by Judy Blume, read by Halley Feiffer
ages: 10+
First sentence: “It’s very foolish to laugh if you don’t know what’s funny in the first place.”
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Final thoughts: MEAN GIRLS. Oh, my heck. Mean, mean, mean, mean girls. Please, please, please DON’T EVER let my girls be a Wendy, Jill, or even a Linda.

This was hard, hard book for me to listen to; I picked up the audio book because I knew I’d be driving today and I wanted to be able to multi-task for the 48 Hour Book Challenge. But, between the reader — she did a fantastic job making everyone supremely annoying — and my recent re-reading of Harriet the Spy, this book was almost too much to take. (Ask M; I was shouting at the CD at some points!)

Basic plot, if you’re like me and escaped reading this as a kid: Jill is your average 5th grader, not really popular, not really disliked. Until one day, the Queen Bee, Wendy, throws a note on her desk, suggesting a nickname for the chubby girl, Linda, in class: Blubber. Jill — for reasons unspecified, but known to every pre-teen and teenage girl — goes along with this, helping Wendy and her cronies make Linda’s life downright miserable. Harsh, harsh, mean, harsh, bullying, terrible: why would anyone want to be friends with Wendy? Seriously. (Yes, I know I’m reading this as an adult. Hubby got all philosophic on me: it’s a Hobbsian world… kill or be killed. But, still.) Anyway, eventually, things get turned around on Jill: she stands up for Linda, in a manner of speaking, and then finds herself on the bad end of Wendy’s stick. Thankfully, she has the balls to stand up for herself, even though it terrifies her (and unlike Harriet — I liked the reference Blume made to Harriet in the book; nice touch — doesn’t really retaliate, but takes the higher ground), and things kind of move on. Though there’s no resolution for Linda, which is something I, personally, wanted.

I think that’s what made it hardest for me: I identified, and sympathized, with Linda. I wanted her to stand up for herself, or someone to come to her rescue. And the fact that she really didn’t get that bothered me. Immensely. It’s more realistic like that — kudos to Blume for keeping it real (I realized that Laurie Halse Anderson reminds me quite a bit of Judy Blume), but still, it made for a bitter pill going down.

That said, I’m going to encourage C to read this book. Shoot, I think I’m going to buy it for my girls. It’s something they need to read.

by Joan Aiken
ages: 8-12
First sentence: “It was dusk — winter dusk.”
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Upon discovering that I haven’t read (it’s #58) this beloved classic, a dear friend of mine insisted upon it, even lending me her well-worn paperback copy. I couldn’t turn her down, and (sooner rather than later) got around to reading it this week.

And… I thought it was very cute. Not really hilarious, like the back said it would be, but very Noel Streatfeild kind of crossed with Roald Dahl, with a bit of Frances Hodgson Burnett thrown in.

It’s the story of two cousins: Bonnie (the rich, impulsive one) and Sylvia (the poor, sweet one). Sylvia’s parents have died and she lives with her old Aunt Jane. Aunt Jane can’t take care of her anymore, so she ships Sylvia to live with relatives at Willoughby Chase. It’s a harrowing train ride out there — the train is beset by wolves, which are common in that part of England. But, that notwithstanding, Sylvia is poised to have an enjoyable time living there, since she and Bonnie — and Bonnie’s friend Simon, a homeless boy who basically makes a living raising and selling geese — all get along swimmingly.

Enter Miss Slighcarp — Aiken has as much talent with names as Dahl does; doesn’t Slighcarp just sound evil? She’s the governess, and when Bonnie’s parents take off on a trip to the islands for Bonnie’s mother’s health, Miss Slighcarp basically takes over. (In fact, she’s in on a plot to sink the parent’s boat! The horror!) She cuts back on Bonnie and Sylvia’s freedom, she dismisses loyal servants, she’s mean, horrible, and in every way a very good Dahl villain. And things only get worse when she gets wind of Bonnie’s plan to get help: she ships Bonnie and Sylvia off to Mrs. Brisket (again: what a great name!), who runs a “orphanage” (read: workhouse) for girls. It’s only with Simon’s help that plucky Bonnie (because even though delicate, sweet Sylvia tries to be Brave, the circumstances are Too Much for her) and Sylvia are able to escape to London to get help and all the bad guys get their comeuppance.

It is a delightful romp through the English countryside, and nothing like I thought it would be. Which is a good thing, all around.

by Louise Fitzhugh/Read by Anne Bobby
ages: 8-12
First sentence: “
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We took this audiobook on our recent vacation to Kansas City. I had remembered liking it — nay, loving it — while I was a kid, and I wondered how it would hold up. That, and I figured C needed to read it, since we own it and she’s shown no interest in cracking the actual book.

It started out as just Hubby — who had never read it — and I listening to it. He was astounded, and kept making remarks like, “These people are horrible!” and “They’re all insane!” By the end, we were all listening, the girls were begging for the next tape, and yet they couldn’t believe what a brat Harriet was. And, you know: while it was a decent story, and it held together on its own terms, they were all right.

To refresh your memory: Harriet is an only child living in a Manhattan house. It’s probably the 1960s (when the book was written), and she has both a nurse and a cook, because her parents are too busy working or doing whatever uppity Manhattan socialites do to actually, y’know, parent. The nurse is Ole Golly who encourages Harriet in her precociousness, most particularly in her desire to become a spy (she sneaks around the neighborhood spying in on a few particular families) and her copious observing and note-taking. Of everything and everybody.

If this is not weird enough — Hubby was saying that Harriet was a bit pathological and OCD about her notebooks — Ole Golly falls in love, gets married (after getting fired) and leaves. Which sends Harriet into an emotional tailspin. On top of that, her classmates find her notebook and read it. All the nasty, yet honest, observations that Harriet has made about each one of them, which were never meant for anyone’s eyes. They all declare war on Harriet, even her two best friends Sport and Janie. No one will talk to her, they ostracize her from their doings, they essentially leave her alone. Which (of course), makes matters worse. Now, to be fair: they shouldn’t have read Harriet’s notebook. But then again, Harriet doesn’t take it well: she retaliates full-force. And to be fair, again: her parents are a piece of work. They eventually take her to a shrink, who’s one of the only sane adults (nay, characters) in the book, and he gives them a plan of action. Which, thankfully, solves the day.

I’m split about this one, honestly. I did like it: it was funny, it was interesting, and Anne Bobby did a terrific job narrating the book. But. I didn’t like Harriet; no one liked Harriet. I didn’t like most of the characters in the book. In fact, it almost had that awful “oh, no what’s going to happen next” feel to it. What horrible thing is Harriet going to see? What horrible thing is Harriet going to do? What horrible thing are they going to do back? It never quite crossed over into the too much camp, but the vibe was there.

But, it was entertaining. Everyone was interested in the story, and that has to count for something.

Doesn’t it?

by Margaret Peterson Haddix
ages: 8-12
First sentence: “The light woke Jessie, though it was just a glimmer downstairs.”
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Jessie is a thirteen-year-old girl living in the village of Clifton, Indiana in the year 1840. She’s curious, loves doing dares, and is pretty much happy with her life. Until a diphtheria epidemic breaks out in her village, and her mother, concerned, breaks some news to Jessie: it’s all a hoax. The year is really 1996, the village is a tourist attraction (where the tourists are hidden); the adults were in on the “gimmick”, and were supposed to tell their children when they turned 12. However, things have made a turn for the worse, and the owner’s “men” have people terrified of leaving, or even spilling the secret. Since her mother feels that letting children die as part of a gimmick is unethical — which isn’t the only unethical decision adults make in this book — she asks Jessie to brave the real world and get some modern medicine to help. Jessie has no choice: she has to go, even though the thought of it terrifies her.

The dichotomy between the modern world and the life Jessie has known is, of course, fascinating. Jessie has to figure out most of the things we take for granted: light bulbs, toilets, refrigerators. But there’s also a tension: the palpable feeling that someone is out to get her, even if you don’t know fully the reason why. But that’s where the book fails. Haddix sets up the conflict, and makes Jessie quite awe-struck at what the modern world has to offer. But when resolving all the conflicts, addressing the unethical behavior of the adults, she completely falls apart. Part of it is age group: you can’t address the craziness of Jessie’s father — who truly believes it’s 1840 — or the unethical behavior of the man who set up the village in the first place in a middle grade book. And so, Haddix just ends the story. There is an interesting promise for the future, but no actual, real resolution.

What I found myself most interested in, though, is the mother: what were her motivations for going along with the father? What did she think of all this? Did she ever want to leave? Why did she stick with it for as long as she did?

Maybe, someday, Haddix will tell that story.