecdote from Homer’s past or from the history of the area, adding local color, while the story itself moves a mile a minute through the Northeast of the 1860s. Although such scenes as Homer the Pig Boy are funny, there are plenty of sobering moments to provide balance, such as the scene in which Jebediah Brewster confides in and trusts the oft-dishonest Homer with the welfare of twenty human beings. Since the protagonist is a semi-professional liar to begin with, the reader does not have to rely on the narrator for the truth; this sets the story free and allows Mr. Philbrick to have fun with Homer and his adventures. It simply does not matter whether the story happened as related by Homer; veracity becomes irrelevant in the face of a good old-fashioned yarn.

2009-02-23T13:23:00.000-08:00

Yee, Lisa. Absolutely Maybe (3 1/2 stars out of 4)
A pattern in current YA literature growing in frequency and scope is the functional child caring for, responding to, rebelling against, and/or rejecting the dysfunctional parent. Well-regarded books like Carl Hiassen’s Flush, Linda Urban’s A Crooked Kind of Perfect, and Kirkpatrick Hill’s Do Not Pass Go, to name a few, feature perfectly normal kids who are burdened by their parents’ inadequacies. Sometimes, like in Urban’s very funny novel, the dysfunction is not the fault of the parent (dad suffers from autism or another similar social disorder), and the child feels compassion for the parent’s plight. Other times, however, as in Hiassen’s and Hill’s novels, parents make avoidable mistakes that place their children in perilous situations, whether the danger is real, like Dusty Muleman’s gangsters in Flush, or perceived, like the shame Deet feels in Do Not Pass Go when his father is arrested for drug possession. Lisa Yee’s Absolutely Maybe features another teenager trying to be normal in the shadow of a dysfunctional parent, but it is not derivative; it is a fresh and fun ride that features just enough discomfort to keep the story tense and dynamic.
Maybelline “Maybe” Chestnut is a failure in the eyes of her mother, Chessy, who runs a charm school in Kissimmee, FL, that caters to girls like the Fantastic Five, the meanest, prettiest girls in school. Since Maybe prefers Goth-lite makeup and brightly-dyed hair to beauty pageant chic, she becomes the butt of the Five’s jokes: “As I brush past the Fantastic Five one of them says, ‘Look, it’s the beast!’ Someone else adds, ‘Her hair is green today. She’s not a beast, she’s a troll’ . . . As usual, my mother pretends not to hear them, even though their laughter echoes in the building” (20). Chessy is addicted to alcohol and marriage, and she is about to make her seventh mistake with creepy Jake Himmler, assistant manager at the local Piggly Wiggly: “Ýou’ve heard of serial murderers? My mother’s a serial marryer. It’s a disease” (13). Maybe survives her negative home environment with the help of her two best friends, Ted, at whose house she stays when Chessy is too drunk to care for her, and Hollywood, so named because he films everything and has been accepted to USC film school. The resourceful Maybe finds a way to survive at home until fiancé seven tries to rape her; when Maybe screams and Chessy interrupts the scene, she accuses Maybe of impropriety as Jake drunkenly tries to blame it on Maybe. One thing Maybe is sure of is that she cannot live with a rapist: “‘It was already torture before Jake showed up. Now it would be impossible to stay’” (38). When Maybe explains her troubles to Ted, she comes to a necessary decision: she must leave and find her biological father in California (the one man Chessy never married). Along with Hollywood, the three of them embark on an adventure that holds surprises for everyone.
Maybe Chestnut is a winning character, a girl I hope my students admire. She is far from perfect, but her spunk, spirit, and resourcefulness lift the story to a level that feels very comfortable for young people seeking greater empowerment in their lives. When she needs to leave a dangerous situation, she leaves. When she needs to eat other people’s food to survive, she eats other people’s food, as distasteful as it is (sorry for the pun). However, when she needs to succeed, Maybe has an energy and humility that are both refreshing and exhilarating. Maybe builds relationships surprisingly well given her poor parental model, and she is an unpretentious survivor in a world of wannabes. Ms. Yee handles the rape scene very well: it is disturbing and shocking but not graphic; the content is not inappropriate for middlers. Absolutely Maybe is not the most realistic fiction I have ever read, and the characters’ luck factor does seem to be unusually high, but I was able to overlook those shortcomings because Ms. Yee’s novel is a quick-moving, well-written tale of a likable young woman’s quest to find her heritage and forge her future.

2009-02-23T13:18:00.000-08:00

Wollman, Jessica. Tell Me Who (2 stars out of 4)
When I teach the Dewey Decimal System for the first time to my fifth graders, I stumble a bit at the 100s, Philosophy and Psychology. Philosophy is just a big word to most of my 10-year-olds, so I attempt to explain that they deal with philosophical issues all day: seeing a friend possibly cheat on a test and deciding whether or not to report it; giving part of your lunch to someone you know is hungry; sharing beliefs about religion, culture, media, etc. Jessica Wollman’s new novel Tell Me Who raises an intriguing philosophical dilemma: If you had a machine that knows who anyone will marry, what would you do with that knowledge?
Molly Paige is insecure about everything: her ineptitude on the basketball court, her lack of “development” as compared to other girls in her sixth grade class, and her fear that she will not get invited to the popular girl’s pool party, to name a few. Embarrassment seems to be an integral part of Molly’s life, i.e. when she accidentally scrapes her shoe against the floor at lunch and makes an accidental gas noise, even her best friend Tanna thinks she needs to change her diet; Molly gets a bit tired of her friend’s pushy advice: “I know she’s only trying to help, but all that advice gets sort of annoying. Especially since I never ask for it” (31). However, Molly’s biggest problem is her mean and demanding future stepmother, nicknamed The Claw because of her fingernails: “They’re long and Wolverine sharp; we’re pretty sure they can slice cans. The Claw paints them pink, red, or white. She says she chooses the color depending on her mood, but I don’t believe her. The Claw really has only one mood: nightmare” (14). Molly and Tanna become intrigued when they find an antique in Molly’s basement that seems to state who anyone will marry, but when they test it, they discover two disturbing facts: it predicts that The Claw will marry Molly’s dad, and that Molly will marry Glenn Borack, a fifth grader: “Here’s the thing: I know Glenn (Aaron) Borack . . . He’s short—really short—with dark hair that never looks clean . . . He’s the only person I’ve ever met who actually eats liverwurst. Happily” (53-54). While furtively doing everything they can to sabotage her father’s future marriage, Molly and Tanna decide to sell the machine’s services, christened the Ewmitter (a mix-up of “Who-Meter), for $10.00 a try, which opens up a whole other set of problems when people start getting uncomfortable information they do not want. Since, mysteriously, she is the only person who can operate it, Molly is faced with an ethical dilemma: Should she allow the Ewmitter to be used even if it causes pain?
The premise of Tell Me Who by Jessica Wollman is charming, and the issues it raises, ethical questions about truth and openness, peer pressure, normal pre-teen insecurity and fear, are all valid. It is possible that young readers will miss all of the loose ends in the story (for example, why can only Molly operate the Ewmitter?) and simply enjoy the fantastic elements of the novel. However, I was not satisfied. I had to overlook quite a bit to make this story believable, even without the Ewmitter. Molly is a true Everygirl, and I can completely empathize with her insecurities, but I cannot tolerate plot development as fantastic as the premise of the book. Molly’s character is a contradiction of crippling insecurity and boldness that feels contrived, and too many other minor characters, such as The Claw, Molly’s dad, and her new friend Julie, remain so underdeveloped that Molly’s actions do not seem appropriately justified. Tell Me Who by Jessica Wollman is an admirable effort, but it falls a bit short of its mark. However, tweener girls may still like it for the giggle factor alone.

2009-01-16T06:22:00.000-08:00

Anderson, M. T. The Astonishing Life of Octavian Nothing, Traitor to the Nation, Volume II: The Kingdom on the Waves (4 stars out of 4)--
I normally do not review sequels in this column; if you liked the first one, you will probably buy the others yourself without any reminders from me (unless the series gets too inappropriate for your level, like, in the opinion of some, the later Twilight books or some manga series). However, I must make an exception for M. T. Anderson’s brilliant, innovative, and groundbreaking sequel The Kingdom on the Waves. I was already a fan, but Mr. Anderson’s lyrical yet searing portrait of Colonial Revolutionary America through the eyes of a classically-trained slave may be the most original adventure yarn of our generation. No other character I have ever read lives and breathes both the promise and potential of 1775, and the humiliation and hypocrisy of American slavery, more eloquently than loyalist Private Octavian Nothing.
At the end of Volume I, Octavian Nothing had poisoned his owners with the help of his mentor, Dr. John Trefusis, and ran away from his childhood home, Boston’s Novanglian College of Lucidity, a self-described school of 18th century natural philosophy. Octavian swapped a certain life of misery and enslavement for an uncertain but brave new world. Due to horrid mistreatment, Octavian had nothing to lose by drugging and escaping his masters: “But that morning, I had been a prisoner, a metal mask upon my face, and my jowls larded with my own vomit, in a condition which could hardly have been more debased” (4). Sensing his evolution into a new person, he briefly changes his name to Augustus per the Caesarian precedent, and Augustus finds work playing violin. But every situation is short-lived in 1775, and Nothing must decide which side to support in the growing conflict. The decision is easy: the loyalists offer manumission, the patriots do not. Donning his uniform, emblazoned with the words Liberty to Slaves, free at last, Private Nothing, having reverted to his original Octavian, cannot stop smiling: “As a free man, I am dressed far more meanly than I was as a slave, when I wore silks and lawn; and yet, there could be no finer raiment than such a shirt as this, though the smock be as course as hum-hum” (134). Private Nothing’s Ethiopian Regiment is assigned to Lord Dunmore’s fleet in Norfolk, where he is reunited with his only friend from his former life, Pro Bono, now Private William Williams. When Octavian seems puzzled by his choice of moniker, the openly cynical Williams explains: “‘They seem to favor the English names, the white folk. It’s my interest to please their affable selves at every o’clock of the day. So I reckoned the pale, forgettable names was the best . . . Richard Richards set a barn afire and he slain a sheep, so now I’m William Williams’” (169). Privates Nothing and Williams, along with their fellow black soldiers, commit to defending Norfolk from the traitorous rebels while accepting a new type of enslavement: uninspired and short-sighted leadership. Their loyalties and allegiances are strained and torn by all of the forces surrounding and engulfing them.
The two Octavian Nothing books are not easy reads; think of them as Mr. Anderson’s Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man or A Brief History of Time; not impossible to read, but not something one flies through. The language is archaic and feels at times like the S.A.T., and the story is occasionally forwarded in a herky-jerky style by journal entries, letters, memos, illustrations, and proclamations. This unpredictable streak should not deter readers, it should invite them. There is no such thing as a free lunch, and the best things in life both require effort and earn rich rewards. Mr. Anderson’s brilliant use of Colonial slang and language style injects a strong dose of realism and immediacy into the narrative, elevating Octavian above his surroundings, forming in him a voice for all of history’s mistreated, noble souls. Mr. Anderson’s use of genuine primary sources not only demonstrates that he did his research, it exemplifies his ability to weave fiction and non-fiction together seamlessly, rendering those terms temporarily meaningless. The Kingdom on the Waves feels true and valid at the most fundamental level, because the injustice and hypocrisy that crawl out when he lifts the boulder of “liberty” is our collective heritage, and understanding Octavian’s conflicts illumines our own.

2009-01-16T06:11:00.000-08:00

Mancusi, Mari. Gamer Girl (2 stars out of 4)--
The best teachers I have had were seldom negative; they could find the good in everyone, they could say something positive about every one of their students, and they never raised up some by insulting or demeaning others. There are several examples of bashing in Gamer Girl by Mari Mancusi—nothing too vicious, but in my opinion, unnecessary. Great writers find a way to show embarrassment without saying, “They all probably thought I was special needs” (12), and potentially alienating one of her largest audiences. Great writers find a way to challenge and question authority without concluding, “She was really young for a teacher and I guessed still under the naïve impression that she could actually make a difference in her students’ lives” (36). Pardon me, but I’m not so young anymore, and I may be fooling myself, but I still believe that I can and do make a difference in my students’ lives, or else I would choose a different career. Smart kids see through that type of observation for the hollow cliché that it is, which is why I can still feel comfortable putting Gamer Girl on the shelf, even if I find parts of the narrative personally distasteful. Many students will be intrigued by the slang and gaming/fantasy references, and girls may get hooked by the love interest; like Bella’s Edward Cullen, Gamer Girl’s dream man is a mystery, just an avatar like her.
Maddy Starr is unhappy about her parents’ divorce, but she is infuriated by the effect it has had on her life: she has to live with her Grandma, Mom, and little sister in New Hampshire, away from her Boston prep school friends and lifestyle. Her first day at Hannah Dustin High School is pure culture shock for a goth-lite girl like Maddy: “It was as if I’d wandered into a living, breathing American Eagle commercial. Shudder. I looked around, desperately trying to pinpoint at least one person who would prefer Hot Topic to H&M, but came up empty” (12). When Maddy inadvertently angers the most popular and powerful boy at school, Billy Henderson, she is nastily introduced to the popular group who she nicknames the Haters; they are all jerks, except for Billy’s best friend Chad. He seems different to Maddy, and when Billy vows revenge on Maddy after her grandmother accidentally embarrasses him in front of his friends, Chad silently mouths a puzzling apology: “I stared after them, shocked by Chad’s apology. I had so not expected that. Maybe he was different from his friends. Not that it mattered . . . Still, he was so cute” (18). Maddy’s life takes a more pleasant turn when her father, named RockStarBob in the gaming world, buys her a hot new online game, Fields of Fantasy. With the help of Ms. Reilly, the only cool teacher around, she also starts a manga club at school to get more involved and deter the Haters from bullying her. While online, she meets SirLeo, a knight avatar who appears to be a boy her age; SirLeo saves Maddy’s avatar, the elf-goddess-mage Allora, from wolves so she can meet her dad at an online café. Allora instantly falls for SirLeo, and he seems to feel the same way. However, Maddy knows that both Allora and SirLeo are not real: “I wanted him to like me for the real me, not some fake-o virtual character. But that was stupid and unrealistic. I had to take this for what it was and not get too attached” (74). But Maddy does get attached, and she must decide whether or not to pursue her knight in real life, where he might be an ogre or worse. Then again, he could be Maddy’s dream boy, like Chad, except more accessible.
When I first saw Gamer Girl by Mari Mancusi on the bookstore shelf, I wanted to like it. It features an often-neglected audience, middler girls into gaming, role-playing, fantasy, and manga/anime/comics/graphic novels. It has a cool cover that shows the protagonist Maddy IRL (in the real world) and as her bolder, more playful, and more attractive alter ego, Allora. Each chapter begins with an adorable manga girl picture that describes Maddy’s moods, from happy to sad to lovestruck and back again. However, as I read, I realized that Gamer Girl is a good idea for a novel that is not fully realized by Ms. Mancusi. I was not surprised to read in the back flap bio that the author is a television writer; Gamer Girl’s plot feels a lot like a happy-ending TV movie, in which the kid wins the game, saves her dog from the pound, and becomes a woman, all in 90 minutes and with surprising grace and tenacity. The ending is ultimately unsatisfying due to the predictable plot, leaving the reader with a winner but no winning feeling to parallel the hero’s success. The best use of this book may be to appeal to gamers and manga fans who are not reading many chapter books, since the text-message language and slang used frequently by the characters will be fun for them. However, do not keep this book on the shelf too long, because using current language and pop culture is a two-edged sword; it may be cool now, but in a couple of years, it’s corny and instantly anathema. BTW, I like The Black Parade by My Chemical Romance, Maddy’s favorite album, so it must be out by now. Maybe Ms. Mancusi should have chosen Vampire Weekend’s debut instead. I do not like them nearly as much, so they must be cool :-)

2009-01-12T13:47:00.000-08:00

Anderson, Laurie Halse. Chains. (4 stars out of 4)--

These are heady times. A paradigm shift in the nature of how we conduct business, pleasure, entertainment, and education is occurring before our eyes. We have elected an African-American for president, an event of no small magnitude, but we may be throwing him to the wolves: social security and Medicare are in jeopardy of collapse, companies are folding left and right, we may not have American cars next year, and governors are selling senate seats to the highest bidder. To add insult to injury, the Internet ensures that we all have the bad news instantly, by twitter, blog, and IM. Laurie Halse Anderson, author of modern classic Speak, understands the weight of these times, so like her namesake, M.T. Anderson (Octavian Nothing books), she has written a powerful new novel, Chains, that uses 1776 Colonial America as the crucible in which she burns away our leaders’ rhetoric to reveal the rotten core of morality that is our unfortunate, but unavoidable, legacy. Just as President-elect Obama’s election illustrates not only the progress we have made as a people but also the healing, sensitivity, and empathy for which all Americans still should strive, so Ms. Anderson’s brutally honest and direct approach serves to show that, although the colonial fight for liberty was noble, the human cost to African-Americans was astronomical, not only in lost and broken lives, but in whites’ betrayal of every human right they were fighting the British to secure.
When Miss Mary Finch of Tew, Rhode Island passes, her slave Isabel believes she and her epileptic sister Ruth have been set free by Miss Finch’s will: “I spoke slowly, saying the words I had practiced in my head . . . ‘Ruth and me are free, Pastor. Miss Finch freed us in her will. Momma, too, if she had lived’” (9). However, even the local pastor refuses to confirm and support their story, and the girls are sold to the Locktons, a loyalist family from New York, where they are transported. Once there, Isabel, whose name is changed to Sal Lockton by her harsh mistress, is thrust into the center of the battle for independence. She meets another slave named Curzon who asks her to spy for the Patriots. At first, Isabel refuses, claiming that even if she would risk her life and be a spy, no one will ever reveal anything to her anyway. Curzon is a little more worldly and knows better: “‘You are a slave, not a person. They’ll say things in front of you they won’t say in front of the white servants. ‘Cause you don’t count to them’” (41). As the war progresses, Isabel begins to appreciate Curzon’s passion for the Patriots, even without the promise of freedom. When she finds herself in her master’s library with plotting Loyalists exchanging money, maps, and plans, she realizes Curzon was right: “I walked in. The other men did not look my way. I was invisible to them until they needed something” (61). As Isabel gradually commits to a side and a course of action, she must walk a delicate tightrope between staying true to herself, believing in something larger than herself, protecting her sister, and avoiding her mistress’s cruelty, while always trying to prove her freedom.
I can imagine a meeting between Laurie Halse Anderson and M.T. Anderson, two of the most talented writers in YA literature, a few years ago at a fashionable, literary café: chatting about their upcoming projects over lattés, how shocking (or crafty!) it must have been when they discovered that they were both working on novels with sequels that feature African-American slave protagonists in the American Colonies of 1776 (M.T. Anderson’s outstanding Octavian Nothing: Traitor to the Nation, The Pox Party, was reviewed in this column, and its solid sequel, Kingdom on the Waves, was released in November 2008). Thank goodness that the authors in question are both lyrical innovators who have written two completely different (and similar) novels that highlight the dark underbelly of American hypocrisy: our celebrated release from England freed less than half of all Americans, and life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness applied originally and exclusively to white males. Also, the primary sources cited at the beginning of each fast-paced chapter complement the narrative well, and shed additional insight onto both the author’s tone and the overall themes of Chains. This may be the most exciting, politically-charged era in our lives; it is an excellent time to reflect on where we have been and how much work is still left to make the founders’ words as true as they envisioned them, not as they practiced them.

2009-01-12T13:42:00.000-08:00

Tan, Shaun. Tales from Outer Suburbia (4 stars out of 4)--
About two years ago, my friend Jay gave me the album (Come on Feel the) Illinoise by quirky singer/songwriter/musician Sufjan Stevens. I asked Jay who Stevens sounded like, but he coyly said that no one sounded like this guy. Come now, I exhorted, he must sound like somebody: Jackson Browne, Phil Ochs, Joni Mitchell, Tori Amos, Bruce Springsteen, Dusty Springfield, Ozzy Osbourne, Nico, Tracy Chapman, Seal, Dan Bern, Peter, Paul, or Mary, somebody! No, he insisted, Stevens is an original. My friend was right: Stevens’ eclectic, infectious, whimsical blend of Indian, Middle Eastern, alt-country, folk, bluegrass, and R & B defies description; it must be listened to in order to be appreciated. The same refreshing originality is abundant in Shaun Tan’s new graphic short story collection Tales from Outer Suburbia: it must be viewed and read to be appreciated. After his brilliant The Arrival, a fully graphic (a la David Wiesner), post-modern novel that belongs in every public and school library in America, Mr. Tan has returned with both words and images, and they blend so seamlessly that after the first sitting, it is hard to imagine that some books have no pictures at all. Mr. Tan has triumphed again, establishing himself as a unique voice in YA literature.
The illustrated stories in Tales from Outer Suburbia are at once engaging and poignant. In “The Water Buffalo,” many years ago a neighborhood water buffalo gave advice to those who asked: “Then he would come up to us slowly, raise his left hoof, and literally point us in the right direction. But he never said what he was pointing at, or how far we had to go, or what we were supposed to do once we got there” (6). I can imagine a fifth-grader in my Intermediate School listening for the first time to my booming voice describing how to navigate the library and seeing that water buffalo pointing towards media literacy without adequate preparation. In “No Other Country,” Mr. Tan demonstrates how a “staycation” can be more fun than a traditional vacation. Tenants in a seemingly bleary neighborhood discover a mysterious door in their homes that leads to a pacific, pastoral paradise they name “the inner courtyard:" “It was actually more like an old palace garden . . . There were ancient walls decorated with frescoes; the more they looked at them, the more the family recognized aspects of their own lives within these strange, faded allegories” (60). The haunting “Stick Figures” chronicles the exploits of suburbia’s many stick figure people, endangered by bullies who can sometimes beat them for hours: “But eventually it stops being amusing. It becomes boring, somehow enraging, the way they just stand there and take it. What are they? Why are they here? What do they want?” (67). Stick people are resilient, however, and the reader is left with the impression that, like cockroaches, stick people were here before us and will still be here even when we are gone. One of the most striking single pictures is at the conclusion of “Alert, but Not Alarmed,” a cleverly conceived anti-war snapshot in which “every household has its own intercontinental ballistic missile” (76), but Mr. Tan’s art is at once eclectic, unforgettable, and strikingly original.
On a primal level, Tales from Outer Suburbia by Shaun Tan is an emotionally stirring book. While reading, I found myself alternately laughing and crying without quite knowing why. I heartily recommend Tales as a must for every middler and high school library. However, the best endorsement I can offer came from one of my 6th grade twin sons; after reading aloud “The Water Buffalo,” I asked what he thought of it. “Yeah, hmmm, thought provoking,” he said, with a faraway gleam in his eye, as I could almost hear his brain’s gears whirring and clicking.

2008-11-17T10:16:00.000-08:00

Reeve, Philip. Here Lies Arthur (4 stars out of 4).
Gwyna does not know her age, she only knows that it is around 500 C.E., her master is dead, her master’s home is in flames, and the famous Arthur is responsible for her misery. Almost dead after being attacked, Gwyna escapes and is found by Myrddin the bard, who rescues her and begins a great adventure that unfolds quite differently than the legends on which it is based. Gwyna becomes a part of Myrddin’s plans to unify Britain with Arthur as its king, and a series of illusions are staged to catapult Arthur’s name into the spotlight. It becomes clear to Gwyna, changed to Gwyn and the appearance of a boy to hide her identity and save her life, that there are actually two Arthurs: “. . . the hard man who had burned my home, and another one who lived in Myrddin’s stories . . . I liked the Arthur of the stories better, but some of his bravery and mystery rubbed off on the real man” (62). Gwyn and Gwyna encounter many of the famous figures of Arthurian legend, but, as Myrddin explains, few live up to the stories woven around them, especially Arthur: “‘There’s no difference between Arthur and any other of Uthr’ s [Arthur’s father’s] landless bastards, except that Arthur has me to spin stories like that one about him’” (27). Gwyn/Gwyna witnesses and participates in the genesis and death of both Arthur the leader and Arthur the legend, and Myrddin’s cynicism makes Gwyn/Gwyna both wiser and more appreciative of what life can offer if one understands herself and her place in a world of opportunity and hope.
I once spent 2 years writing a three-part Arthurian blank verse narrative, and I do not read too much Arthurian literature because I do not like the watering down of the legends that authors usually choose. Fortunately, in Here Lies Arthur, Philip Reeve takes the opposite approach, refusing to insult or demean the reader, weaving an old straw story into a new gold standard. Mr. Reeve properly and cleverly understands that the Arthurian legends are not sacred, and that like any other stories, they can and should be molded to suit modern sensibilities. Myrddin is not the old magical wizard of Excalibur, he is Karl Rove in robes, with a touch of Joseph Goebbels for extra ruthlessness. Myrddin wants victory for Arthur at any cost, even risking alliances he spent years building. Even when he realizes that he overestimated Arthur’s skills as a leader, he continues to weave the myth of Arthur until the end of the tale. Philip Reeve has brilliantly reinvented the Arthurian legends for a modern audience, with all of the cynicism and propaganda of today. I enjoyed this book probably more than I expected; it is smart, funny, and irreverent at the right times, and this modern legend will appeal to the sensibilities of smart young people who have learned about cynicism and hypocrisy after experiencing the sick majesty of their first presidential election.

2008-11-17T10:14:00.000-08:00

Mass, Wendy. 11 Birthdays (3 1/2 stars out of 4).
It may seem like only a coincidence that on the day they are born, Amanda Ellerby and Leo Fitzpatrick are together in the hospital, but when the mysterious, ancient Angelina D’Angelo appears and insinuates that the children (and families), strangers to each other, will be the best of friends, the fathers become uneasy: “The men were suddenly struck with an uneasy feeling, like they were remembering something out of a storybook someone read to them when they were children” (3). The uneasiness results from the town’s history, in which the two families once feuded so nastily that their struggles over the town’s apple orchards threatened to tear the small town of Willow Falls apart. Then, one day, after they were given a year to change their ways and save the town, they “magically” reconciled their differences, and became best friends, like Amanda and Leo. However, when a misunderstanding and a fight separate the two great-great-grandchildren, strange things start happening to Amanda, and time seems to be repeating itself: “Did I just dream everything that happened yesterday . . . I must be psychic! Maybe I always WAS, and it’s just coming out now that I’m eleven. I must be having premonitions, which was a vocabulary word in English class a few months ago” (63). The truth is far stranger than even Amanda predicts, and both she and Leo must discover the solution together or else risk their futures and be stuck forever in the past.
I sometimes forget that an old plot device to me may be a new literary innovation to my students, so I generally forgive authors for using old dogs as long as they add some new tricks. 11 Birthdays by Wendy Mass (Jeremy Fink and the Meaning of Life, A Mango Shaped Space) is a clever use of the Ground Hog Day scenario. Amanda and Leo are likable kids, and they are genuinely interested in being true to themselves, doing the right thing when they should and the wrong thing when they think they can. They are pragmatists who want to feel in control of their lives and their decisions, and they respond with appropriate horror when they realize that their lives may not be entirely their own. Ms. Mass cleverly sets up the story so that the title is ironic on several levels, and she weaves enough mystery into the plot to keep it moving forward. This book is excellent for on-level readers in 4th and 5th grade, but also for lower readers one or two grades higher.

2008-11-17T10:02:00.000-08:00

Roth, Matthue. Losers (3 stars out of 4). Contains graphic language.
Jupiter Jason Glazer, a 14-year-old Russian Jewish immigrant, is trying desperately to find his identity and place in a society with mores and a language that do not quite feel like his. Living in The Yards (the industrial section of lower Northeast Philadelphia) but attending the equivalent of Central High School, Jupiter’s most immediate problem is a bully named Bates, whose “two hundred pounds was shrouded in a T-shirt formerly owned, according to his insignia, by a band called the Thrill Kill Kult,* and the fists were garlanded by two (allowed in school, but only barely) bracelets studded with metal spikes” (4). Jupiter is not looking for trouble, and when he accidentally stumbles upon a party of cool kids thanks to the hacking skills of Vadim, his compu-dude Russian friend, Jupiter meets and immediately falls for Devin Murray, the most popular girl at school. He gains acceptance at the party and at school, but other problems linger. Not only is Jupiter crazy about Devin, he is also crazy about Margie, a waitress at the Glazer family’s favorite diner, and about the girl at the record store, and about everyone else with the proper equipment. On top of his hormonal difficulties, his family may be in jeopardy of losing its home, his friendship with Vadim is on the rocks, and he has learned a secret about Bates the bully that has even further complicated his life.
I have wanted to read a PUSH (Scholastic’s older teen, high interest series) novel for a while, but I was afraid that the content would not be appropriate for my 5-8 libraries. However, Losers by Matthue Roth seemed less intimidating than a couple of the others I saw; while some books are clearly targeted for high school students only, some seemed tame enough for my middle school. Despite overuse of all relevant letter bombs, this novel rang true to me, and although the storyline near the end contains holes, the rest of the novel is a sensitive and broad exploration of the post-immigrant experience, socio-economic labeling, and the normal emergence of male sexuality (no pun intended) without any graphic sex or promiscuity. Younger teens would enjoy this material as well as older ones, because even though Scholastic recommends this book for ages 15 and older, 13-year-olds are having the same thoughts as Jupiter and they may not have enough literature that realistically reflects their stage of coming of age.

*Reviewer’s note: The full name of the band is My Life with the Thrill Kill Kult, and they play mostly hypnotic and pop-flavored dance music; they’re actually pretty good, but their lyrics and content tend to be graphic.

2008-11-02T18:07:00.000-08:00

Ferraiolo, Jack D. The Big Splash (3 1/2 stars out of 4).
My most challenging request as a book recommender is when a student asks for a funny book. As people like Michael Richards and Don Imus discovered a couple of years ago, and what Howard Stern has known for years, what is funny to one person is not funny to another. I have never chuckled once at a Captain Underpants book, yet my students love them. I thought The True Meaning of Smekday was the funniest middler book I had ever read and I laughed out loud while reading it; however, none of my students seemed to share my enthusiasm—some liked it, but not one thought it was laugh-out-loud funny. After having just finished The Big Splash by first-time novelist Jack D. Ferraiolo, I don’t know what to think. Since I found it very funny and entertaining, does that doom it to the back shelves? Should I tell my students I think it’s boring and hope for reverse psychology? However I decide to market it, it is the first middler noir book I have ever read, and it bowled me over and spit me out like a ragged hailstone in a Midwestern tornado.
Matt Stevens is tough, but he will need all of his wits to solve the biggest crime of his young life—the “shooting” (water pistol below the belt so it looks like the person peed her pants) of Nikki Fingers, once the most notorious ally of school boss Vinny Biggs, but now just plain old Nicole Finnegan until the shooting. Once a person is shot, he or she is in “the Outs,” the losers’ club, and ostracized from all school life. Matt runs a detective agency in his apartment building’s basement (imagine Encyclopedia Brown in seventh grade and with an attitude), and he is hired by Vinny, the underground leader of “The Frank,” Franklin Middle School, to find out who made the hit. Matt senses trouble after he negotiates with Vinny: “I sat there cursing myself for breaking one of my long-standing rules: Don’t ever work for Vinny Biggs . . . Nothing that paid well was ever easy” (11). Matt’s former best friend Kevin Carling, now Vinny’s lieutenant in “the organization,” is also involved, as well as Joey ‘the Hyena” Renoni, hall monitors (the police in this story) Katie and Melanie Kondo, and reporter Jimmy MacGregor, and Matt’s two potential love interests, kevin’s sister Liz and Nicole’s sister Jenny. The stakes are extremely high: once a student is in the Outs, he or she is history. Matt attempts to understand why the students at the Frank allow this system of humiliation: “Middle school is tough. Everyone’s got a reason to be insecure. If someone else is getting laughed at, then that means nobody’s laughing at you. And most kids feel like they’re always one step away from being the class joke” (21). Matt must put the pieces together and figure out who had means, opportunity and motive. His single mother is supportive but works too much to be around much of the time. When she starts to sense that Matt is hiding something big in his life she demands to be involved. Matt does not tell her about his case, but he does confide in her about his girl trouble: “I knew I wasn’t going to be able to get off the hook without giving her something to chew on. There’s nothing more persistent than a concerned mother. They’re like rottweilers with good intentions” (156). Amid all of this turmoil, Matt must keep Mom happy, be mindful of the traps that have been set for him, try not to anger his potential girlfriends (or Vinny), and deduce truth from deception in order to solve this case and move on with his life.
The narrator in this novel has his tongue so deeply planted in his cheek that it would need to be surgically removed. His voice is predictable, but not like the cliché this novel could have been; more like an old pair of jeans or loafers, comfortable and well-worn. Although there aren’t too many belly laughs, I chuckled quite a bit, and I hope my students do too, because I “get” all of the clever noir references and I fear they will not. However, understanding the noir tradition may not be necessary to enjoyment of the novel. With The Big Splash, Jack D. Ferraiola has transformed an old literary tradition into a fun, new, middler comedy/mystery/action genre; it may not matter that it also just happens to give homage to Sam Spade and his contemporaries.

2008-10-15T05:45:00.000-07:00

Rinaldi, Ann. The Letter Writer (3 stars out of 4)
The setting for The Letter Writer, the latest historical novel by Somerville resident Ann Rinaldi, is antebellum Virginia, not the best model of the promise of America. The plantation system, with its complex, brutal arrangement of workers, house men and women, and personal attendants, demeaned everyone involved with its inhuman machinations. Whippings, floggings, and beatings abounded, and plantation owners were often cruel, insensitive, and spoiled creatures, worried more about their political futures or their latest dresses for the ball than about the 60 human beings who lived on their land. It was worse in the deep South, but it was bad enough in Virginia. In this tense climate, Ms. Rinaldi has woven a moving drama about the consequences of one decision, and the irony that every young person learns with pain or embarrassment: sometimes the people who seem like enemies are allies, and doing what seems to be the right thing can sometimes have tragic consequences.
After spending most of her first eleven years as a spirited but useless stepchild, the illegitimate daughter of a wealthy father lost at sea many years before, Harriet Whitehead finally has a job: writing letters for her nearly-blind stepmother. Through this letter writing, Harriet begins to come of age and understand the complex workings of an 1831 Virginia plantation. She also learns of the slave preacher Nat Turner, who Mother Whitehead wants to repair and refurbish the plantation’s furniture. Mother Whitehead, like herself, seems to be tolerant and humane when dealing with slaves, but Harriet’s stern half-brother Richard, the local pastor and the leader of the family after their father’s disappearance, sees wickedness and sin everywhere. When Harriet is caught, quite unladylike, picking cattails with her half-white attendant, Violet, Richard disciplines them and makes his true feelings known: “‘Somebody has to put the fear of God onto them . . . Slaves have no morals’” (11). When Nat Turner is finally hired at the Whitehead plantation, Harriet is granted an opportunity to help him (and secretly conspire against the inhumane forces of the time) by providing a copy of a map of the area. When Harriet’s only confidante and pen pal, her Uncle Andrew in England, expresses concern over Mr. Turner’s intentions, Mr. Turner assures her, “‘I am a fisher of men . . . I am going to stop at plantations and preach of the God that loves us’” (80). Even
Cloanna, an old slave who supposedly has “the vision” of knowing the most secret information, warns Harriet point-blank not to turn the map over: “‘Destroy it . . . Somethin’ bad gonna happen round heah, and I want no part of it’” (87). Instead, Harriet follows her heart and tries to be a part of something bigger than herself or the plantation. Giving Mr. Turner the map begins a process that ends disastrously, and Harriet must live with her actions and try to move on.
The Nat Turner story is stained with mystery and blood, but the calm yet brutal murderer seems oddly modern. His story of fanaticism and pent-up rage feels like a page out of post-Kennedy America, and like many of the protests of that era, the effects of his actions were long-ranging, not immediate. Ann Rinaldi seizes on the awkward immediacy of the topic to tell another effective coming-of-age story with an exciting historical background. Harriet Whitehead learns everything can change in an instant, and that it is surprisingly easy to misunderstand and misinterpret her world. In this era of financial worry and political unrest, this truism has seldom been more pertinent. The Letter Writer by Ann Rinaldi is another solid effort that paints a colorful, dynamic, but disturbing portrait of antebellum America and its struggles to be free.

2008-09-16T12:07:00.000-07:00

Collins, Suzanne. The Hunger Games (3 1/2 stars out of 4)
When I think of the television I watched and the books I read growing up in the 1960s and 1970s, I am still amazed by how much our futurists and science fiction writers got right, and amused by the things they got wrong. Robert Heinlein’s vision of showers and other household machines that communicate with their patrons and even get insulted when they are underutilized never materialized, and The Jetsons’ flying cars still seem absurd. However, the too-short-lived original Star Trek got many things right; i.e. automatic doors (except they don’t whoosh), communicators (cell phones), medical scanners (MRIs), and tricorders (PDAs). Star Trek’s plots are known for their cutting-edge coverage of political, social, and cultural terrain, and one 1968 episode, “Bread and Circuses,” predicts the type of brutal reality show featured in Suzanne Collins’ exciting new novel The Hunger Games. Ms. Collins has smartly connected the dots from gladiators Kirk, Spock, and McCoy competing on national “Empire TV” against men with names like Flavius and Claudius Marcus, to American Gladiator, Survivor, and the sometimes-violent YouTube. She has molded this media maelstrom into a new trilogy.
Katniss Everdeen is sixteen and has already survived several reapings, but today brings another grim opportunity to participate in the annual terror of Panem (post-apocalyptic North America). Each year, one female and one male child aged 12 to 18 from each of Panem’s 12 districts are randomly chosen to participate in the Hunger Games, a nationally-televised reality show in which the children must kill each other to survive; only one wins at the end. It is supposed to be a time for celebration, but during the festivities, “. . . at least two families will pull their shutters, lock their doors, and try to figure out how they will survive the painful weeks to come” (11). When Katniss’s younger, frail sister Prim is chosen, she invokes a custom that allows her to volunteer for her, a practice seldom seen in District 12: “In some districts, in which winning the reaping is such a great honor [and] people are eager to risk their lives, the volunteering is complicated. But in District 12, where the word tribute is pretty much synonymous with the word corpse, volunteers are but extinct” (24-25). To make matters worse, while her male companion in the games, Peeta Mellark, seems attracted to her, they have a history that makes Katniss uncomfortable: “Why him? I think. Then I try to convince myself it doesn’t matter . . . Our only interaction happened years ago. He’s probably forgotten it. But I haven’s and I know I never will” (29). When they arrive at the Capitol in the Rocky Mountains, Katniss and Peeta face two impossibly-daunting challenges: defeat 22 well-trained and highly-prepared foreigners, then, in the unlikely event that only the two of them remain, fight each other to the death.
One main reason I enjoyed this book is that I got the impression while reading it that Suzanne Collins enjoyed building this universe. Many cultural and historical allusions poke fun at both the novel’s authoritarian government and ourselves: hosts, stylists, and handlers with names like Cinna, Flavius, and Claudius, and Caesar; a mad rush and fierce battle for contestant sponsors, with handicappers and odds dictating citizen wagering; and most importantly, the look of the arena and competition always being more important than the lives of the contestants. Needless to say, since it is a planned trilogy, there is plenty of room at the end for more, and I am looking forward to it. Like its primary predecessor, the Shadow Children series, The Hunger Games promises action and suspense for quite a while.

2008-09-16T10:26:00.000-07:00

Nicholls, Sally. Ways to Live Forever (3 stars out of 4).
As much as we hate to talk about it or think about it sometimes, death is a part of our school lives as well as our personal lives. Many of us have witnessed counselors flooding into a building after a student death, and we have consoled our students when they were overwhelmed by either the death of a friend or of a relative. A mature understanding of death is often born in the middler years, and difficult as it is, this issue must be discussed. Ironically, since death is a universal experience, its dark tendrils touch all of us, and it has the capacity to bring us closer together. In this spirit, Ways to Live Forever by new British author Sally Nicholls delves into the life of one dying young person to gain insight into how the rest of us should live.
Sam McQueen is eleven and he is dying of leukemia with little or no chance of survival. Sam and his fellow terminally-ill friend Felix spend most days at home, visited by a tutor and closely monitored by Sam’s overprotective mum (remember, it’s a British novel). Dad works frequently to support the family’s medical bills, and he is mostly in denial that his son will die. Sam does not like uncertainty in his life; he wants to know things, and he feels science can provide some answers: “If I grow up, I’m going to be a scientist . . . I’m going to find out the answers to all the questions that nobody answers” (9-10). To explain the universe available to him and to come to terms with his impossibly difficult situation, Sam begins a book to explore the unknown, but cynical Felix insists on the inclusion of the dark side of their lives. While asking why God makes kids ill, Felix insists that either God does not exist or that God is evil. Sam suggests instead that cancer is a lesson that God imparts to teach us how to live and that there are nice reasons why God would make kids sick, but Felix resists this idea: “‘There aren’t any nice ones,’ said Felix. ‘How can there be? Someone gives kids cancer, they don’t do it to be nice’” (42). Instead of getting more depressed over their plights, Sam and Felix decide to make a “bucket list” of things to do before they die. One of the items on the list is to watch an adult horror movie, and they “borrow” a copy of The Exorcist from Felix’s brother. However, to Sam, the movie became a metaphor of his plight: “There was something about the idea of something living in your body and making you do creepy stuff that I didn’t like” (51). As time marches on and Sam approaches the end of his journey, he, his little sister Ella, and his family must come to terms with the ending of this chapter of their lives.
I distinctly remember reading Kira-Kira by Cynthia Kadohata because my eyes are still puffy two years later. Although 23-year-old Sally Nicholls is no Kadohata, and this book does not delve into the parallel themes of racism, prejudice, and unfair treatment of ethnic groups, she writes in an authentic voice that touches the reader right where she cries. Young people often do not know where to turn when death enters their lives, and running away does not work; the person is still gone when he or she returns. With Ways to Live Forever, Ms. Nicholls has given young people a valuable tool to use in order to try and understand their universe. Readers may appreciate the irony that the more Sam gets what he wants, the more he wants to be just like everyone else. The author effectively uses date subheadings at the beginning of each chapter so readers can “feel” Sam getting weaker (with occasional bursts of energy) throughout the novel. There are no easy answers to life’s biggest questions, but middlers can only come to terms with these issues if they think, wonder, and dream about them. It is not always comfortable, but comfort was not promised in life’s rich pageant.

2008-09-16T10:19:00.001-07:00

Burg, Shana. A Thousand Never Evers (3 1/2 out of 4 stars).
There cannot be too many positive pre-adolescent and adolescent African-American role models in today’s libraries. Those who argue that the worst days of the civil rights struggle are over, that we have finally achieved personal, professional, and social equality, are not seeing the reality I see every day at school. Unfortunately, African-Americans have the additional challenge of having to be blitzed with media images too-frequently showing African-Americans as athletes and rappers, and too-infrequently showing African-Americans as doctors, accountants, chefs, and architects. With her first novel, A Thousand Never Evers, Shana Burg has created a fine civil rights-era historical novel, and in Addie Ann Pickett, Ms. Burg has given life to a new, strong voice young people can hear and relate to.
It is 1963 in segregated Kuckachoo, Mississippi, and as Addie Ann Pickett inches closer to the start of seventh grade at West Thunder Creek Junior High School (called County Colored by the older members of the community), her life is becoming increasingly complicated and uncomfortable. Addie Ann’s situation deteriorates rapidly when she gets picked on by two racist white teens, Buck Fowler and Jimmy Worth, for staring at and then laughing in the presence of Mrs. Worth, a prominent citizen and avowed segregationist: “‘Reckon coloreds don’t learn manners at school,’ Buck says, cackling. ‘Thing we ought to teach this one a lesson?’” (47). Addie Ann’s brother Elias throws a honey jar at Jimmy, who trips and falls. Elias runs away and, after a chase and search, is presumed dead. The next escalation of tensions for Addie Ann occurs when she realizes, in stages throughout the novel, that her friend Delilah has physically blossomed earlier than she has, and that Delilah will most probably catch the eye of the only neighborhood young man entering the seventh grade, Cool Breeze Huddleston: “After all, Delilah’s light brown skin’s always dewy like a petal, while mine’s muddy like the bottom of the bayou. And Delilah’s eyebrows? They arch real graceful, like dancers leaping, while . . . mine scraggle like hawks crashing down for a landing” (98). But the real problem that can potentially rive the town is a community garden that a recently-deceased wealthy man bequeaths to the whole town, black and white alike. The garden is predictably stolen the moment the attorney with the will leaves the room. Addie Ann watches the sheriff take out his gun and bully the room into submission: “I want to yell what I know is true: This land, it’s ours too! But the words are stuck inside me. I’m afraid we’re all going to die. And I wonder if it’s worth it, for the land” (22). When someone close to Addie Ann is falsely accused of sabotaging the garden, she must grow up quickly and find the inner fortitude to fight the mounting injustice in her family, her town, and her world.
I like Addie Ann Pickett. Her internal monologue sounds authentic, and it is fun to watch her grow up, even during the maelstrom of the early modern civil rights movement. Ms. Burg works in names like Medgar Evers, Emmett Till, and the Birmingham Four to add appropriate tension to the story and its characters, and she successfully displays both the segregationists’ shame and the beginning of the overthrow of that sorry, racist cycle. One of the small ironies that so poignantly illustrates Addie Ann’s conflict as an African-American in the segregationist South occurs after she saves the choking toddler son of her white employer, Mrs. Tate. When Mrs. Tate asks Addie Ann privately where she learned to help choking children, Addie Ann becomes afraid that she did something wrong, that she embarrassed Mrs. Tate by showing her up in front of her friends. Sadly, in the white world in which Addie lives, saving face and looking good is even more important than saving lives. A Thousand Never Evers is a fine debut novel by Shana Burg that successfully illustrates the challenges we all still face if we want racism-free peace in our time.

2008-09-16T10:12:00.000-07:00

Davidson, Jenny. The Explosionist (3 stars out of 4).
Alternate history, also called allohistory, is uncommon in YA literature. Maybe authors do not perceive the YA/middler audience as learned or sophisticated enough to appreciate the subtlety of tweaking historical events, or maybe publishers do not think the genre is attractive enough for today’s overstimulated, desensitized, technology-saturated kids. However, alternate history, a work in which historical events have been altered and the result is analyzed and deconstructed (i.e. the South won the Civil War, Kennedy was not shot, or one of the most widely-used examples, the Nazis won World War II), is a valid and thought-provoking science fiction sub-genre. For example, works like Philip K. Dick’s 1960’s classic The Man In the High Castle, Philip Roth’s more recent The Plot Against America, and even one of Star Trek’s most famous episodes, the Harlan Ellison story “The City on the Edge of Forever,” are fascinating portraits of what America would look like if World War II had happened differently. Although Jenny Davidson’s The Explosionist does not compare with the best works in this field, it is a good retro sci-fi adventure murder mystery with enough action to satisfy most of its target audience.
Sophie Hunter lives in a 1938 that is literally a different world than the one our history books record. Residing in Edinburgh, her Scotland is part of the New Hanseatic League, an alliance of northern countries formed to protect itself against the Federated European States, an alliance of southern European countries. The U.S., not a player in this novel, is separated into the Northern Union of States and the Southern Confederacy. All of this historical topsy-turvy has occurred because in Sophie’s history books, Napoleon defeated Wellington at Waterloo, radically affecting all events after it. Additionally, supernatural power and spiritualist abilities seem to be enhanced in this universe. Living with her Great-aunt Tabitha on the weekends (her parents were killed many years ago in an explosives plant explosion) and attending boarding school during the week, Sophie stumbles upon a conspiracy to start a war with Europe, and she fears that her teachers, her Great-aunt’s acquaintances, and even her Great-aunt herself may be involved. Also, she is having unwelcome encounters with the spirit world that are fraying her nerves. First, a strange woman reminiscent of her dead mother appears in the mirror: “Ghosts were stupid; only foolish people believed in them. If only the woman hadn’t looked so real!” (28). With her friend Mikael, she investigates the murder of a medium who had appeared at Great-aunt Tabitha’s home and made specific references to Sophie in her presentation, then tells a constable about it when Mikael is found in the dead woman’s room: “‘And she said some odd things [during the séance]—I can’t really describe it, but there was something off about the whole business . . . So when Mikael offered to help me find out more about her, it seemed like the perfect solution. Was—was her throat really cut?’” While looking into the murder, Sophie also stumbles upon the secret project Great-aunt Tabitha co-founded, called IRYLNS, a training facility that turns out perfect secretaries and administrative assistants to people of importance, but at a very steep, very secret price: “Sophie felt rather shattered. What if she had to enroll at IRYLNS and become one of those pretty, polished girls? Would it be possible to do that and still be Sophie?” (177). Sophie must find a way, with help from unexpected places, to avoid her inescapable destiny and also try to save her friends, and if necessary, her country, before all of the conspiracies surrounding her come to fruition.
I was not surprised to read on the book jacket that Ms. Davidson is a Professor of Comparative Literature; she manages to creatively reference almost every major discipline in this novel, and names like Joyce, Wittgenstein, Tolstoy, and Adam Smith are tossed around The Explosionist like snowflakes in a blizzard. However, it sometimes seems too much, like Ms. Davidson wants to name-drop everyone she can to show that she has done her homework. Although it is amusing to imagine Einstein as a poet and Sigmund Freud as a self-help radio host, these oddities ultimately detract from a novel that could have been 100 pages shorter. Most middlers do not yet appreciate the lives and accomplishments of many of the ideas referenced here, so the impact of their altered appearance is significantly reduced. Students will probably enjoy the conspiracy elements and action more than the multitude of allusions. Overall, The Explosionist by Jenny Davidson is a good first YA novel that explores some unique historical and societal perspectives, and with a little tightening and a keener focus on the interests of middlers, the sequel (if written) should be a fine read.

2008-06-18T04:14:00.000-07:00

Haddix, Margaret Peterson. The Missing: Book 1--Found (3 stars out of 4).
As a science fiction fan, I have read and enjoyed many of the major works in the field, and I have also viewed many of the genre’s best movies and television series. I am surprised that Margaret Peterson Haddix’s work has never been made into movies or television adaptations, because her work tends to be cinematic, if a bit derivative. I would never accuse Ms. Haddix of being too original with her story arcs (we have writers like M. T. Anderson for that), but she does write engaging fiction that, at its best, moves too quickly and smartly to allow the reader to think he or she may have read this type of story before. Her latest effort, Found, begins a new series titled The Missing, and it will become a hit for the same reason the Shadow Children series became popular: young readers have not read and seen this plot yet. Adult readers will instantly recognize the common, almost-too-familiar plot elements brought together for this series, but young readers, who did not grow up with the time travel adventures featured in television programs like Time Tunnel and Star Trek, or books like Asimov’s The End of Eternity, will find the ideas in this new work both intriguing and original. Although I feel déjà vu when I read it, Ms. Haddix is skilled enough that I must confess that I got just as engrossed in the story as my students will.
Thirteen years after a mysterious plane appears with 36 unclaimed babies, Jonah Skidmore and Chip Winston of Liston, Ohio, who happen to be adopted, start receiving threatening letters explaining that they are the “missing” and that they are in danger: “He [Jonah] knew it was just a prank—it had to be—but for just a second, staring at those words, You are one of the missing, he’d almost believed them” (22). Along with Jonah’s (not adopted) sister Katherine, Jonah and Chip begin investigating the strange occurrences, but the more they uncover, the more dangerous and threatening their situation becomes. Jonah and Chip both find information relating their adoption back to an FBI agent named James Reardon, but when they visit him for further information about their birth parents, they are threatened again; Reardon strongly discourages Jonah’s father from inquiring about getting their background through the Freedom of Information Act: “‘Sometimes there are . . . repercussions. I think your son’s documentation is in order, but perhaps if we were forced to revisit his case, we might discover some unfortunate discrepancies” (86). When Jonah goes to the bathroom in the FBI office, he is contacted by a mysterious individual who warns him that he is in danger, and when he returns to Reardon’s office, a file with information on Jonah, Chip, and the mystery that envelops them magically appears on the desk. Katherine manages to take some pictures of the contents, and they connect with the only living witness to the plane’s appearance thirteen years ago, Angela DuPre, and they gather other information about more of the 36 “missing” children. DuPre cannot fill in all of the background details, but she does add one important piece about their past. When Chip asks her if she knows where they came from, she responds enigmatically: “‘Not where, exactly,’” she said apologetically. “‘But I think I might have a pretty good guess about when’” (159). Not coincidentally, all of the “missing” children seem to live in the Liston area, so when a conference addressing the plight of adopted kids is offered by the county, Jonah, Chip, and Katherine all go, knowing it may be a trap, but needing answers. They get much more than they bargained for, and they must make a major decision that will affect the rest of their lives.
Think of Found by Margaret Peterson Haddix as the pilot to a new television series. There is much plot establishment and character development preparing the reader for the rest of the series, and although it starts slowly, it builds quickly towards the end of the novel as the conspiracy theory element, à la Francine Prose’s After, kicks into high gear. Series fans will have little trouble with the slow start; they are used to it. However, readers who like a little more kick to jumpstart their novels should be patient, because the excitement generated by the ending, featuring an intriguing (if not new) time travel element, will leave most readers anxiously waiting for the first actual episode of the story.

2008-06-18T04:00:00.000-07:00

Reisfeld, Randi, & H. B. Gilmour. Making Waves;
Wasserman, Robin. Callie for President (3 out of 4 stars).
One of the joys of librarianship is the variety of styles in fiction, non-fiction, reference, periodicals, etc. that our patrons ask for. Popular items come and go, but I have noticed that series have a life of their own. For example, I did not even think Star Wars was popular anymore, but a few students continued asking me for books. I finally bought about 20 titles for a 5-6 school of 850 students, and I cannot keep them on the shelf! A popular series inspires fierce loyalty; I’m usually telling everyone about the new novel by Laurie Halse Anderson or Avi or Edward Bloor, but my students ask me when the new Darren Shan (Cirque du Freak, Demonata), Dav Pilkey (Captain Underpants), or Stephenie Meyer (Twilight vampire series) books are arriving. Based on the two books I read, Making Waves by Randi Reisfeld and H. B. Gilmour, and Callie for President by Robin Wasserman, Candy Apple books’ language and content are the antithesis of Cecily von Ziegesar’s Gossip Girl; they are younger and less racy, making them perfect for my 5th and 6th graders. Although they do not break any new literary ground, and they do occasionally contain overly-recognizable minor characters, this fresh new girls’ series is great for the pool, the beach, the couch, or any cozy summer reading spot.
In Making Waves by Randi Reisfeld and H. B. Gilmour, Emily, LJ and Jenna are beginning their summer swim club season when a new girl, Aubrey, emerges onto the scene. Spurned by the “popular” Sara Livingston and her Ice Queens, the bffs adopt Aubrey into the group as they spend their last summer before middle school begins. Aubrey seems great, with charisma and élan, but she always seems to disappear because of “emergencies” with her mom, even though she has been spotted in the city (New York). After she ditches Emily during a babysitting nightmare, Emily is just about fed up; she wants to like Aubrey, and she is dying to tell someone about the recent progress of her hoped-for hook-up with not-so-secret-crush Tyler, but she is torn: “Emily was bursting with the news. She wanted to tell Aubrey about it. But the moment she’d heard Aubrey’s voice on the phone, she realized how upset she was at her flaky friend” (112). With the important swim club talent show coming up, will Aubrey’s secret and erratic behavior destroy the girls’ friendship or strengthen it?
In Callie for President by Robin Wasserman, Callie Singer is bamboozled into running for Susan B. Anthony Middle School’s 7th grade class president versus Brianna Blake, the phoniest, meanest, richest, most ruthless girl in school. At first, the free-spirited, unself-conscious Callie jokes with one of her two best friends/campaign manager Max (Maxine) about competing against perennial incumbent Brianna and her band of middler sycophants, but when Brianna courts Callie’s other bff, artist Jacob Fisher (Fish), to make posters for her campaign, and Brianna outspends and outclasses every one of Callie’s and Max’s moves, an embittered Callie becomes determined to win by any means necessary: “I was going to prove to Fish that I was the better candidate—and the better friend—even if I didn’t have shiny blond hair and a big-screen TV . . . I was going to beat Brianna Blake. No matter what” (85). As the race drags on and Callie learns more about herself and her opponent, she is forced to make tough decisions that may affect more than just the election.
I will add the Candy Apple series to my Intermediate School (grades 5-6) collection; I will ask some of my middle school language arts teachers if they think the style will be appealing to older, lower readers. The central New Jersey suburban setting may be a bit too elitist for some readers, and not everyone will relate to these girls’ problems when they may be fighting for a regular pattern of good meals, a two-parent family, or a night without abuse or fear, but they are good, light fare to entertain readers, not challenge them. Both Making Waves and Callie for President feature sassy, individualistic, creative, clever girls who may not always win their battles but do win their wars, girls unafraid to speak their minds about everything from boys to ice cream to school to friendship. Many of the boys are presented very obnoxiously, but not entirely unrealistically (I can speak from experience—we do shoot milk out of our noses and belch musically more often than the fairer sex). Overall, the books are fun reads; I’ll recommend them widely to my female patrons.

2008-06-18T03:56:00.000-07:00

Soto, Gary. Facts of Life: Stories (3 out of 4 stars)--
As state testing approaches, I give an annual presentation to my students on the essay-writing and reading tips and tricks I have accumulated throughout the years, and I always start my discussion of the essays by imploring my students to remember their audience. I advise them that if elephants score the essays, write about peanuts. Gary Soto knows this maxim well. He never talks above his audience, a potential insult to an adult but a great compliment to a YA writer. If a 10-year-old wants to read Dubliners or Goodbye, Columbus, she can get it at the public library, but most 10-year-old kids just want to read about 12-year-old kids like themselves, not angst-ridden, overly-complex adult children. In his latest short story collection Facts of Life, Mr. Soto once again displays his ability to be inside of the mind of a middler. In most of the ten stories contained in this collection, the characters simply and straightforwardly experience, as a regular feature of their lives, all of the awkwardness, joy, nervousness, excitement, paranoia, exultation, over-confidence, inspiration, and boredom we observe in our students every day.
In the best of the ten stories contained in this collection, the protagonists have small epiphanies that help to comfort them with the knowledge that they will grow up and everything will be OK. In “Identity Theft,” Ana Hernandez must confront the horror of a new girl with her exact name—and one who is better looking, smarter, more talented, and, ultimately, more popular, than herself. Now that she has been violated and her dignity has been wrenched from her, Original Ana wonders what else the new Ana can steal from her: “She was only twelve, but perhaps years from now when she got her first credit card, this new Ana would steal it . . . Then she swallowed with fear. She imagined having a baby that was claimed by the new Ana!” (48). It is only at Ana’s moment of realization about her identity and place in life that she can commence with her life. In “The Babysitter,” Rachel’s and Freddie’s evening becomes increasingly uncomfortable when a punk-goth babysitter named Keri ruins dinner, smokes, gives the kids coffee and sugar, dyes second grader Freddie’s hair orange and green, and plays loud punk music. At first, the normally reserved Rachael heartily disapproves, but somewhere in the middle of the mayhem, she admits to herself that letting go feels good: “But when they returned to the living room and Keri put Spew Face on the stereo, Rachael had to giggle and join in bouncing to the music. It felt fun; it felt wild” (77). But as uncomfortable as it usually is, Rachael can only march toward adulthood when she confronts her choices about what type of person she wants to be and she decides on her fundamental mores and values. In “D in English,” Ryan Gonzalez tries to avoid the consequences of his “D” by sneaking out and staying away from his house, but he finds reminders of his failure everywhere he goes. Ironically, when Ryan sees his mother at the grocery store having a nice exchange with a boy his age who helped her with her packages, he gets jealous, temporarily forgetting that he is avoiding her: “He narrowed his eyes at the boy and hurried away, ashamed—no, mad. Who was that kid, anyway? And why was the kid helping Ryan’s mother? That was his duty” (164). It is only at the end of the story, after witnessing a life-changing ceremony, that Ryan is ready to confront his own demons and begin the journey to becoming a successful, mature man.
Although all of the players in this collection are California Latinos, Facts of Life could chronicle the lives of any ten American middlers. Gary Soto presents universal themes easily, and characters’ normal feelings are somewhat amplified for dramatic tension but not ridiculously overblown like a manga novel. These short stories often present a naturalistic slice of life of the daily lives of regular folks who happen to be 12 and 13 years old. At first glance, many of the stories seem predictable and hackneyed, but sophisticated adult readers must remember that everything old is new again: stale to an English teacher or a librarian may be fresh to a 10-year-old. At second glance, this collection seems fresh enough to be tasty.

2008-06-18T03:54:00.000-07:00

Myers, Walter Dean. Sunrise over Fallujah (3 1/2 out of 4 stars)--
I remember when movies about the Vietnam War first appeared. It was the late 1970s, and movies like Platoon, Apocalypse Now, and Full Metal Jacket tried to make sense of a war that, as controversial and painful as it was, had finally ended. With time and perspective, we as a nation have come to terms with the Vietnam War. Walter Dean Myers, in his new novel Sunrise over Fallujah, attempts a more daunting task than that faced by Stone, Coppola, or Kubrick: write a story about the Iraqi War while we are still embroiled in it. As is usually the case with Mr. Myers, he does a masterful job, and his novel, set between February and June 2003, when we “won” the war, has as much tension and drama a middler can handle.
Although Robin Perry of Harlem, NY, is concerned about his father’s dissatisfaction over joining the armed forces during the beginning of the Iraqi War, Robin, who got the nickname “Birdy” from his army squad mates, is convinced he is doing the right thing, as he explains in a letter to his uncle Richie (the hero of Myers’ 1988 Fallen Angels): “I felt like crap after 9-11 and I wanted to do something, to stand up for my country. I think if Dad had been my age, he would have done the same thing” (2). Birdy is stationed in Iraq with the Civil Affairs corps, the organization that is supposed to assist with establishing goodwill and helping to rebuild Iraq. He must learn to get along with his new people in a strange and dangerous place, and he learns to rely on Jonesy, a blues-loving Southerner; and Marla, a big, tough ‘n tender woman who rides shotgun on their humvee, Miss Molly. Birdy finds out very quickly that fighting in Iraq takes a toll on more than just a soldier’s body. When an Iraqi teenager is shot for running away from soldiers, Birdy feels the agony of the moment: “The building across the street, the soldiers moving cautiously past them, were unreal through my tears. It was a horror movie badly out of focus, with only the images in my head crystal clear” (57). When Birdy encounters his first IED (improvised explosive device), set off by a cell phone, the randomness of the violence he has encountered makes him question everything he believes in. When Marla ask him if he’s OK, he is not sure anymore: “‘Not really,’” I answered. “‘I don’t know if there’s going to be an okay anymore’” (136). Regardless of their feelings and the violence that consistently visits them, Birdy’s squad must continue trying to help the people of Iraq while trying to discern who is friendly and who is the enemy, a daunting and deadly task.
Walter Dean Myers has written about war before, and it shows. One of New Jersey’s most prominent authors, Myers knows how to weave a tale that is both exciting and moving, and Sunrise over Fallujah is both. As Birdy’s squad members learn to be a family, they also learn to live with loss and pain as they struggle to move forward in an oppressive situation. Myers does not mind sharing the soldiers’ doubt about the war’s motivations and the spin machines built to support them. There is also a powerful tone of dramatic irony to the story as the characters discuss and deal with public perceptions of the war, that it would be easy, that we would be in and out, that we would just shock and awe them and be home in six months, that it would be just like 1991. Five years later, we know how sadly untrue those perceptions were, but the characters do not; this disconnect between expectations and reality drives the conflict home very effectively. Sunrise over Fallujah by Walter Dean Myers is a fine addition to all middle (and high school) shelves; despite a bit of foul language, the action is not inappropriate for young people who can handle a little blood and gore and who appreciate an almost Stephen Crane-like, naturalistic examination of the beginning of the Iraqi War. The ending is foreshadowed throughout the entire novel, but although it is predictable, it is not necessarily ineffective. Like in Fallen Angels, the characters must deal with the effects of war whether they expect them or not.

2008-04-15T05:18:00.000-07:00

Hobbs, Will. Go Big or Go Home. (3 stars out of 4)
ESPN has definitely changed the way people watch sports. The fantastic and ultra-extreme are rewarded with airtime and the famous refrain, “Da-da-dum, Da-da-dum.” There are more sports than ever before available for viewing, including a whole new category, Extreme Games or X-Games. The title of Will Hobbs’s new novel Go Big or Go Home comes from a t-shirt one of the characters wears, but it also describes the framework in which this novel operates. Much of what the characters say and do is framed in extreme language, and yells of “That’s extreme!” and “That’s insane!” abound. The action does not always match the language, but that does not detract from the solid plot. Mr. Hobbs is noted for action-adventure stories, and this sometimes implausible but generally entertaining story occasionally delivers the high-powered action it promises.
Fortunately, when 14-year-old Brady Steele remembers that the Perseid meteor shower is peaking, he opens his window and steps out onto the garage roof. Otherwise, he would have been crushed by an extraterrestrial visitor, a meteorite he and his cousin Quinn name Fred. At first, Fred offers great promise: “Next thing I knew Quinn was bouncing around, tossing Fred between his hands, off-the-wall excited. ‘Just think how valuable Fred might be! I mean, he’s from outer space!” (41). While the fathers of the two young men are exploring new job options outside of Brady’s home in the Black Hills of South Dakota, Brady and Quinn decide to go camping and fishing. While riding their bikes, Brady notices that he feels better than usual, and his asthma seems to be gone: “Whatever was going on, I had never felt stronger . . . That strange electrical buzz was running through me all the way to my grip on the handlebars” (50-52). Unfortunately, the meteorite falls into the wrong hands when Brady and Quinn lose it and their rivals, the Carver brothers, find it. However, Fred is a mixed blessing, because the extreme bacteria it contains is unwittingly poisoning those who come in contact with it, especially Brady, meteorite expert Dr. Ripley, and Attila, the Carvers’ dog. Dr. Ripley explains the dangers of extremophile bacteria: “The history of first contact with exotic microorganisms can be rather frightening. Consider the host of diseases that the Europeans brought to the New World, smallpox being the deadliest. On the heels of the Spanish conquest, millions upon millions of people died, up to ninety percent of the population of Mesoamerica” (110). Brady is in danger, and he may even need the Carver brothers’ help to survive his extreme infection. If he is not careful, and if his friends do not keep a solemn promise, the caves Brady and Quinn discover, the Halls of the Dead and the Palace of the Dead King, may become Brady’s and Attila’s final resting place.
I have never been to the Black Hills, so I cannot relate to descriptions or attachments to that area. However, I believe Mr. Hobbs has been there. I was occasionally distracted by the extreme language accompanying every action the boys take, including shooting hoops and eating snacks, but I never questioned that the author rode on the same trails that Quinn and Brady travel. His knowledge of the area and of sports (playing them, not overeating and watching them on TV) seems genuine and enthusiastic. More of our students (and adults) could take a lesson from the characters in this novel and get out more often. Go Big or Go Home does not deliver quite as much as its title, but it is an easy-to-read novel that features boys being boys, an activity sometimes lacking in YA literature. It is a good high-interest-lower-reading-level selection (Follett has it at 5.6) for high elementary/intermediate and middle schools.

2008-03-08T13:07:00.004-08:00

Bartoletti, Susan Campbell. The Boy Who Dared: A Novel Based on the True Story of a Hitler Youth (4 out of 4 stars)
Any modern author of World War II / Holocaust stories, memoirs, poems, novels, or plays walks a tightrope with every word. Most authors want to tell honest stories (or as honest as memory can be) but are not always armed with the facts. Fortunately, Susan Campbell Bartoletti did her research. Her new historical novel, The Boy Who Dared: A Novel Based on the True Story of a Hitler Youth, rings true on every page, from the fascination almost everyone in Germany had for Hitler’s cult of personality to many Germans’ eventual disillusionment and rebellion, both overt and silent. Through research and interviews, Ms. Bartoletti reconstructs an engaging study of a good German who wants to help his countrymen and fatherland, but betrays the Nazis to save his friends and his soul.
Helmuth Hübener is a proud 17-year-old ex-Nazi waiting for execution. While waiting, he remembers the events that led him to his jail cell and death sentence. At first, the Nazis are exciting: “Brown-shirted men wearing black-and-red armbands and tall, black, shiny boots are marching. One swaggering Brownshirt bends over Helmuth. ‘What a big boy you are,’ he says. ‘Do you want to be a soldier for the Fatherland?
Helmuth likes to play with toy soldiers . . . He nods and tells the Brownshirt, “Yes!” (4). But Helmuth’s grandparents are scared of Hitler and the dreadful possibilities he offers to Germany: “‘Oma sits next to Opa and says, “‘Hitler frightens me. Those crazy eyes of his . . .’ Helmuth knows they are afraid of Adolf Hitler, the leader of the Nazi Party. But he doesn’t understand why they fear a man who wants to fight for Germany and make it better” (9-10). However, as Helmuth’s rights at school disappear, he is forced to join the Hitler Youth, and his home life deteriorates as his mother starts dating Hugo, a gruff, dictatorial Nazi Rottenführer (non-commissioned corporal), Helmuth gradually becomes skeptical of the Nazis’ intentions. But criticism has its price in the “new” Reich; when Helmuth complains loudly that the Nazis forbid fun things like American dancing and “un-German” music and literature, his practical, pragmatic brother Gerhard demonstrates the fear of the common German citizens of the time: “Gerhard grabs his brother’s hand, grips it, iron-fisted. ‘Stop that,’ he whispers, shocked. ‘Are you a fool? Do you want the neighbors to hear?’” (92). Despite such warnings and to the surprise of his friends, Helmuth feels compelled to battle the Nazis on the only battleground on which he can compete—the war of information. This personal war drives Helmuth to the brink of trouble so threatening that even his strong Mormon faith may not be able to provide him solace, and he is forced to choose between his friends and family on one side and Truth on the other.
Truth can be felt like rain or danger in the air; as in her 2005 Newbery Honor Hitler Youth: Growing Up In Hitler’s Shadow, Ms. Bartoletti does not shy away from the horrifying but undeniable reality that Hitler bewitched and entranced many “good” German citizens who felt more beaten at Versailles than on the battlefield. I still remember the chill that went down my spine when I read in Hitler Youth about good young people rebelling against their parents for not being good Nazis. Both the Hitler Youths in her 2005 non-fiction work and Helmuth in her new book share the excitement and disillusionment of Germany between the wars, and with a presidential election looming, there is no better time than now to explore these powerful forces. The Boy Who Dared is a fine example of World War II / Holocaust literature that will resonate with students and adults; its message that Truth can be a costly luxury is an important historical lesson no society or individual can afford to forget.

2008-03-08T13:07:00.003-08:00

Sheth, Kashmira. Keeping Corner (3 1/2 out of 4 stars)
According to NJDOE data, there were 104,930, or 7.5% of the population of New Jersey students, listed under the “Asian or Pacific Islander” category in 2005-06, and this number may be higher now. I worry that, after 9/11, publishers are more conservative and xenophobic than ever; they will publish graphic violence, gratuitous sex, and foul language (read one Gossip Girl novel and you’ll know what I mean), but they will not explore Middle Eastern or Asian cultures for fear of backlash, or worse, slow sales. Lately, however, there have been more books published featuring Asian cultures (my recent favorite is Ying Chang Compestine’s Revolution is Not a Dinner Party), and Indian-American Kashmira Sheth’s Keeping Corner is a fine addition to this growing trend. Although the action takes place in the era of World War I, the story is timeless: a child’s struggle to overcome the limitations of her society and grow into a strong, healthy adult free from the restrictions of the previous generation.
Leela is so excited she can hardly contain herself. Not yet thirteen, she is soon to have her anu (the celebration that commemorates her move into the family home of her fiancé Ramanlal) and begin married life. Leela does not mind her arranged marriage, because she is very fond of her soon-to-be family. Her schooling will end with her anu, but she does not mind that either: “Like my classmates, I knew I wouldn’t go to school after my anu. Last year there were only five girls in my class” (8). Leela enjoys the finer things in life: pretty bangles, gold jewelry, colorful saris, and she looks forward to wearing beautiful things every day. However, Leela’s world is rocked when the unthinkable occurs: Ramanlal is bitten by a snake and dies. Now, without even her anu as a memory, Leela suddenly becomes a widow and must adhere to a strict and oppressive set of social rules: “Ba [Mom] and I had never talked about it, but there was a saying that a widow’s life was a living death” (53). As a Brahman of the early 20th Century, Leela must stay in the house for an entire year, a ritual known as keeping corner. She may not wear bright colors or any jewelry, and she must keep her head shaved. She may not ever marry again. Her life seems hopeless until she meets with her school principal, Saviben, who offers to tutor her and release her from the prison her small town of Jamlee will become for her: “‘If I stay here, the rest of my life will be like this year. Instead of keeping corner in our house, I’d be keeping corner in our town’” (199). The entire family must make some difficult decisions in order to do the right thing, whatever that may turn out to be.
The extensive use of Hindi/Indian words in this novel offers a glimpse into an exotic and colorful culture, even though reading so many foreign words makes the beginning of the novel a bit clunky. Colors and sounds play an important role in Keeping Corner; clothes, jewelry, and background are either vibrant with reds, golds, purples, and blues, or they are black or brown in mourning. Either the clink of jewelry, the sizzle of food cooking, and the braying of animals fills Leela’s life, or their absence empties it. Also, the novel’s backdrop of Mahatma Gandhi’s rise as a leader is an inspiration to both the characters and the reader, and there are many modern parallels to draw between India’s earlier struggles and the fight for self-determination being waged in many countries today. Also, Keeping Corner by Kashmira Sheth is a reminder of how far women have come in the world (I cannot imagine Leela’s generation voting, for instance, though they would today) and how far they still have to go to attain true equality. Finally, Hinduism is frequently misunderstood (my non-Indian students often ask if it’s a form of Islam), so a novel like this is always welcome because it is an enjoyable read and the students (and possibly you) will learn something as well.

2008-03-08T13:07:00.002-08:00

Malley, Gemma. The Declaration (4 out of 4 stars)
I have always been a fan of dystopian literature. In high school, classics like Orwell’s 1984, Huxley’s Brave New World, Zamyatin’s We, and Bradbury’s Fahrenheit 451 were my royal road to imagining what could go wrong with society as a precursor to dreaming about what could go right. Since I do not particularly like blood and gore in my books, dystopian lit became my scary books, my Stephen King. Young adult dystopian literature was scarce in the 1970s, but it is now very common. In fact, Gemma Malley’s first YA novel The Declaration is reminiscent of one prominent collection of works, Haddix’s Shadow Children series, without being too derivative because the author adds a medical twist not present in Haddix’s more Orwellian work.
Anna has no other name but the name assigned to all unwanted people: Surplus. Living in Grange Hall in the year 2140 with others like her, Surplus Anna is convinced by the stern, cruel headmistress Mrs. Pincent that her parents are evil and grossly irresponsible for conceiving her: “‘Of course I hate them . . . the Declaration was introduced for a reason and my parents abused Mother Nature’s benevolence. They make me sick’” (65). Since the drug Longevity was invented, people can now live virtually forever, but that has created such an overpopulation problem that the Declaration had to be established to prevent those on the drug from having children. Violators of the Declaration are sent to jail and their children are either taken to surplus halls like Grange or “put down” if necessary. The surpluses are taught to be Valuable Assets (mostly housekeepers and servants) and return their debt of life to society, as outlined in the Evening Vows: “I vow to serve to pay my dues / And train myself for Legal use. / I vow to bear the Surplus shame / And repay Nature for the same” (92). Surplus Anna is a Prefect and is set to become a Valuable Asset for some Legal family; her only vice is that she keeps an illegal diary (a la Winston Smith) in which she shares her thoughts. Everything proceeds as expected until a new Surplus named Peter arrives and turns Anna’s world upside down. Peter tells Anna about an Underground Movement that fights the system that keeps Anna and Peter enslaved. He describes using computers, traveling, eating good food, even feeling guiltless: “The truth was that Peter was a window through which Anna could glimpse the world outside, and the temptation to keep looking was quite overwhelming” (62). When Peter’s true intentions are discovered and he is placed in grave danger, Anna must decide if she is willing to risk everything she has earned for an uncertain, but free, future.
When I began The Declaration, I groaned at what I thought was a Shadow Children clone. However, Ms. Malley takes an entirely new approach to the question of overpopulation and green living, and her medical-miracle-turned-nightmare resonates loudly in this age of Western overconsumption without consistent scientific superiority. The invention of a drug that cures all disease but creates another entire set of problems is a satisfying twist on the standard “be careful what you wish for” plot, and Ms. Malley writes with a voice that feels believable enough for her purpose; Anna’s change throughout the novel is set up appropriately, and the excitement in the second half of the novel is maintained well. The Declaration by Gemma Malley is a fine first novel; I look forward to her next book, whether or not it is a sequel, which is entirely possible within the context of the story.

2008-03-08T13:07:00.001-08:00

McMullan, Margaret. When I Crossed No-Bob (3 1/2 out of 4 stars)
Mississippi was not a good place to be an African-American during and after Reconstruction. According to Gale Cengage’s Student Resource Center, the Tuskegee Institute reports that more African-Americans were lynched during that tumultuous period in Mississippi than in any other state. However, as Margaret McMullan’s new novel When I Crossed No-Bob points out, it was not such a great place for anyone who was poor, and the ignorance that reigned during the post-war years manifested itself in the mistreatment of anyone who supported a non-White agenda. The KKK appeared during this time and is a prominent character in this novel. Fortunately, not everyone felt the need to return to a morally repugnant status quo, and Mississippi finally emerged from the muck of antebellum America to enter the Union as a partner once again. Ms. McMullan’s novel follows the exploits of one young woman as she tries to navigate these very difficult waters and grow up without the fierce racism and ignorance that permeates everything around her.
Addy O’Donnell is certainly an O’Donnell, but she does not feel like one: “We know what they say about us. They say the O’Donnells is no better than termites. We only do harm and you can’t get rid of us” (7). The O’Donnells, almost always barefoot, are known for stealing, cheating, and fighting. However, although the O’Donnells appear to be the roughest class of folks in Smith County, Mississippi, they are united with many others in the state against the free blacks. At twelve, Addy neither accepts nor appreciates the racial division shattering the state, and when her mother abandons her to search for her abandoned father, Addy is left all alone to figure things out. She is eventually taken in by a newlywed couple, but husband Frank has had past dealings with the O’Donnells; Garner O’Donnell tried to steal his land: “I listen to Mr. Frank’s voice and it sounds like he still has some of what Pappy used to call ‘grudge business’ to take care of with Garner and maybe even with all the other O’Donnells” (19). Although Addy still likes to fight and play practical jokes, as she stays with her newfound benefactors, she starts to mature and realize that the ignorant O’Donnell way may not be her way. When her Pappy returns and steals a goat to throw a party for his kin, Addy starts to see the separation between her and her clan: “They smell like wet dogs and the dogs smell like them and the children don’t care any more than the dogs do. Have O’Donnell children always been this dirty or am I just now seeing it? Was I like that? Am I going back to being like that, slipping back into old ways?” (102). When Pappy arranges a marriage for Addy with a scary O’Donnell named Smasher and then gets involved in other, more insidious plans, she runs away and lives in a cave, then with a local Choctaw tribe where she is identified as a future healer because of a prophetic dream. But when Frank gets in trouble, Addy must make the most difficult decision of her life if she chooses to save him.
All people old enough and independent enough to sustain themselves have the choice to accept and embrace their legacy or find a new path free of the shackles of their old lives. Margaret McMullan gives her character Addy that choice, and a well-developed plot leads her to that place logically and poignantly. Also, Ms. McMullan’s prose is often quite lyrical, and her use of threes in repetition (i.e. cried cried cried on page 83) is a simple but effective device to show her character’s emotions. The denouement may be a bit long, but it is sustained with additional plot movement that reasonably ties up any remaining loose ends. When I Crossed No-Bob presents an entire state in turmoil embodied in the small, tough frame of a poor, young girl. As Addy matures and gradually realizes that her way is not necessarily the way of the future, she both finds and saves herself, healing the rift between her broken past and an uncertain but promising future as a healer of both people and, to a lesser extent, our shared heritage.

2008-03-08T13:07:00.000-08:00

Hawking, Lucy & Stephen (with Christophe Galford). George’s Secret Key to the Universe (3 1/2 out of 4 stars)
While attending the NJEA convention in November 2007, I stopped at a booth that had a semi-circular screen that looked like the night sky. It was a demonstration for a product that enables any student “traveler” to go anywhere in the Universe. Sitting in a chair under a canopy of stars, I felt the thrill that all explorers feel when they discover something startlingly new, that exultation Keats felt after reading George Chapman’s translation of Homer, Einstein felt at solving relativity, Sagan felt among his starstuff, and Hawking felt when he first imagined standing on the event horizon of a black hole. The last example is most relevant here because Hawking, his daughter Lucy, and science writer Christophe Galford have turned a love affair with science into an enjoyable Magic Tree House-type book (and planned series) on astronomy. As well as being scientifically perfect (as far as any reader of A Brief History of Time can tell), George’s Secret Key to the Universe pays particular homage to Hawking’s favorite topic, black holes, and it introduces information I did not know about those strange cosmological phenomena.
All that George Greenby wants is to be a normal kid with a computer, cell phone, iPod, and Game Boy, but his vegetarian, earthy parents are staunch Luddites who refuse to allow any technology to taint their lives: “The only problem was that in getting rid of everything that could possibly harm George, his parents had managed to do away with lots of things that would also be fun for him” (5). The greener his parents are, the more George wants to explore technology, and in particular, science. He gets his chance when his pet pig, Freddie, escapes and runs Next Door, to an overgrown and scary yard. But when George overcomes his fears of the unknown and runs after Freddie, he discovers new friends in Annie, her astronomer father Eric, and Cosmos, who boastfully refers to itself as the world’s most powerful computer: “In the future, there will be computers more powerful than me. But there are none in the past or present” (37). When George is forced to tell his teacher, Mr. G. Reeper, about Cosmos, he starts an adventure that leads him to the edge of the galaxy and into a plot by Reeper to steal Cosmos and get rid of Eric.
Like many current novels, the Hawkings’ effort is a cross-genre work. Interspersed between text and black and white margin pictures are Magic Tree House-style, full-page descriptions of cosmic phenomena. Also, color pictures enhance the material by adding a dose of reality to the storyline. George is a likable character who will appeal to all science lovers, and teachers will love many of the characters’ intense curiosity about the Universe. Although the story gets a bit far-fetched, and Dr. Reeper’s behavior is a bit over the top, Science is the main feature of George’s Secret Key to the Universe, and it is presented enthusiastically and lovingly in the spirit of Sagan, Feynman, and Dr. Hawking himself.

2008-01-08T20:22:00.003-08:00

Rinaldi, Ann. The Ever-After Bird--3 out of 4 stars
Anyone who thinks ornithology is a quiet, solitary, placid hobby has never read The Ever-After Bird by New Jersey’s own Ann Rinaldi. This engaging and moving Underground Railroad tale plunges readers into an odd world of gentility and savagery as Ms. Rinaldi presents the pre-Civil War South in all of its fractured elegance and poorly-masked hypocrisy while portraying not only the commitment to freedom that saved the United States but also the transformative ideals and images that could sway almost anyone to the abolitionists’ side.
CeCe McGill is a lonely 13-year-old growing up in challenging times. Her widowed father seems more interested in helping runaway slaves than in raising CeCe, and she resents his choice of ragged strangers over his flesh and blood: “I couldn’t understand him risking his life for all those negroes who came to our door in the middle of the night looking like something the cat dragged in” (3). When Mr. McGill is killed in a dispute over some runaways under his protection, CeCe is sent to live with her Uncle Alex and Aunt Elise in Ripley, OH. Uncle Alex is a doctor and naturalist painter about to embark on a quest to find and paint the extremely rare scarlet ibis, also known as the ever-after bird, the bird that slaves believe will set them free if they see it. But Uncle Alex’s true passion, like his brother, is abolitionism. When he travels to spot and paint (and kill if necessary) birds on Southern plantations, he also assists slaves: “‘I offer them advice on how to escape. I map out their route north and tell them where the safe houses are . . . Sometimes I give the slaves small sums of money for the trip’” (49). Although CeCe thinks the abolitionists’ cause is too risky with too little reward, her greatest challenge may come from Earline, Uncle Alex’s African-American assistant. Earline resents CeCe’s presence because she fears the loss of Uncle Alex’s attention, and CeCe considers Earline “uppity” because she has never been close to free African-Americans and Earline’s independence is alien to CeCe. Uncle Alex advises CeCe to work with Earline because they may need each other more than they realize: “‘The day may come . . . when you have to defend each other’” (70). When Earline falls for their white driver and they are caught together on a Southern plantation, CeCe must decide her priorities and make the most important and potentially painful decision of her life.
Some novels depend on rich characterization and imagery for success; others simply present a solid plot, capably written. Ann Rinaldi’s latest effort belongs to the latter category. This is an important and moving story, and students will appreciate its brisk movement. Although the characters are not vividly presented, this does not detract from the power of the story; they still say and do what they need to in order to move the story forward. The Ever-After Bird is an effective novel that demonstrates the potential for goodness and positive change under duress, and it demonstrates how far race relations have come as it suggests how far we still need to go to make lasting peace with each other.

2008-01-08T20:22:00.002-08:00

Fleischman, Sid. The Entertainer and the Dybbuk--4 stars out of 4!
Books like The Diary of Anne Frank and Marcus Zuzak’s The Book Thief (2006) paint a poignant but chilling portrait of the Nazi movement and the horrors inflicted by it. This appropriately solemn tradition of documenting atrocities so history does not forget them makes Sid Fleischman’s new morality tale, The Entertainer and the Dybbuk, even more important. Well into his eighties, with an illustrious and prolific career behind him, Mr. Fleischman has tackled his most difficult project with masterful grace and style. Like Antoine de Saint-Exupery’s allegorical The Little Prince, this short novel packs a punch for young and old alike.
It is Europe in 1948, and Nebraskan Freddie T. Birch, aka The Great Freddie, is in trouble. He has nowhere to go and business is bad. Freddie is a ventriloquist who moves his lips, and his career is going nowhere, but he has nowhere to go: “Once the war was over, he’d stayed in Europe. He had no one to welcome him back home in Custer County, Nebraska. One-eighth Cherokee Indian, he had grown up an orphan” (12). Freddie’s life changes radically when he is possessed by a dybbuk, in this case a 12-year-old Jewish spirit named Avrom Amos Poliakov, who has some unfinished business on Earth four years after his murder by the Nazi SS “Jewkid” hunter Colonel Gerhard Junker-Strupp. The boy, never lacking in chutzpah, had saved Freddie during the war, and now he wants Freddie to return the favor: “‘Last week in Vienna, I saw a flyer with a picture of you and your dummy. I recognized the dummy. I decided you were the one to help me’” (24). The dybbuk helps Freddie’s career climb out of the gutter after Freddie realizes that the spirit can talk out of Freddie’s nose while he drinks water or tapes his mouth shut, but the price is often unsettling. Avrom Amos needs to have his Bar Mitzvah so he can become a man and exact his revenge on the monster who massacred thousands of the 1.5 million Jewish children exterminated during the Nazi regime. Freddie reluctantly agrees to the Bar Mitzvah despite rumors around town that he might be secretly Jewish; in fact, when his girlfriend Polly confronts him, he stops denying he is Jewish and cryptically admits, “‘Okay. You got me . . . I’m one of the chosen people’” (121). Avrom and Freddie must work together, however uncomfortably, to save Avrom from the purgatory in which he has been living since his murder in 1944, and revenge must be exacted on the SS colonel that robbed Avrom of his future.
Mr. Fleischman accomplishes the nearly impossible with this deceptively simple book: he gives readers a humorous holocaust story. Mr. Fleischman intimately understands the need to remember the horrific events of Nazi Germany, but as he states in his author’s note, the dichotomy of terror and hope is omnipresent when examining this painful period in history: “It has taken me a long lifetime of novel writing to finally feel prepared to grapple with the Holocaust. But what tale to tell? There was a horror story in every victim. At the same time, the indomitable Jewish sense of humor somehow survived” (178-179). The tale he tells is masterful and important; The Entertainer and the Dybbuk is a groundbreaking novel. Although several Yiddish references may be confusing to younger readers or readers unfamiliar with Jewish traditions, this historical fantasy/allegory belongs in every library and every Holocaust education program.

2008-01-08T20:22:00.001-08:00

Rex, Adam. The True Meaning of Smekday--4 stars out of 4!
I do not read much fantasy, so as far as I know, every selection outside of Harry Potter is as witty, clever, wacky, and irreverently phantasmagorical as Adam Rex’s The True Meaning of Smekday. However, I doubt it. This goofy, funny, new, science fiction-fantasy hybrid manages to poke fun at many of the adults who will pay for it while it makes important statements about such disparate themes as female empowerment, racism, the trappings of fame and legend, and popular culture. Rex also mixes genres and occasionally includes photos from the book’s action and graphic-novel-type strips explaining various ideas throughout the book. While there is little actual suspense in the novel (it is clear from the start that humanity survives and that the protagonist will somehow save the day), I was on the edge of my seat wondering who or what Rex would lampoon next.
Gratuity Tucci needs to write an essay for school about Smekday, the holiday imposed on Earth by the Boov, a race who had invaded and left all within a year. The feisty eighth grader was eleven and lived with her wifty mom and a cat named Pig during the invasion. Through pictures, comic strips, and a wild narrative, Gratuity relates her adventure and the way she saved the planet: “This story starts in June 2013, about six months after the alien Boov arrived . . . At the time I lived in Pennsylvania. Pennsylvania was on the eastern side of the United States. The United States was this big country where everybody wore funny T-shirts and ate too much” (6-7). When Gratuity’s mom is abducted and a mole is implanted on her neck that ultimately gives the aliens control over her, Gratuity is on her own. Searching for her mom, she straps cans on to her feet so she can reach the car’s pedals, and she begins driving to Florida, where all of the humans were sent. Along the way, she meets an alien who has named himself J.Lo. They form a truce after Gratuity’s car breaks down and J.Lo is the only individual who can fix it (J.Lo is on the run from the Boov for different reasons). At that time, J.Lo explains why the Boov have renamed Earth “Smekland” with the wisdom of the conqueror: “Peoples who discover places gets to name it [sic]” (28). Gratuity sees with great clarity the next meaning of Smekday: that the conquerors, in their brilliant, bumbling, arrogant way, are no better than anyone: “The Boov weren’t anything special. They were just people. They were too smart and too stupid to be anything else” (150). As soon as people begin to grow accustomed to the Boov, a new and greater threat arrives: the Gorg, also known as the Takers, a sadistic and ugly race of clones who destroy planets for fun. Gratuity and her partner must gather up anyone who will help, including their Native American friend from Roswell, 93-year-old Chief Shouting Bear, who may own an actual UFO, and the members of BOOB, a group of middle school boys living in the tunnels under Florida’s Happy Mouse Kingdom theme park. Although politician Dan Landry believes the Gorg’s promises of peace, and Gratuity’s mom believes whatever Landry says, J.Lo and Gratuity know better, and they must act quickly before they are discovered and their plan to drive out the Gorg is ruined.
This tour-de-farce (all puns intended) kept me laughing and saying “Hmmm . . .” throughout the entire book. Students favoring New Media, genre-busting books like The Invention of Hugo Cabret will love the occasional comic strips and pictures, and adults will love the Toy Story-ish, there’s-a-joke-for-everybody feel of the entire novel (one of my favorites is when Gratuity is trying to explain to J.Lo the various hoaxes surrounding the Loch Ness monster when she finally realizes, “I was trying to explain to a space alien that there were no such things as monsters”). As a science fiction fan (I’m one of those rare readers who likes sci-fi but not fantasy), I also appreciated that Adam Rex is a sci-fi fan too: he even made a Babylon 5 reference! Also, the odd relationship between Gratuity and J.Lo is very reminiscent of Kirk and Spock (with a little Butch and Sundance thrown in), and their interactions are as much fun as the odd parallel world the author creates. The True Meaning of Smekday by Adam Rex is a mixed-genre novel that everyone can enjoy. It has memorable characters, a wild but very readable storyline (if you do not take it too seriously), important themes of friendship, fair treatment of aliens and fellow humans, and an all-too-human attachment to pride, inequality, and fame that will resonate with readers long after the end of the novel.

2008-01-08T20:22:00.000-08:00

Bloor, Edward. Taken--3 1/2 stars out of 4
Literature often mirrors society’s joys, fears, and problems. I have commented previously about the increase of YA books with divorced and/or dysfunctional parents, and although Edward Bloor’s new sci-fi thriller Taken certainly contains stepparents and even ex-stepparents, the effect of death and divorce is only a subplot in this intricate offering. As in adult literature, because there is never a shortage of worries and anxieties in middlers’ lives, there has never been a shortage of good dystopian literature. Concerns cover the full range of teen and pre-teen angst, from loss of individuality and creativity (Lois Lowry’s Newbery-winning The Giver); concerns about environmental disaster and apathy about the future (Rodman Philbrick’s underrated The Last Book In the Universe); and fears about the day that Facebook meets Big Brother (M. T. Anderson’s cyberpunkish Feed). Taken is a capable entry in this genre, featuring strong social commentary on the separation of classes by contrasting the messy arrogance of the insulated super-rich with the Edwardian servitude of the masses.
Charity Meyers has been kidnapped, but she knows the drill: stay calm, expect the ransom to be paid, and do not cause trouble: “Because that’s what they teach us to do, to cooperate . . . Currency can be replaced. I cannot” (9). Charity’s normal life as the eighth-grade daughter of a super-wealthy doctor in 2035 mostly consists of poking fun at other rich kids with her best friend Patience, attending satschool with other rich kids across the world, and staying almost exclusively inside The Highlands, a Florida housing development with armed guards, security cameras, and its own stores and services. She lives with the neo-Edwardian maid Victoria and the armed butler Albert, and occasionally sees her father Dr. Hank Meyers and her ex-stepmother, obnoxious reality show star Mickie Meyers (imagine a marriage of Oprah and Jerry Springer), who films the issues in her life and broadcasts them to the world with rave reviews: “She is currently vidding a series called Living with Divorce. Once she has wrapped that project up I expect her to move on. But you never know. She is relentless” (20). Charity eventually learns that she has been kidnapped by a teenager who calls himself Dessi (after Haitian rebel Jean Jacques Dessalines) and a cold-blooded “doctor” named Dr. Reyes. When the rescue begins, things go terribly wrong, Charity’s world is turned inside out, and she doubts she will survive. Her GTD (Global Tracking Device, to track kidnapped children) has been removed, and people in her life are dying: “I thought about my own life ending in an instant . . . I felt myself sliding down into self-pity, and fear and paralysis. I couldn’t let that happen!” (109). However, things are not as they appear, and Charity will have many more revelations and shocks before this portion of her life ends.
I enjoyed Taken by Edward Bloor for the same reason I like Margaret Peterson Haddix’s work: it moves quickly, it has dynamic plot twists (that are sometimes fantastic), and it offers hope for the future by the end. I also enjoyed Mr. Bloor’s playful but realistic altering of everyday language; i.e. “derma” for skin, “currency” for money, and “sat” in front of any word for “satellite. ” Charity makes some major decisions at the end seemingly without proper consideration, but the reader has to know that she will ultimately decide as she does, so the climax is not without power. Taken is a fine addition to any middle-level science fiction collection, and readers of Haddix and James Patterson should find this novel a satisfying ride.

2007-10-08T12:07:00.000-07:00

Revolution Is Not a Dinner Party by Ying Chang Compestine (3 1/2 stars out of 4)--
When President Nixon visited China in the early 1970s, I remember imagining the exotic, exciting country that he toured, with the splendor of the Great Wall, the mysteries of the Forbidden City, and the New York-style buzz of Shanghai swimming in my prepubescent brain. I watched the news with my dad every night and marveled at the pictures of a country that seemed a million miles away. After reading Ying Chang Compestine’s first novel Revolution Is Not a Dinner Party I now understand that there was another China present in the 1970s not viewed by the visiting Americans, marked by pain, hunger, human rights violations, and lack of personal freedom not shown on television. Ms. Compestine successfully paints a picture of a volatile Maoist China always teetering on the edge of turmoil as it lumbers painfully onto the world stage.
Ling is almost nine and living a happy, reasonably carefree life in central China of the early 1970s. Ling’s father teaches her English and often longs for America, symbolized by a picture of the Golden Gate Bridge on their wall given to him by an American colleague: “[Dr. Smith] had invited Father to go to work in a hospital near the Golden Gate Bridge. But Father decided to stay and help build the new China” (14). Her parents work at the local hospital and they have a comfortable apartment and lifestyle. However, Maoist revolutionaries gradually take over the region, and after a shady political officer named Comrade Li moves into a section of their apartment, their lives gradually become more difficult. Ling’s parents are branded as bourgeois and Ling is suddenly lonely: “When I tried to talk to [my best friend Hong], she whispered, ‘I don’t want to be called a bourgeois sympathizer,’ and ran away” (77-78). Ling grows up in an increasingly hostile and alien world dominated by Chairman Mao, a Big Brother-type figure who the Chinese must worship to advance in society, and who they must at least tolerate to survive. When Dr. Chang is finally taken to prison for antirevolutionary activities, Ling envies the life of even the mice in the ceiling: “I envied the baby mice. They must have felt safe and happy to be with their parents. Tears rolled down my face” (147). As the revolution comes to a critical juncture, news is leaked out that Ling’s father is nearby, and she goes off to search for him and some stability and understanding in her life.
It is not surprising that Ms. Compestine has written several picture books; this novel works best as a portrait of an era seldom discussed or displayed in American literature, YA or otherwise. The author’s use of a simple, clearly autobiographical narrative poignantly presents a child’s innocent perception of major political movements she does not understand swirling around her life. The vocabulary is appropriate for the intermediate/middle level, and the descriptions feel authentic. Although certain scenes, like Ling’s 3:30 AM excursion with her mother to try to buy meat, show Ling maturing in a harsh world, Maoist China is the main character that undergoes the tragic journey in Revolution Is Not a Dinner Party by Ying Chang Compestine. It is chilling but satisfying to watch Ling and her homeland grow up painfully, but together.