I was totally charmed by this book. Sure, it’s a book about a kid who solves puzzles to win stuff (my initial thought was “oh, dear, ANOTHER puzzle book?”) but the feel of the book completely won me over. I smiled. I cheered. I was thoroughly entertained.

The Gollywhopper Toy Company is having a contest to celebrate its 50th anniversary. only 2500 kids, ages 11 to 15, will be allowed to compete, and Gil Goodson is one of those kids. The son of a former Gollywhopper executive (he was arrested under suspicion of embezzlement, but ended up wtih a not guilty verdict after a trial), Gil is determined to win. Partially to “get back” at the company that made his father’s (and his) life so miserable, but partially because he’s made a deal with his dad: if Gil wins, they’ll move.

The book is mostly about the games — a series of questions and puzzles that Gil (and the decreasing number of contestants) have to solve. It’s a bit like Mysterious Benedict Society that way, except that Gil isn’t one of those pretentious geniuses figuring everything out. In that way, I think that The Gollywhopper Games is more accessible: Gil’s just a regular guy who happens to be pretty good at deductive reasoning. The puzzles were tricky, but nothing over the top. And yeah, they were kind of fun to figure out. But it’s also about Gil making peace with the past, about working together, and about gaining the confidence to do not only what is right, but what you think you can do. It’s not an especially challenging or even plot-heavy book, but I’m not sure that’s the point. I think it’s more about the mood — about having fun and doing your best, and enjoying the ride while you’re at it.

Of course Gil wins in the end– like Charlie Bucket, there’s no doubt that he would. But getting there is a whole lotta fun. Which makes it charming, fun, and ultimately quite satisfying.

(Just for the record: because this is a Cybils nominee, I’ve been asked to make sure y’all know this is my opinion only, and not that of the panel. Thank you.)

I picked this one off the library shelves because it was a Cybils nominee, but I knew nothing beyond that. Turns out that it’s a second-in-a-series, but, hey, I found out that it works well as a stand-alone. I’m curious to know what happened in the first adventure, but Stewart did a smashing job working it into the plot of this book, so I really didn’t feel too left out. (Which, I suppose, could be a complaint: I wonder if it came off as too heavy-handed on the back story for those who’ve read the first one?)

The basic plot surrounds four children — Reynie, Sticky, Kate and Constance (who’s only three, an important point to remember) — who are geniuses, children with “special” talents, and part of a society founded by their patron, and friend, Mr. Benedict. This book takes place a year after the first adventure, when the four were going to meet Mr. Benedict for a special surprise. However, it turns out that Mr. Benedict, along with his assistant, Number Two, has been kidnapped by their nemesis, Mr. Curtain, and is being held for ransom. And (because it is the way in these books), it’s up to the four to follow Mr. Benedicts clues and rescue him. And (because it is the way of these books), it doesn’t go exactly to plan, ensuring that adventures, near-scrapes, and some close calls will occur.

Sounds corny, but I really enjoyed this book. Sure, my sophisticated brain was saying “These kids are precocious twerps” and “yeah, right” but, as is the way with blow-em-up-movies, I was having too grand a time to care. I liked the precocious kids, especially how they worked together. If there ever is a book about mind over matter (brains over brawn!), this is one. Hooray for the geeky genius kid who knows everything. But beyond that, the book screams for it not to be taken seriously. A random passage:

“How do you know all that? Constance asked.

Milligan glanced at her. She was sitting up straight in the passenger seat — unlike the others she hadn’t needed to duck — and Milligan frowned as something occurred to him. “You should be in a child’s car seat. It’s dangerous without one.”

Constance looked at him incredulously. “Are you joking?”

“A bit. Still, let’s do buckle up, everyone.” Keeping his eyes on the road, Milligan reached across and pulled down Constance’s seat belt strap, which because of her height (or lack thereof) ran diagonally across her face. She glared at him with her one visible eye.

“Feel free to adjust that,” Milligan said, giving her a lop-sided grin.

I think it’s meant to be all in good fun (nobody gets killed, for heaven’s sake), and for the sense of adventure — and friendship, and working-together-ness — to win out over anything more sinister. And I think the book is better for it. If it had been serious (think, oh, Alex Rider), I probably would have mocked it for its pretentiousness. But because it’s lighthearted, because it invites you to laugh along with the story, it’s able to tell a pretty far-fetched story without seeming heavy-handed. (And come off with a good “moral” in the end.) As and added bonus: no cliff hangers, no to-be-continued; the story nicely wraps itself up, while leaving just the slightest thread that could be spun into yet another book.

Which makes it that much better.

(Just for the record: because this is a Cybils nominee, I’ve been asked to make sure y’all know this is my opinion only, and not that of the panel. Thank you.)

After reading Sarah Miller’s enthusiastic review of this today, I went upstairs and plucked it off my pile (it being there because it’s one of the Middle Grade Cybil nominees). I’m so very glad I did.

It’s a beautiful book — both to look at and to read. There are no illustrations, but the poems themselves are works of art. Each poem is a shape of the diamond willow sticks (for a picture, either go to Sarah’s or to Helen Frost’s website), with a darker hidden message in each one. I loved paging through the book, just looking at each individual shape (I don’t think there are two alike). But in addition, the words themselves are carefully, simply and yet powerfully chosen. I like how each poem each builds the story towards a most satisfying conclusion.

The story is pretty simple: Willow, a 12-year-old part-Native Alaskan who lives in a remote town, is struggling with herself, with school, with finding happiness. She begs her parents to drive the sled (with three dogs) to her Grandparents house one weekend, and on coming back there’s an accident. From there, it builds and to go on would spoil your experience, so I won’t.

There are so many things to like in addition to the simple beauty of the book. There’s the ancestors spirits who are guiding and helping Willow along her path. There’s a subtle, understated humor about it. There’s a respect and love of nature. There’s a wonderful human-dog relationship (which made me think of my sister, who would love this book). And I think Frost captured the insecurities and hopes and determination of a 12-year-old who is trying to find herself.

In all, it was one of the best hours I’ve spent in a long time.

(Just for the record: because this is a Cybils nominee, I’ve been asked to make sure y’all know this is my opinion only, and not that of the panel. Thank you.)

I think I did this one wrong. I could see, as I was reading it, what captivated many people. I could see, how if I had read it the right way, I could have been, if not scared, then delightfully weirded out.

However, I read the graphic novel first.

My bad.

(Ooh. I can’t believe I just wrote that.)

See, I knew the plot — I knew what Coraline was going to experience on the other side of the door and how she was going to get out of it. I knew all the weirdness and the suspense, and so I think on some level I missed out on the experience that should have been Coraline the novel.

I have to admit that the graphic novel did an excellent job of adapting Gaiman’s work. It caught the spirit of the book, and surprisingly, didn’t leave any detail out. I knew what was going to happen — there were really no surprises — because I had seen it all before. On the other hand, the novel was wonderfuly descriptive (hence the really good graphic novel adaptation), and had an interesting feeling of foreboding and adventure all rolled up into one.

Still. I think I might have expected too much from the book; I know if I had read this one first, I would have enjoyed it that much more.

Lesson learned. If there’s a graphic novel adaptation of a novel, read the book first.

The Just So Stories, by Rudyard Kipling, are, I think, some of the most retold stories in English language. I know I’ve heard most of them (though not all) in some form or other before I ever picked up this collection of the original tales to read. Not all the stories are equal: the most famous ones — about how the elephant got his nose, or how the camel got his hump — are justifiably so, being timeless, funny, and enjoyable to read. Some of the others are clever, but kind of silly (like how the alphabet was made… Cute, but… kind of dumb). Some — like the first story about the whale — were just weird. Even so, it was an enjoyable experience.

Although I enjoyed reading the stories, and I could tell the affection Kipling had for his daughter (whom the stories were written for), I really think these stories are better enjoyed told, or with a lot of illustrations, then read straight through. Kipling has an almost Seussian grasp of the language, inventing words to suit his needs. I often resorted to reading out loud just so I could hear what Kipling was trying to do with a certain passage.

It was definitely worth the time, though.

I picked this one up ages and ages ago (another one off the TBR pile! YAY!) because I’m a frequent lurker at Lisa Yee’s blog, which I think is hilarious. After a while, though, I felt kind of silly loving someone’s blog — especially when that someone is a published author — and never having read anything by them. So, I mooched this one (no, I didn’t actually pay for it; I’m horrid) and finally got around to it yesterday.

It’s a really cute book. I think I was expecting something more laugh-out-loud funny –kind of like her blog can be — but I wasn’t disappointed. It was a very sweet, fun, cute book.

Millicent Min is a genius. She’s 11 years old, and just finished up her junior year in high school. She’s the captain of the math team, routinely routs everyone at chess, has multiple awards and articles written about her, and has… no friends. She tells herself that this doesn’t bother her — she’s bonding with her the professor of her college poetry class after all — and there’s just too much to learn and do in a day for her to actually have friends. Besides, everyone’s usually intimidated or turned off by her genius status for her to get close to anyone. Then, her life changes. Her mother decides that she needs to go out for team sports, and signs her up for volleyball. She meets Emily, who’s new in town and doesn’t know Millicent is a genius. And, on top of that, she is asked (and paid) to tutor Stanford Wong (her nemesis) in English so he can pass the 6th grade. And because of these two simple things, her life will never be the same.

That makes it sound more ominous than it really is. She does manage to have a good summer, in spite of not wanting to play volleyball or tutor Stanford, but beyond that, she learns how to have friends. I liked that about the book. That Yee didn’t set out to do something huge or grand, but rather choosing to have someone — someone very bright, but very backward — learn something really simple, but something that you can’t learn from books.

And so, I read it with a smile, thoroughly charmed by everyone in the book. I’m glad I mooched it, too. It’s a keeper.