Northrop, Michael. Plunked. Scholastic, 2012. 247 pages. ISBN 13: 978-0-545-29714-1. This book is appropriate for grades 4 to 7, or ages 8 to 12, depending on reading level and interests (3 stars out of 4).

I make no apologies for liking baseball and baseball books. Just as I subscribed to Baseball Digest as a kid, now (as an older kid) I like to read about the National Pastime as soon as I hear that pitchers and catchers have reported to their Florida and Arizona residences. Fortunately, publishers know there are other folks like me out there and they always accommodate us with new baseball fiction. The one I chose this year, Plunked by Michael Northrop, did not disappoint. The former Sports Illustrated for Kids writer produced a well-constructed retelling of one of the oldest tales in our collective history: the overcoming of The Fear. Every epic/tragic hero, from Gilgamesh and Enkidu to Moses to Achilles and Hector to Sir Gawain to Hamlet to Luke Skywalker and Winston Smith, has had to face his/her darkest fear to move to the next plane of existence. For some, that plane represents religious freedom, liberation of the soul, the chivalric code, revenge for murder most foul, submission to a higher positive power (the Force) or a higher negative power (Big Brother). Protagonist Jack Mogens’ mission is simpler: he simply wants to make his local Little League team before he gets killed.
Sixth grade has been reasonably kind to Jack Mogens so far. He is at the top of the food chain as an upperclassman at Tall Pines Elementary, he has a secure spot among the jocks in the lunchroom, and he has a pretty good shot at starting in left field for the Braves, the local little league majors team. Jack’s biggest problem is thinking of something clever and witty to say to the Braves’ cute shortstop, Katie Bowe. But the team’s bully, also son of one of the coaches, knocks Jack down in practice, starting a chain of events that could have tragic consequences: “The pitch cuts in toward me, chest high. It’s one of those pitches where you can just tell right away that you’re in trouble. The ball just seems to follow you” (47). Trouble seems to follow Jack after that incident, and after an even bigger episode in a real game, fear and malaise creep into his psyche. The doubts that every competitor must overcome plague Jack: Does he have the courage to face his fears? Can he perform under pressure? Can he shrug off his Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder and come back stronger than ever? Can he finally not get nervous when Katie Bowe walks into the room? Jack must confront his deepest fears, not lie (too much) to his parents about his situation, find a way to return to left field, and save face with his friends.
I remember what it was like to feel the excitement of baseball season: to collect, trade, and flip baseball cards, to play in little league, to listen to games on a transistor radio, and frankly, to be afraid of the ball. Plunked by Michael Northrop captures the tweener baseball experience with verisimilitude and humor, and I must confess that three students have seen me smiling while reading it and they all want it as soon as I am done. Some of the characters were underdeveloped, particularly the parents; e.g. Mr. Northrop points out two situations in which Dad drinks too much but there is no follow-up, consequence, or effect. However, Jack’s passion for baseball and his obsession with starting in left field are unmistakable and charming, and Plunked by Michael Northrop will make a fine addition to your sports fiction collection.

Grisham, John. Theodore Boone, Kid Lawyer: The Abduction. Dutton Children’s Books, 2011. 217 pages. ISBN 13: 978-0-525-42557-1. This book is appropriate for grades 4 and up, or ages 9 and older, depending on reading level and interests (2 1/2 stars out of 4).

I still remember my excitement while I read The Firm by the once ubiquitous legal thriller author extraordinaire, John Grisham. I was working at B. Dalton Booksellers and substitute teaching 20 years ago while traversing the alternate route in secondary English. I read that copy all day and night; I stayed up until 3:45 am to find out what happened to the main characters and I survived at work the next day fueled solely by my amazement at the twists and turns of the story (and some mediocre Moorestown Mall food court fare). I was genuinely excited when I heard that John Grisham would be publishing YA books. Since I read mostly YA literature these days, I hadn’t revisited Mr. Grisham’s work until the first Theodore Boone, Kid Lawyer novel last year, and frankly, I was not blown away. I found the story slow, and although Mr. Grisham was informative concerning the legal process, he could have added more suspense and action. The second installment of the series, The Abduction, promised to be more exciting, considering that Theodore’s best friend, April Finnemore, is kidnapped. Although I invite you to judge for yourself, I do not believe Mr. Grisham has found his YA voice yet. Mr. Grisham’s treatment of the material is ponderous and plodding, like the last season of a long-running show in which most of the conflict is gone (like M*A*S*H or Happy Days) or a poorly acted movie-of-the-week mystery.
The normally quiet town of Strattenburg gets turned upside down after the abduction of April Finnemore, Theodore Boone’s best friend. To save her, Theo will need his renowned legal knowledge and acumen teamed with an intensity heightened by fear for his best friend and plenty of help from his friends. Despite his parents’ concerns, Theo embarks on a mission to find the kidnapper and to rescue April. The number one suspect is escaped convict Jack Leeper, who was a pen pal to April while in prison and was spotted at a local convenience store around the time of the abduction. Theo, however, has doubts about that scenario, asking more questions about his mysterious friend from a dysfunctional home than he has answers for: “Theo knew April well, but he also realized there were many things about her he didn’t know. Nor did he want to. Was it possible that she would run away without a word to him? Slowly, he had begun to believe the answer was yes” (43). With unexpected but desperately needed help from his discredited, hippie lawyer Uncle Ike, Theo is more determined than ever to uncover the truth and return his friend, safe and secure, to the friendly confines of Strattenburg.
Once again, similar to my reaction to Theodore Boone: Kid Lawyer, I like the plot and idea of The Abduction, but I am unhappy with the slow pace. Once again, Mr. Grisham has bestowed adult sensibilities upon his kids and his interpretation of kid sensibilities upon his adults, resulting in an informative but uneven and unexciting mystery adventure. The ending is just as anti-climactic as the first book’s ending and just as disappointing. I am not saying that future attorneys or Law and Order fanatics will not find this book valuable and engaging, and I have students who said they liked the first book, but I want more from the author who made my heart skip 20 years ago; I want to have to stay up late to find out what happened, not fall asleep before finishing the penultimate chapter. Unfortunately, Mr. Grisham may not have the touch he had in the 1990s, and he may not impress his audience with this latest effort; tweeners are not particularly forgiving or patient readers.

Castellucci, Cecil. First Day on Earth. Scholastic, 2011. 150 pages. ISBN 13: 978-0-545-06082-0. This book is appropriate for grades 7 and up, or ages 13 and older, depending on reading level and interests. Note: This work contains mature language and situations (3 1/2 stars out of 4).

Alienation has been in vogue for modern tweens and teens since J. D. Salinger introduced a meandering, post-war “lost generation” to Holden Caulfield. Many YA authors, ranging from the serious Lois Lowry in The Giver to the lighthearted Gordon Korman in Schooled have successfully reproduced the strangeness adolescents feel as both they and their world change and grow exponentially. Cecil Castellucci’s fable-like novel First Day on Earth succeeds in creating a character who both feels like an alien and who appears strange and uncomfortable to most of his world. Her lyrical, sparse characterization drips with verisimilitude, proving the old writers’ adage that less is more.
Malcolm has had a rough few years. His father left him for another family, and his mother has been drowning in a bottle ever since. Mal hates and resents his father for abandoning them, so Mal pities his helpless mother and shops and cooks occasionally to keep her alive. However, the secret that has made Mal a stranger to everyone on Earth is that he believes he was abducted by aliens several years ago and he is fairly certain they are returning for him. This personal reality has separated Mal from almost every one of his peers. However, Mal has a soft spot for lost and helpless animals, and Dr. Manitsky the veterinarian at the shelter and her daughter Posey are kind to him even though Mal knows it is partially out of pity for his difficult situation. When Mal brings in a small, frail kitten orphaned by his mother’s traffic accident, Mal cannot help pondering his fate and perhaps foreshadowing his own uncertain future: “[Dr. Manitsky is] scratching his back and the kitten is purring away, like he finally knows that everything is going to be fine. That there is still love in the world despite a dead mother in the middle of the road. Despite being all alone” (27). After meeting a mysterious man named Hooper at an alien abductees’ support group, Mal is forced to face his personal truth and shaky future, either striving to escape forever or managing to live on Earth despite its challenges and imperfections.
I have known quite a few students like Mal in my life; in some ways, I was Mal when I was 14 and 15, scorning the bleak nuclear future and backward morality of the 1970s. Ms. Castellucci has eerily resurrected the primal fear of adolescence, recreating the terrifying realization that, in our own minds, we are always alone. Although Ms. Castellucci delicately walks the line between science fiction and realism, the power of the novel is that it does not depend on a decision between them to be effective. In First Day on Earth, Cecil Castellucci has created a powerful story of pain and acceptance in which reality is at best subjective and sanity is a personal choice we all must make.

Dashner, James. The Death Cure. Delacorte Press, 2011. 324 pages with an appendix. ISBN 13: 978-0-375-87030-9. This book is for grades 6 and up, or ages 12 and up, depending on reading level (2 stars out of 4).

As long as I am willing and able to stand in front of a group of students and manage a school library collection (or two in my case), I hope to always remember to not apply my standards to my students’ literary choices. As an English teacher, I never liked Dickens whereas I did like Steinbeck and Orwell, but I still cheerfully taught all of them (although I must admit in my heart of hearts that I probably had more enthusiasm for The Grapes of Wrath and 1984 than I did for Great Expectations). As a librarian, I can never let my biases about literature blind me to what my students want. I walk a fine line between what is popular, what is age-appropriate, what is deemed acceptable by community standards, what is in demand, and what is reviewed a certain way or given certain awards, but what I personally like or dislike is irrelevant. Ironically, this is working against me these days, because I love dystopias and always have ever since I was a teenager, so I have to fight the temptation spend half of my budget on the ever-expanding dystopian titles available these days. I would like to cite The Death Cure by James Dashner as one of the most highly successful and well-crafted young adult dystopias, but unfortunately, after his amazing start with The Maze Runner, Mr. Dashner has disappointed me with lots of running and fighting but not lots of substance. My students who have read it disagree with me, but the story felt hackneyed. However, as I stated above, my opinion is irrelevant: I have several copies on the shelf (and on hold) and I am glad I read it, if for no other reason than to learn the answer to the ongoing series question: is WICKED good or bad?
After surviving the various tests, betrayals, and trials of the Scorch, Thomas finds himself in a room of what he assumes to be WICKED’s headquarters. During three weeks of isolation, Thomas has plenty of time to remember all of the reasons he hates WICKED (World In Catastrophe, Killzone Experiment Department) and to plan his eventual escape, but he will need help from Minho, Newt, and whoever else made it this far and was deemed worth saving. Fortunately, Thomas and some of his fellow Gladers are “munies,” immune to the virus ravaging the earth called the Flare. When Thomas and some of his friends are finally summoned by Dr. Janson (aka, Rat Man), they are given the choice to get their memories back or to remain in ignorance. Also, Thomas, always the most curious of the group, finally gets the answer to the question that has been bugging him for a while: what is the “killzone?” Rat man informs him, “The killzone is your brain. It’s where the virus settles and takes hold. The more infected the killzone, the more paranoid and violent the behavior of the infected. WICKED is using your brain and those of a few others to help us fix the problem” (12-13). Minho, Newt, and Thomas must decide if they trust WICKED and the mantra “WICKED is good” that was Teresa’s last communication with Thomas. If they do not want their memories back and they will not cooperate, will WICKED and Rat Man just walk away from the people in whom they have invested so much time and effort? If they escape, how do they get out and where do they go? The world is not a safe place, but it is unclear whether it is more dangerous with WICKED or on the outside where the Flare is turning people into flesh-eating zombies.
When The Maze Runner series came out shortly after The Hunger Games, I was convinced that James Dashner was the heir-apparent to Suzanne Collins. Sadly, however, Mr. Dashner’s conclusion to the trilogy, The Death Cure, does not have the revelatory, bigger-than-it-seems, allegorical impact of its parents, The Shadow Children and The Hunger Games. This effort is less of a cinematic triumph and more of a movie-of-the-week, satisfying enough if nothing better is on at 2 a.m. However, Mr. Dashner has shown promise and my students like his work, so I look forward to his next project.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.”

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.

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.

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.

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.