How I ended up reading this book: Brandon Sanderson was getting a bit of buzz a while back on Hubby’s group blog. I noted it, figured I’d get around to reading something from him eventually. But when I was in the library searching for something for M to read (not unusual), I noticed this one, picked it up, and gave it to her to read. M devoured it, laughed uproariously, couldn’t stop talking about it and now insists that we need to get it. Well, with that big of a reaction from her, I couldn’t resist throwing it on my pile. Especially after reading the author description on the jacket:

Brandon Sanderson is the pen name of Alcatraz Smedry. His Hushlander editor forced him to use a pseudonym, since these memoirs are being published as fiction. Alcatraz actually knows a person named Brandon Sanderson. That man, however, is a fantasy writer — and is therefore prone to useless bouts of delusion in literary form. Alcatraz has it on good authority that Brandon is actually illiterate and dictates his thick, overly long fantasy tomes to his potted plant, Count Duku. It is widely assumed that Brandon went mad several years ago, but few people can tell because his writing is so strange anyway. He spends his time going to science fiction movies, eating popcorn and goat cheese (separately), and trying to warn people about the dangers fo the Great Kitten Conspiracy. He has had his library card revoked on seventeen different occasions.

Who could resist something like that? Not me. I devoured it, laughed uproariously, can’t stop talking about it and agree that we should probably get this one.

Alcatraz Smedry is a thirteen-year-old orphan who’s been bounced around from house to house. The reason? He keeps breaking things. (He can’t help himself. ) His life takes a turn for the interesting when he gets a bag of sand on his birthday. It’s his inheritance, which is pretty weird. It doesn’t get much better: soon his grandfather shows up, babbling about the Free Kingdoms and evil Librarians and Alcatraz is sucked into infiltrating the downtown library in a desperate attempt to rescue the bag of sand. He just has no idea what he was in for.

So, when C and I last left the Sister Grimm, they had finally found a home with their Granny Relda and managed to defeat both Jack and the giants. What’s next for our heroic sisters? Nothing other than…. school.

Sabrina, at least, would rather spend her days (and nights) reading the “reference” books at Granny’s house trying to find magical tools to help her find and rescue her mom and dad. Unfortunately, the state steps in, and off Daphne and Sabrina go. Daphne has it easy — Snow White is her teacher — but Sabrina’s lot is another story. Especially when her teacher ends up dead at the end of her first day.

So, of course, they have a mystery on their hands. One that will lead them into much danger, nearly tear the family apart, and lead Sabrina closer to finding her parents.

While this one didn’t have the novelty that The Fairy Tale Detectives did, I still enjoyed reading it out loud to C. Sure, there was a lot of extra plot points (did we really need to know how Daphne did her hair?), but C didn’t seem to mind, and they added a bit of whimsy to what could have been an otherwise dark tale. We both really enjoyed Puck; he’s a fun addition to the Grimm family. There weren’t as many voices to “do” (and I couldn’t remember half of the ones I’d done previously; C was always correcting me), but neither of us seemed to mind (though now that I think about it, there were still quite a handful of fairy tale characters; I just didn’t get into doing voices this time through.) The story itself was fairly gripping, leaving us hanging at several points. It even ended on a cliff-hanger, after which C said, “I hate this book. When can we get the next one?” (She doesn’t like cliff-hangers…) It was a fun, well-told tale. I can’t wait to see what happens next…

I have to admit, I didn’t quite know what to do with this book. It’s an ARC, but it’s too young for Estella’s Revenge. I could have pitched it to the Edge of the Forest, but the email I got sent said it was for my site, so here it is. I usually review books I’ve either bought or checked out on principle (preferring to plug the ARCs I’ve gotten to a wider audience — both ‘zines get much higher reader numbers than I do here). But, since there’s no other place for this review to go, here it will be.

The story, by Charlotte Kandel, is one of a girl with big dreams and a desire to be loved. Daphne is an orphan at St. Jude’s in London when she receives a mysterious package with a pair of silk stockings. It doesn’t take long for Daphne to realize the stockings are magic, but they come with a price: they will help her achieve her dreams, but she must be responsible and choose wisely and pass them up at the height of her fame, or they will lead her to her death.

It’s one part Hans Christian Anderson’s The Red Slippers and one part that story where the girl has magic ballet shoes who help her be good and can’t perform without them until one day when she forgets them and realizes that it’s all her own hard work (can’t remember the name of it right now). It also has an interesting premise behind the story: what would a person do when ambition is confronted with an opportunity too good to resist? An ambitious idea, and one that’s intriguingly set in the world of 1920s ballet.

However, I didn’t especially like this book. My main problem was that I felt like there was too much tell and not enough show. The author’s telling us that people care about Daphne, the author’s telling us that people are upset and angry and hurt, but I’m just not feeling it. It doesn’t help that Daphne — probably on purpose — is the least sympathetic character in the book. I felt bad for all the people who she stepped on — from her adopted parents, to her friends, to her former employers — on her way to stardom. Sure, she’s got ambition, and talent, but what about a heart, or some kindness? She had two emotions: ambition and guilt. Not a pretty picture.

Because the main character was so unsympathetic, I looked to the secondary characters for interest. Some were interesting– like her first boss, Magda, — but most were just stepping stones on the way to Daphne’s eventual success. How could I not feel bad for her adopted parents when she was treating them so horribly? Or her friends that she pledged to be friends forever with? Here they come… there they go. Everyone nice got shuffled off-stage pretty quickly. I didn’t even feel like Ova, the ultimate prima ballerina, got enough stage time to fully develop her whole jealousy of Daphne. (Maybe she didn’t need it. She’s the star, she’s just as self-centered as Daphne, she wants her crowds. Who needs more explanation than that?)

There’s a lot in this story that could have been developed, fleshed out — there’s even a decent moral at the end. I just felt like it was developed enough, or in such a way, for us truly care about Daphne and her experience. Which is too bad.

This isn’t the edition I read (my cover was quite boring), but I liked this one because it illustrates one of my main problems with this book by Robert Louis Stevenson: the age of the main character, David Balfour.

I pictured David as a 14- or 15-year-old kid, maybe slightly older than Jim in Treasure Island. Sure, that gives David the role of the “wise and noble youth”, which drives me nuts, but I figured I could deal with it. David’s adventures start when he receives a letter saying that, with the death of his father, he’s come into an inheritance that he never knew he had. He goes in search of it, and finds a crabby, miserly old uncle, who tries to kill David. That not succeeding (David — oh, wise and noble youth — was too smart for that), he arranges to have a captain of a merchant ship headed for the Carolinas (it’s 1751) kidnap David in order to sell him into indentured servantship.

That works, and David sets off. However, as fate would have it, the weather is against the ship, and they don’t get far before ramming into another boat, killing everyone on board except for Alan Breck Stewart (who, as I found out through Wikepedia, is a real historical person). Alan and David fall in, take over the ship (well, there’s a murderer on board, and, as you know, Right always wins, especially when paired with Might), but end up separated and David is abandoned on an island (off the coast of Scotland. They didn’t get far.). David spends four days starving himself on the island, before he realizes that he could walk across the reef to the mainland (maybe he’s not so wise and noble?). He sets out in search of Alan again, and on his way runs into Alan’s old arch enemy, the Red Fox. Someone kills said fox while David’s standing there, and they determine that David’s an accomplice, so he sets off (bumping into, and joining in said flight with, Alan along the way), running for his life.

It sounds okay in a plot summary, but actually it was pretty dry and boring. Punctuated with the insufferable David’s moralizing. He eventually falls out with Alan because … I don’t even care why. I think it was because Alan was in more danger than David and David thought he’d fare better on his own. Or maybe it’s because Alan lived by his sword, which offended David. My favorite bit was when David challenged Alan to a duel, thinking he’d win. As if.

At any rate, David (of course: he’s the wise and noble youth) got his inheritance back because he got Alan to trick David’s uncle into admitting that he’d paid twenty pounds to have David kidnapped (but not killed). I didn’t really care by that point. (Though it was interesting to find out that David was 20 years old. I don’t know why I cared, but it seemed to make a bit of a difference. Not much, though.)

Long and short of it: if you want to read a Robert Louis Stevenson book, stick with Treasure Island. This one just isn’t worth it.

I have to admit (and this is one of those really embarrassing moments) that when I first heard the buzz about this book, I thought “Jacqueline Wilson; I’ve read a book by her. It was all right, but I’m not really that interested in reading another one.” Then I read more about Candyfloss, and how Jacqueline Wilson was one of the top British writers, and how her books have a “cheerful integrity and lack of sentimentality” (Slate.com) and I started thinking that this wasn’t the same person I was thinking of.

Then it hit me: I was mixing her up with Jacqueline Woodson. So, for the record:

Jacqueline Woodson:

and Jacqueline Wilson:.

Not the same person. Not even close.

So, when I saw Candyfloss at the library, I threw it in the pile, figuring M would like reading it. Which she did. And so, because I had some spare time, I picked it up, too. And I thought it was incredibly cute. I know that’s an overused word, and not exactly a positive one, but I think it really describes Candyfloss well. I think that it’s because it’s cute, and accessible, that the deeper themes — of separation, dealing with divorce, and making and keeping friends — come across that much better.

Floss has a problem: her step-dad, Steve, has gotten a promotion and is relocating (for six months) to Sydney. In Australia. Initially, Floss was really excited, but then she got to thinking: what about her dad? He’s not exactly well-off; he runs a run-down cafe making chip butties (they are these, in case you were wondering. I was.). Floss decides, after much thinking, that what she really wants to do is stay with her dad. And the book is the story of that decision.

I think one of the reasons this was so cute was that that the characters were so down-to-earth. I loved Floss and her father; sure he’s a flake and she’s kind of odd, but they’re good people. And normal. I liked the differences between Floss’s friend Rhiannon and her other friend Susan. I liked Rose — the candyfloss lady that Floss and her dad meet at the fair — and the whole fair atmosphere. I loved the British slang that was littered throughout the book. (I liked the semi-snide comment in the glossary at the back: “slowcoach — slowpoke. Margot tries to talk with an American accent, but she’s not very good at it. I wonder if you guys ever try to talk with a British accent?”) I won’t say that this book is perfect, but I will say that it was very good.

And I’ll probably check out Jacqueline Wilson’s other work sometime.

After finishing Matilda, C — being swayed by M’s recent discovery of and enthusiasm for these books — begged to start the Sisters Grimm, by Michael Buckley. And we’re both glad we did; it was a whole lot of clever fun.

Sabrina, age 11, and Daphne, age 7, were orphaned a year and a half ago and have been bumping around foster homes ever since. Until they get sent to Ferryport Landing to live with their supposed grandmother, Relda Grimm. It’s there that they learn the truth: the Grimms are not collectors of tales, but rather historians of the true events that people call “fairy tales”. The characters are real. The events are real. Daphne buys into it right away, but it takes Granny Relda (and her companion, Mr. Canis) being kidnapped by a giant to convince Sabrina. There’s a daring rescue, betrayal, and a bunch of fairy-tale insider jokes along the way.

C ate this one up. She was actually reminding me — begging me! — to read every night. She didn’t want me to stop, especially if the chapter ended with a cliff-hanger (which they often did). She made me swear that I wouldn’t read ahead (I was good), and then asked questions about how it was going to turn out. She begged information off of M (who would listen in and make cryptic comments now and again — she’s read all 5 and knows more of the story than we do), who was pretty good about not giving C too much. It was exciting and fun to read (more accents!) and very well-written, too.

We’ve got the second one on hold… and are waiting eagerly to see what happens next with Sabrina and Daphne.

I’m behind on my own challenge! I meant to read more in January, but it just didn’t happen. I have been enjoying reading the reviews of books others have been reading, and expanding my to-be-read list (among other things).

So… Kira-Kira, by Cynthia Kadohata, and 2005 Newbery winner.

I’m not sure what I think of this one. It’s one of those books that’s not really about anything. I’m not sure I could sum up the plot: it’s a young Japanese girl growing up in Georgia and her family surviving. It doesn’t sound terribly interesting. (I’m not sure how many kids would be taken in by the cover, either.)

And yet, it’s a lovely book, word-wise; very evocative of place and mood. You easily get a sense of Katie’s wonder at the world, at her love for her sister (and eventually her younger brother). And because of the language, it becomes a beautiful tribute to sisters and to growing up. Katie would do anything for Lynn, even when the going gets difficult. Lynn loves Katie, even when she’s being a teenager and thinks Katie’s too immature. It’s a testament to family and to how pulling together family can get someone through just about everything.

It’s heartbreaking at the end, when Lynn becomes ill and eventually dies. Katie not only helps nurse her through her illness, but has to help her family pick up the pieces and move on. It’s not easy; there are times when everyone loses it. But, they do move on, remembering Lynn yet not ending their lives for her.

It was a good book. Much better than I was expecting, and I’m glad I finally got around to reading it.

I debated for a while if I should write this one up, since it was another read-aloud to C. But I remembered that I wrote about The Secret Garden, and I decided if I haven’t written anything about the books I’ve read aloud to her (we read Ella Enchanted, but I’ve already got that one floating around here somewhere), then I’ll write about it.

This is one of those books that I’ve known the story of forever, but I’m not actually sure I’ve ever read the book before. Maybe I have; elements of it seemed familiar, but perhaps that’s from other Roald Dahl books I’ve read. He does have a very distinct writing style. And one that’s completely over-the-top and captivating at the same time.

The book had both me and C completely captivated, the entire time. She was sitting on the floor, or the ottoman, inching, leaning closer to me as if that would help her absorb the words better. She loved the story; the idea of this uber-mean woman who had power over all dominion, and the little girl who defeated her. She loved Matilda’s pranks, though she said, “She probably shouldn’t have done them. Just because her parents were mean, doesn’t really make them right.” (Ah, conscience.) She loved the words, asking me to re-read things.

And I loved reading it out loud. It’s one of those books that while it reads fine on the page, reading it out loud really brings out the brilliance of it all. I loved reading Trunchbull’s name-calling: “vile, repulsive, repellent, malicious little brute” or “You ignorant little slug! You witless weed! You empty-headed hamster! You stupid glob of glue!” I even found myself doing voices; there’s something about the Wormwoods and Trunchbull that begs to be read in a certain way.

In short, it was a lot of fun. That leaves us with a problem, though: What to read next?