For me, anyway.
This is the current state of my physical TBR pile:
I don’t usually let it pile up this high (It’s taller than my lamp!) except when I’m a round 1 judge for the Cybils. I’m a round 2 judge this year… maybe I’m experiencing a bit of withdrawal, and feel a need to have a huge TBR pile surrounding me this time of year?
All this makes me curious: how high is your TBR pile?
by Michael Sotto
ages: 8-10
First sentence: “Momma told me that there is a time in a puppy’s life — right around its second birthday — when it just starts to get it.”
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Release date: November 15, 2011
Review copy provided by the author.
Although she is just eight years old, Latasha can handle quite a bit. Her mother has finally finished her schooling and has gotten a job as a nurse, and Latasha can get herself to and from school. (And doesn’t need the “baby”sitter that her mother insists upon her having!) She can handle making friends. She can handle the reading challenge at school. She just doesn’t know if she can really handle her puppy, Ella, who is a complete handful.
Over the course of the book, Latasha realizes that while she can handle a lot of things by herself, sometimes it’s better to have the help of friends. Which includes her energetic, but loveable, puppy.
This book skews younger than I normally read, but it works great on the level of a early-chapter-book reader. Latasha is a spunky girl, and the novel has a great voice; Latasha’s personality just shone through. In addition, while it’s a story simply told, it never felt like Scotto was talking down to his readers, which is a common difficulty in books like these. The relationship between Latasha and her mother and her sitters are complex, and while issues such as cheating or boy-girl friendships come up, they’re dealt with in ways an 8-year-old can relate to.
In short: hand it to an 8-year-old who loves dogs, and you’ll probably have a very happy reader.
by Holly Goldberg Sloan
ages: 13+
First sentence: “The days of the week meant nothing to him.”
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This book is one wild ride.
When I told Hubby that, he asked: “Is it a good book?”
Yes. Yes, it is.
Sloan gives you characters — specifically brothers Sam and Riddle — whom you care about, whose lives you are more than fully invested in, and then runs them through the paces. But, even that doesn’t fully convey the ups and downs of the book. Not to mention the hope and heartbreak, the anger and love, that this book will make you feel.
It’s an unusual book, not just for the absolute pummeling the characters take at the hand of the author, but also for the storytelling style. It’s told almost completely in narrative: there’s hardly any dialogue, although the viewpoint shifts so we can see into the minds of many of the characters we meet over the course of the book. The story is about all the little ways in which humans connect: from the brothers who are dealing with an unstable and abusive father, to the lives of the family they interact with, and the impact we all have on each other, for good or ill.
Even though the story is a hopeful one, it’s almost secondary to the way the book is told. The prose is simple, almost poetic, and delivers its punch in small ways: a mention that the brothers have never had homemade lasagna; the heartbreak of a broken guitar; the spray-tan debacle of a pompous, spoiled teenage boy; the weeping of a mother. Nothing is overly dramatic, and yet it all works together to a stunning, moving conclusion.
A wild ride, indeed.
by Libba Bray
ages: 15+
First sentence: “This book begins with a plane crash.”
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I have come to the conclusion that Libba Bray is brilliant, but completely insane. (Or maybe brilliantly insane?)
Ever wonder what you’d get if you mixed Lord of the Flies with the Miss America pageant, tossed in some James Bond, and slathered with a huge helping of satire on pop culture? Me, either. But, thankfully, blessedly, Libba Bray did, and Beauty Queens is the result.
The top 20 girls for the Miss Teen Dream pageant were all on a plane, headed toward the pageant finals when the plane crashes. On a deserted island. Killing everyone, except a handful of girls. What are they — girls who are beauty queens, presumably without any practical resources — to do?
Well… survive.
From here, the plot goes all twisty and turney: the girls make their own camp on the beach, and manage to not only get along (mostly), but thrive on their own merits as they wait to be rescued. However, things are not as pretty as they seem: there’s weird stuff lurking in them thar jungle, and those who go into it don’t always come out. And if they do, they’re not quite sane. There’s also pirates (!), stupid trust fund guys, completely wacked out dictators, and vengeful past beauty queens. This book has it all.
On the surface, the book is terribly shallow and stereotypical. Bray has lumped every single cultural reference and stereotype she could think of in this book: there is a lesbian, transgender, bisexual, stupid Southerner, aggressive Texan, Indian-American, black contestant. (Sure, why not one of each?) There’s a grand poking at everyone naming their kids Caitlin. Honestly: none of the characters are likeable (Miss Texas, I wanted to throttle! And Miss Mississippi just lived up to the low expectations I have of that state.), and the plot was fairly simplistic, which almost made it hard to get through (however, the hilarious footnotes made up for that).
But, when you read it as a satire, the book works brilliantly. In one of the more brilliant moves, there are commercial breaks in the book, in which Bray lampoons every single kind of beauty product, movie, and item that corporations try to sell to women. In the end, the book is not about the characters, or plot development, it’s about girl power: rising above the stereotypes and the product placement, and not only finding one’s true self, but acting on that, embracing the differences we have as women. (And no one is better than the other.)
In fact, I think this would be a blast to deconstruct in a book group or English class; there’s so much meat under the shallow surface, that the discussion could be quite fascinating.
And I’m sure she wrote it that way on purpose.
by Rosanne Parry
Read by Bri Knickerbocker
ages: 10+
First sentence: “If we had known it would eventually involve the KGB, the French National Police, and the Supreme Allied Commander in Europe, we would have left that body in the river and called the Polizei like any normal German citizen; but we were Americans and addicted to solving other people’s problems, so naturally, we got involved.”
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Review copy provided by the author.
It’s 1990 (oh, man, I AM getting old if 1990 can be counted as “historical fiction”…), and Jody, Giselle and Vivian are Americans living in Berlin, Germany. The wall has just fallen months before, but the 13-year-olds have more important things to think about: like preparing for a string trio competition in Paris and the fact that the military base is being dismantled (is that right? I’m lousy at military speak), which means that these best friends may never see each other again. They’ve planned for Paris to be one last adventure, but they have no idea how big that adventure will be.
Because right before they go, they witness the attempted murder of a Soviet soldier, whom they drag out of the river and take upon themselves to save. Of course everything gets complicated in ways that include a lot of lying on the girls’ part. But, it also is a grand adventure, one that, as we were listening, M and I wished we’d had.
Much like Parry’s Heart of a Shepherd, this book is subtle and quiet, even with all the running around. Although there are spies and military personnel and soldiers, the Paris that these girls experience is a quiet one, with artists and immigrant populations; with music and art and quirky bookshop owners. And to Parry’s credit, even though the book is set in the 1990s (making things much more complicated without cell phones and computers being so available), the book feels timeless: what girl doesn’t want to have an adventure with her friends? What girl doesn’t worry about the future? She also did a wonderful job portraying a country in transition; even though the girls were Americans and didn’t interact with Germans very much, you could get the sense that Berlin, at least, was hit hard by the wall coming down and they were struggling with that.
As for the narration: at first the reader’s voice bothered me. I felt like they were aiming too young, and the way she read grated on my nerves. I also wish she did voices, until she actually had a voice for the rescued Soviet soldier. Then I was glad she didn’t. But I became involved in the actual story and the annoyances with the reader went away. If I had this one in paper copy, I wouldn’t have been able to put it down.
Another good book by a talented writer.
by Wendy Mass
ages: 10+
First sentence: “Like all big mistakes, mine started with a goat.”
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First of all: this is the third in a series that includes, 11 Birthdays and Finally, and if you haven’t read those two, you could possibly still read this one and enjoy it (I did, even though it’s been ages since I read the other two, and we all know how my memory is), you will get more out of the story if you read those two first. Besides, they’re good books, and you won’t be sorry you did.
Tara Brennan is one of those invisible people. She doesn’t really stand out, she doesn’t do much to be involved. It’s partly because of her mother’s job, they’re constantly moving, but it’s also by choice: Tara doesn’t want to be involved. Which means she’s as surprised as anyone to find herself stealing a (stuffed) goat from the principals office. After hours. She gets caught, of course, and as punishment is sent to Willow Falls to live with some relatives she barely knows. If that isn’t bad enough, she ends up working for Angelina D’Angelo, oldest person in town and resident mysterious busybody, collecting an odd assortment of things. Before her 13th birthday.
The best thing about this book is how it weaves the three books together. Tara has her own story, of course, but Amanda and Leo (from 11 Birthdays) and Rory (Finally) become not only involved but a crucial part of the plot. Additionally, there’s neighbor David and cousin Emily (not to mention the resident crazy-Aussie-guy, Ray) to add dimension to the story, since unlike the other kids, they have no idea what’s really going on.
It’s a nice balance of the magical — the second-hand shop that Angelina runs appears and disappears as needed — and the ordinary — Tara grows and develops and learns to be involved and have friends on her own merit, without magical assistance. Which makes it perfect for kids like C, who don’t particularly like fantasy, but don’t mind a touch of the magical.
It’s possibly my favorite of the three books, as well: even with the lying that Tara does to get her in the mess, it has a sweet and tender heart to it.
by Brian Selznick
ages: 9+
First sentence: “Something hit Ben Wilson and he opened his eyes.”
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Brian Selznick has a lot to live up to with The Invention of Hugo Cabret. It was so unique, so astounding, so novel, that it literally took everyone’s breath away. Going into Wonderstruck, one can only hope for the same breathtaking beauty and novel storytelling that Selznick gave us in Hugo Cabret.
And on one hand, he delivered. The story is completely different: is the tale of two children, Ben and Rose, who live 50 years apart, one told in words and the other in pictures. Both are deaf, and have to deal with the impact of that in their lives. Their stories are separate, but their lives and actions impact on each other in surprising ways. Like Hugo Cabret, the less said about the story the better: it’s one that is best experienced fresh for the first time. The art is, as expected, gorgeous, and flows seamlessly into the text, even though the stories are separate.
Yet, in the end, I wasn’t left with the same sense of having experienced something fantastic that I was after finishing Hugo Cabret. It’s possibly because this style of novel writing has been done before (alas, one can only be new once), and it just didn’t have the same surprising factor. I knew what to expect from this book — lovely art, good storytelling — and while it filled my expectations, it never surpassed them. Though, I wonder if it could also be because this story, unlike Hugo Cabret, doesn’t necessarily have to be told in this fashion. It could be a story in pictures, or a story in words, but it’s not necessarily bound to this medium. And perhaps because of that, it fell short of true grandeur.
I know I’m nitpicking; it’s a good book, even if it didn’t quite live up to my (possibly too high) expectations.
by Richard Mosher
ages: 12+
First sentence: “The boy on the bike came and went.”
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Zazoo is a 13-year-old girl who lives in a small village in France. There’s nothing really remarkable about that, except that Zazoo is Vietnamese; her Grand-Pierre (not her grandfather) took her from her country at the end of the war, when she was three. She doesn’t remember her birth home, and Grand-Pierre doesn’t talk about it. She’s been basically happy in France, but in this turbulent winter her life is about to turn upside down.
It’s a quiet novel, poetically written, with spare language that evokes a strong sense of place. It jumps through time, giving us not only a portrait of Zazoo’s upbringing, but of the story behind the village and Grand-Pierre’s legendary stubbornness. For that reason, it becomes a bit of a war book; Grand-Pierre has a history in World War II, perhaps of good, perhaps not. The book reserves judgement: Zazoo is, in many ways just collecting facts, piecing an old puzzle together. It’s delightfully complex and revels in shades of gray; Grand-Pierre is neither a villain nor a hero, but rather a human.
There is a bit of a love story, and honestly that’s the only thing that really bothered me about the book. Not the story per se: Zazoo and the boy on the bike, Marcus, develop a friendship over sending postcards back and forth, which evolves into a love. What bothered me was the age of the characters: Zazoo is only 13, and while she’s labeled as precocious in the novel, that’s still a bit young to be taking up with a 16-year-old, even in 1980-something. I think, for that aspect of the novel to fully work for me, Zazoo should have been a bit older, even if it meant losing some of the innocence in the other aspects of the novel.
Even with that complaint, it was a surprisingly sweet story.
by Tom Angleberger
ages: 9+
First sentence: “It is a dark time at McQuarrie Middle School…”
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I adored The Strange Case of Origami Yoda (which went on to win last year’s Middle Grade Cybils Award) and so I was more than excited to see that there was a sequel picking up where the story left off.
It’s the beginning of seventh grade and Dwight’s nemesis, Harvy, has brought the dark side to the middle school in the form of Darth Paper. His mission is to convince the believers that Origami Yoda is not real, that while maybe his advice is good, it’s just Dwight being weird. His methods get extreme, and Dwight has ended up suspended and may be expelled. It’s up to his friends Tommy and Kellan to collect “case studies” to prove that Dwight and Origami Yoda are doing good.
In many ways, this book is more of the same: instances in which Origami Yoda helps kids by giving them weird, but ultimately good, advice. And while the stories were amusing and interesting, it didn’t really feel like this book helped the overall story progress much. Everyone was still basically the same: from Dwight and Harvey down to the smaller, minor characters, so I didn’t feel like we were really learning anything new. That said, the book ends with a nice little twist, that almost made up for the “the publisher pushed me into writing a sequel” feeling I had throughout most of the book.
Then again, he’s writing for the middle grade crowd, and they love sequels. It just didn’t quite hold water for me.
by Ilene Cooper
ages: 10+
First sentence: “There was a pile of money on Bette Miller’s kitchen table.”
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Bette Miller is dealing with her mother’s sudden death. (Yes, at the outset this is another one of those mother-is-dead books.) However, once Bette finds an angel coin in a charity jar, her life takes a turn. A neighbor moves in downstairs to help keep an eye on Bette, and gradually Bette finds that while life without her mother is sad, it’s still liveable.
But the story doesn’t end there: the coin gets passed to others: Joe Garcia, whose mother is often sick and who is struggling to find a place at the prestigious art school he (and Bette and the other characters) attends; and twins Andy and Vivi who have been growing apart in the year since Vivi’s asthma became really crippling both get a turn with the angel coin. And their lives are invariably changed, though in small and subtle ways, for the better.
I was kind of lukewarm on the book; on the one hand, I thought it handled the whole overused dead parent thing well. It wasn’t heavy handed, and the fact that the book branched out to deal with other kids and their problems helped as well. In fact, my favorite thing about the book was the way it transitioned between one kid and the next seamlessly. No jerky stops and starts, no ending of sections, announcing “here comes the next problem”. It was seamless and effortless.
But it was also kind of predictable. I knew, and perhaps this is the way the author wanted it, that having the angel coin would somehow 1) bring an angel into the life of the person who has the coin and 2) help them get over their problems. There weren’t any surprises in the process, and the book fell flat because of that. It would have helped if one could connect to the characters (and maybe some will), but they came off as one-dimensional and flat. It was also a little on the message-y side for my taste: be yourself, find joy in your life, and don’t sweat the small stuff. It’s not a bad message, but I would have liked it to be more about the characters and less about What They Learned.
But I’m nitpicking. It’s a sweet little story, one that I think kids will like.
The Book Nut 