The Scorpio Races

2 Comments

by Maggie Stiefvater
ages: 13+
First sentence: “It is the first day of November, and so, today, someone will die.”
Support your local independent bookstore: buy it there!
Review copy picked up at KidlitCon 2011

Life on the island Thisby is not easy. Life is harsh, jobs and food are scarce, and the population is always leaving for a better life on the mainland. And then there are the capaill uisce (pronounced CAPple ISHka; yeah, it doesn’t look like that to me, either): bloodthirsty water horses that are caught, somewhat tamed, and raced in the Scorpio Races every November 1st.

For Sean Kendrick, the capaill uisce have become his life. Sure, he works for the wealthiest man on the island at his ranch, but really his heart and soul live for his water horse (in all but actual ownership), Corr. They’ve raced together and won four times. Who’s to day that this year they won’t come out on top.

Kate “Puck” Connelly, on the other hand, lives and breathes the island. Her parents were killed by capaill uisce, and she normally would have nothing to do with them. However, her older brother has dropped the bomb that he’s leaving for the mainland, and in a desperate attempt to keep him around a little longer, she announced that she’s going to ride in the races. On her regular horse, Dove. Suddenly, she finds herself the talk of the island, and discovers that perhaps she’s in over her head.

To be fair, this is not a book for the faint hearted. Bloodthirsty, flesh-eating horses does not for a happy tale make. (Kind of awesome, yes. Happy, no.) And yet, in Stiefvater’s hands, it isn’t a gruesome one. Yes, there’s death and mauling and unhappiness, but the book isn’t about those things. It’s about Puck and Sean, (and, yes, there’s a romance between the two, but it’s wonderfully understated) and their love of the island and all things that belong there. It’s a wonderfully hopeful book, intriguing its twists and turns and subtle use of magic, with a sweetly touching ending.

While it’s not quite a delight to read, it is incredibly captivating. Which is just as good, I think.

Six Sentence Saturday: Three Middle Grade Boy Books

1 Comment

Jeremy Bender vs. the Cupcake Cadets
by Eric Luper
ages: 10+
First sentence: “Jeremy Bender once heard that every time a person learned something, a new wrinkle worked its way into his or her brain.”
Support your local independent bookstore: buy it there!

Jeremy Bender has a problem: he’s ruined the engine of his father’s prize boat and needs to come up with $500 (because it’s just too scary to tell his dad) to fix it. So he and his friend come up with this brilliant, if a bit far-fetched, idea: infiltrate the Cupcake Cadets (think Girl Scouts with cupcakes instead of cookies), win the Windjammer Whirl with it’s $500 grand prize and get off. Easy-peasy, right? Well, not so much. At turns weird and hilarious, Jeremy and Slater learn that sometimes the easy way out is not, well, so easy. Luper gets boys and their impressions of girls down-pat, making for a very fun read.

The Buddha’s Diamonds
by Carolyn Marsden and Thay Phap Niem
ages: 8-12
First sentence: “In the gloom of the dusty temple, Tinh bowed to the Buddha.”
Support your local independent bookstore: buy it there!
Review copy provided by the publisher for the 2009 Cybils (I think)

The simple story of a boy, Tinh, who has to learn responsibility in the face of a big storm. Tinh and his father makes it back to shore just ahead of a typhoon, but because Tinh wasn’t brave enough to save the boat, it’s ruined. So, it’s up to Tinh to get the boat — the source of his family’s income — fixed. I picked this one up as part of Wichita’s Big Read (the main book was Tim O’Brien’s The Things They Carried, but I had no interest in reading that), not really knowing what to expect. It was a sweet little story, but I felt it lacked any sort of emotional punch. Mostly, I felt like I was looking at the action from the outside, never really connecting to either the characters or the story.

War & Watermelon
by Rich Wallace
ages: 11+
First sentence: “I look across the pool and see Patty Moriarity and Janet DeMaria hanging out by the refreshment stand.”
Support your local independent bookstore: buy it there!

It’s the summer of 1969, and everything’s changing in Brody’s world. His brother, recently graduated from high school, and their parents are stressed about the draft; Brody’s dealing with girls, and football, not to mention seventh grade and junior high; and it’s the summer of Woodstock and the Mets have just taken over first place. Seeing this summer of through a 12-year-old’s eyes is an interesting venture: a lot happens in the course of the book, and yet Wallace keeps it light enough for middle grade readers. Yet, as an adult, I didn’t think Brody’s story was particularly interesting. Or perhaps Wallace was trying to cover too much in too short of time. Either way, this one fell flat in the end.

The Son of Neptune

2 Comments

Heroes of Olympus, book 2
by Rick Riordan
ages: 10+
First sentence: “
Support your local independent bookstore: buy it there!
Others in the series: The Lost Hero

Ah, Percy. We’re glad you’re back.

We join up with him as he’s running across the California landscape, being chased by Gorgons who can’t be killed for some reason, trying to get… somewhere. See, he’s lost his memory, and doesn’t know who he is or where he’s really going. (Even though we fans haven’t; I was interested to see how Riordan would handle that, since we knew that Percy would have amnesia by the end of The Lost Hero, and I have to say that he did it well. Having the book be in third person rather than first, as the first series was, helped a lot. As did multiple points of view; I found it fascinating to see Percy from viewpoints other than his own.)

He shows up at Camp Jupiter — the Roman equivalent of Camp Half-Blood — meets Frank Zhang, a halfblood with an interesting past and a curse to carry, and Hazel Levesque, the daughter of Pluto (aka Hades) who isn’t really supposed to be alive anymore. The three of them are sent on a quest by Mars (aka Ares, though I have to admit that I like Mars a whole lot more than I liked Ares) to face the giant sons of Gaea (the new bad “guy”), unleash death, and get back before an army of monsters destroys Camp Jupiter. In four days.

Clear as mud?

As usual, Riordan tells a compelling and entertaining story, playing on his two strengths: plotting and characterization. This one is shorter than Lost Hero, but not by much, and Riordan packs in as much as he possibly can. There’s everything we’ve come to love in a Riordan book: action-packed sequences; a wee bit of sweet, innocent romance; humor (and good, quotable lines); and many, many references to mythology. (I’m not sure he’s pulling from myths anymore; I don’t know Roman mythology as well as Greek. That said, I’m not sure it matters at this point.)

Additionally, for this one especially, it helps if you know your Olympians series well. Thankfully, I’ve just finished reading them aloud to A, so they were pretty fresh in my mind. There’s references to that series all over the place, from hints about Percy’s past (in one of the more clever pulls, Reyna, one of the praetors at Camp Jupiter, was one of the people in Circe’s employ that Percy came across in The Sea of Monsters.) to references of what Percy has accomplished in the past four years. And yet, while there’s a lot to juggle in this book, it doesn’t seem crowded. In fact, there were times — especially with characters; the set up for Octavian is intriguing, but Riordan never really goes anywhere with it — when I wanted more, not less.

As I mentioned before, Percy’s back in all his lovableness, and it’s quite refreshing to see him from other points of view. And Frank and Hazel were just as awesome to get to know. The overall plot arc is coming together slowly, but Riordan leaves a lot of threads hanging, and a lot of questions unanswered. (Though perhaps the one question I have — how is he going to fit all seven the prophecy talks about together in one book? Because whomever narrates the next one, there will be characters I will miss hearing from — is going to have to wait.)

It’s fun fluff, great for those of us who are fans of the series.

The Chronicles of Harris Burdick

1 Comment

by Chris Van Allsburg, and 14 other writers
ages: 10+
First sentence: “Is there any author more mysterious than Harris Burdick?”
Support your local independent bookstore: buy it there!

Back in 1984, Chris Van Allsburg authored a book called The Mysteries of Harris Burdick. Supposedly, he was recreating the art of one Harris Burdick, who left fourteen paintings at a man called Peter Wender’s office, with only the titles and a brief caption. The drawings were mysterious and wondrous all at the same time: something for parents and children to pour over and imagine.

Of course the next logical step — albeit nearly 30 years later — is to get fourteen (including Van Allsburg himself) of the most talented children’s (and adult) writers to do the imagining for us. Each author — and there are some brilliant ones here: from Sherman Alexie and Lois Lowry, to M. T. Anderson and Kate DiCamillo , to Stephen King and Gregory Maguire — takes a different painting, and spins a story around it, incorporating the tantalizing caption that “Harris Burdick” gave to each painting.

Let me say right off: this is not a picture book. I cannot imagine curling up with my 5-year-old and reading these stories. For one, they are much too long. For two, they are much too… old. This is an illustrated set of short stories, ranging from the disturbing to the strange to the whimsical, meant for older audiences to savor and think about.

Like every short story collection, the stories themselves are uneven: I found Cory Doctorow’s “Another Place, Another Time” to be odd, full of science I couldn’t quite grasp; and Sherman Alexie’s “A Strange Day in July” to be terribly cruel in a ten-year-old bully sort of way. But, when the writing is on, the book is a marvel: Jon Scieszka’s “Under the Rug” is hilarious; Linda Lois Lowry’s “The Seven Chairs” is simple and magical; both Linda Sue Park’s “The Harp” and Louis Sachar’s “Captain Tory” are deliciously sweet; and Stephen King’s “The House on Maple Street” is perfect. It’s fascinating to see how each author’s imagination works with the painting, taking the small details and spinning them into a larger, more complex story, and yet leaving enough space that the reader can invent and hope and dream right along with.

It’s one of those books that begs to be taken out time and time again, to read and look at, inspiring you to dream about both the possible and the impossible. In other words: it’s just the perfect sort of book.

10 Questions for Michael Scotto

Leave a comment

I don’t usually read early chapter books, but I thought the premise for Michael Scotto’s book Latasha and the Little Red Tornado sounded intriguing, and ended up being a great little story about a girl and her dog. Michael was more than willing to sit down (metaphorically), and answer a few questions about writing, reading, and Latasha. You can find out more at his website.

The book is on shelves today.

MF: This is your first novel! Congrats! What are the differences, for you, between writing picture books and novels?
MS: Picture books are a much more collaborative form. In a novel, the writer has complete control. The words do all of the heavy lifting — if the author doesn’t describe it, it doesn’t exist for the reader. In a picture book, the illustrator handles a lot of that “world building.” That can be scary for an author. In picture books, you have to let go of the text and trust that the illustrator will understand your vision — or even better, bring a new dimension that enriches and deepens what you’ve written.

MF: I’ve always wanted to ask this: which is “easier” to write picture books or novels?
MS: Each presents its own particular challenges. You have to be especially economical with words in a picture book, which for me is tough. That said, the writing of a novel requires a much greater time commitment, and also demands more complex storytelling. In my experience, novels have been been a more difficult undertaking. Of course, my illustrator would disagree!

MF: Why did you decide, after writing so many picture books, to write a novel?
MS: When I started Latasha, I’d been writing picture books for several years — a series aimed at the educational market. I love the series, but I’d been writing the same characters for so long that I was just itching to challenge myself in a new way. I thought it would be best to make a complete break from the kind of writing I had been doing.

MF: What inspired you to write about Latasha and her dog?

MS: When I sat down to write Latasha, I knew two things: I wanted to write about my hometown, Pittsburgh, and I wanted to write a story that involved a girl raising a dog. My wife and I had adopted a puppy half a year before I started the novel, and so I was eager to write about that experience. While I invented most of Ella’s misadventures, I drew her look and personality from my pup, Lucy…the original “little red tornado.”

As for Latasha herself — she came from an exercise that I did when I first began to write the book. I sat down at my favorite coffeeshop with a pen and pad, and began to free write, just to see what would come out. What came out, almost fully formed, was Latasha’s voice. The voice came to me so quickly that I knew I had no choice in the matter; she was going to be my protagonist. In fact, a lot of the opening of the book was drafted that day.

MF: Was it difficult to get into the character of an 8-year-old African American girl? What kind of research did you do?

MS: When writing Latasha, the trickiest terrain to navigate wasn’t the “girl” part or the “African-American” part, but the “8-year-old” part. It was difficult because Latasha is a very bright girl, with a manner of expression that makes her seem older than her years. At the same time, emotionally she’s still very young. Part of my research was just simple observation; studying kids, their mannerisms, how they interact with the world, how they speak. I also dug through a lot of personal writing I did when I was that age. It helped to remind me of how the world appeared to me at that age.

MF: You packed a lot into an early chapter book — working single mothers, making friends, cheating, loss — and yet it didn’t seem overwhelming for an 8-year-old reader. How did you achieve that balance?

MS: Thanks for the kind words! I really just tried to deal with each of these elements as honestly and matter-of-factly as I could, and then trust that the reader would follow me. It helps that Latasha is a very plucky, optimistic character. I think her can-do attitude makes the subject matter easier to digest.

MF: Do you have a favorite character or moment in the story?
MS: I absolutely loved writing Mrs. Okocho. The scene where she drives Latasha around to hang signs near the end of the book is one of my favorites.

MF: I liked Mrs. Okocho, too: she had such spunk and heart. Who, or what, inspires you to write?
MS: Deadlines inspire me! Actually, I write because I’m fascinated by people. I love seeing how people interact, how they behave, how they speak. I have a massive file on my computer that consists solely of interesting turns of phrase that I’ve heard people use. I especially like to explore lives and perspectives that differ from my own. It makes me a better, more empathetic human being to do so — and I think one of the most important tools a writer can have is empathy.

MF: What was the last book you’ve read and why did you love it?
MS: I just finished Kira-Kira by Cynthia Kadohata, which won the Newbery Medal in 2005. A librarian friend of mine recommended it to me. It tells the story of a young Japanese girl growing up in Georgia. The book was gorgeously written, it featured a voice I’d never read before but found instantly relatable, it was emotional but never maudlin — I could go on and on. Suffice it to say, I adored it. The only trouble now is that now I’ve got to find an equally wonderful book to suggest to my friend! (I may lend her my copy of Wonderstruck.)

MF: Both are excellent books! And you can’t go wrong with Brian Selznick. If you don’t mind telling us, what can we expect from you next?

MS: I’ve got a lot on the horizon. The first big thing has to do with my picture book series. At the end of January, five titles from my “Tales of Midlandia” series will be released to the general public. These are humorous stories with a character-building or social element to them. They could be compared to the Berenstain Bears books in that way — only with much more detailed, rich illustration work. At the same time, my publisher is developing storybook apps for the iPad from these books, which I have been tapped to narrate! It’s a real thrill for me.

I also have a second novel in the pipeline, due out around Memorial Day 2012. It’s called Postcards From Pismo, and it tells the story of boy in California who strikes up a penpal friendship through letters with a soldier in Afghanistan. I’ve gotten to see some of the preliminary art and design work for it — it’s going to look awesome.

Lastly, I’m in the middle of drafting a sequel to Latasha and the Little Red Tornado. I don’t want to give away any details yet, but it follows Latasha through fourth grade and a whole bunch of new challenges. Thanks so much for your questions!

MF: All of which sound fascinating! Thank you so much for your time.
MS: Thanks again!

Audiobook: The Help

3 Comments

by Katheryn Stockett
read by: Jenna Lamia, Bahni Turpin, Octavia Spencer, Cassandra Campbell
ages: adult
Support your local independent bookstore: buy it there!

I should probably start by admitting that I’m the last person in the universe to read this book. I’ve been avoiding it for years because, as you all know about me, I really don’t like hyped books. (I should amend that: what I don’t like is the hype surrounding a book. If I catch it before the hype, I may like it just fine.) I figured there was no way this one would live up to its reputation. That, and the subject matter: the relationships between white women and their black maids in 1960s Mississippi just seemed too, well, explosive. Better just to let things be.

Since you all basically know the plot — it’s about two maids, Aibileen and Minny and a white 20-something woman, Skeeter Phelan, and how they come to know each other, and then work together to get a book of memories of black maids published — I’ll just stick with my reactions to the book, as well as the audio production.

First off, this book did nothing to improve my impression of Mississippi. I haven’t had anything good to say about the state since our year there 10 years ago, and the white women in this book — from Skeeter’s overbearing mother to the spineless Elizabeth Leefolt to Hilly Holbrook (especially Hilly Holbrook) — did nothing to make me more sympathetic to the state and the people there.

I also wanted more. I wanted more Celia (and for her to find a friend in Skeeter; I was highly disappointed that didn’t happen), for the main characters to have more spine and stand up (I know: a very 21st-century attitude there), and for Hilly to get some sort of come-uppance (rather than the more true to life “she’ll just have to live with herself for the rest of her life” ending I did get).

That said, I loved the audio book. I think, in many ways, this was the right way for me to experience this book. There were parts that I would have gotten frustrated with if I’d just read it, but I found loving listening to. I adored the inflection the narrators would give to the sentences, the rich Southern accents (and yes, I did find myself speaking Southern more often than I should have), and the voices they’d give to the characters. (Octavia Spencer’s Celia was just perfect.) Because they made the book come alive for me, I was able to connect with it better, and let my objections (and annoyances) slide.

So, am I glad I read it? I guess. It did make for a really good book group discussion, and it was an interesting story. I didn’t absolutely love it, but it surprised me that I liked it as much as I did. Which isn’t a bad thing, in the end.

Ten Miles Past Normal

2 Comments

by Frances O’Roark Dowell
ages: 11+
First sentence: “No one can figure out where the terrible smell is coming from, but everyone on the bus this morning can smell it and has an opinion.”
Support your local independent bookstore: buy it there!

I wish I had read this book when I was 11. Seriously. I was a mixed up, not “normal”, and yet yearning to be, 11-year-old (granted, this is all faded memories now), and I would have loved a book that essentially showed me that you can find your space, that you can be yourself, and that “normal” is really what you make it out to be.

Janie Gorman, age 14, just wants to be normal. She lives on a mini-farm (just goats and chickens on five acres) that when she was 9 years old, she was enthusiastic about. Now, in her freshman year of high school, set adrift from her middle school friends and faced with seemingly endless teasing about the smell of her lifestyle, she’s not quite as enthusiastic. In fact, she’s downright disdainful. Nothing about this year seems to be going right; even her best friend, Sarah, seems to be drifting away.

All Janie really wants to be is normal. Normal life, normal friends, normal interests. And yet, in this small North Carolina town, she slowly learns — through new friends, new interests and getting to know people better — that normal is relative. And that sometimes, being past normal and into your own little thing is a better way to be.

It’s a sweet book, with Dowell’s trademark simplicity and tenderness without being too sappy. Janie felt like a real teenager: she’s not a bad kid, just someone who yearns for something… simpler, something she can hold on to as her own. I loved the characters in this book, and the fact that the message of being yourself is there without being preachy or hitting you over the head.

And I really do wish I’d read it when I was 11.

Chime

8 Comments

by Franny Billingsley
ages: 14+
First sentence: “I’ve confessed to everything and I’d like to be hanged.”
Support your local independent bookstore: buy it there!

If I were being totally honest, I’d say that this book didn’t grab me from the beginning. I would admit to being completely confused for about the first third of the book, struggling with it, but still mesmerized by the way Billingsley was telling the story. It was tantalizing in its potential, which kept me going.

And I’m so happy I did.

In the Swampsea there are two kinds of people: those who can see the Old Ones — the spirits of nature and the monsters — and those who can’t. Generally speaking, those who can see the Old Ones are witches. Sure, there’s the Chime Child, a person who is born on the stroke of midnight and whose purpose is to sit in on the trials of the witches, who can see the Old Ones. But no one else. So, that must mean that Briony Larken, who can, is a witch. At least, that’s what Stepmother always said. There’s even proof: Briony called up the wind, which made her twin sister Rose fall and that’s why she’s not completely normal. And Briony called up Mucky Face, the spirit of the river, to injure Stepmother which made her sick, and would have killed her if the arsenic didn’t.

No, Briony isn’t happy. And she can’t love. Not even her sister. Not even her father, who has left his children alone for so long. But then Eldric comes along, bringing with him light, and laughter, and perhaps most importantly, change.

It’s a complex book, as Billingsly peels back the layers of not only the story but also Briony’s psyche. There’s mystery: about Stepmother’s death, about Briony, about Eldric, about Father. That doesn’t even mention the one that Rose carries and drops hints about all through the book. And there’s romance. It’s not a fiery one, full of sparks and swoons, but rather my favorite kind: one where the characters start slowly, are friends first, and then grow into something more.

And the ending? Let me say that I don’t cry easily at books, and this one made me weep.

Very much worth the accolades it’s getting.

Addie on the Inside

Leave a comment

by James Howe
ages: 11+
First sentence: “The poems that follow are written in the voice of Addie on the inside.”
Support your local independent bookstore: buy it there!

Addie Carle is tall, plain, outspoken: basically everything a popular girl is not. It doesn’t really bother her; she believes deeply and is passionate about the things she’s outspoken about, and she has several good friends, though they’re all boys. What does get to her is the constant teasing, the names, the questions. Especially about why her boyfriend, DuShawn, is going with her.

For a novel in verse, where every word is carefully chosen, this book packs a punch. I haven’t read the ones it’s a companion to, but you don’t need to in order to enjoy Addie and empathize with her feelings. She is very much the smart misfit, a middle school girl who both does and doesn’t want to fit in. She’s finding her way, not only at school, but in life. True, that sounds cliche, but perhaps it’s because of the verse that it doesn’t come off that way. In addition, there are issues here: tolerance for those different, women’s rights, bullying… and yet the book is not heavy-handed. Howe does a masterful job giving us a book full of meat and character, and yet not lecturing us on what to think.

Now I want to go back and read the ones that this is a companion to.