by Rodman Philbrick
ages: 9+
First sentence: “My name is Homer P. Figg, and these are my true adventures.”
Review copy provided by the publisher.
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Life is not good for Homer P. Figg. His father was felled by a tree. His Dear Mother passed away, leaving Homer and his other brother, Harold, in the care of their uncle, Squint, who — to write an enormous understatement — doesn’t treat them well. Now Squint has illegally sold Harold to the Union Army, and it’s up to Homer to find him and bring him home.

These are his adventures. (Mostly true, anyway.)

And, boy are they adventures.

From getting caught by a couple of slave hunters (in Maine, of all places), and rescued by a Quaker to becoming a part of a traveling circus, this is one a rip-roaring adventure. Sure, it’s a Civil War book; there’s the same old Civil War themes of slavery, fighting, traitors, and death. But it didn’t feel like a Civil War book; instead, it’s more of an adventure story with a Civil War backdrop. (Bonus plus: Joshua Chamberlin, my absolute favorite Civil War character, made an appearance!) But, more than the unusual take on the war, the best part of the book was Homer. He’s is not only a winning character, he’s a wonderful narrator, even if he is (admittedly) a bit of a liar. It’s not a lying book like, say, Justine Larbalestier’s Liar is: the lying is more for comic effect, something which adds to the unique charm of Homer’s character. But, it was that dash of comedy (and, yes, lying) that made the pages just fly by.

And it was Homer’s charm that completely won me over. The cadence of the sentences, the word choices all lend itself to the whole charming tale. I’m not often a visual reader, but while reading this I had a definite picture of Homer. And I could totally wrap him up — spite, spit, dirt and all — and stick him in my pocket.

Which means that this one is a keeper.

(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.)

by Ronald Kidd
ages: 10+
First sentence: “There were Martians in the backyard.”
Review copy provided by the publisher.
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It’s 1955. It’s the middle of the Cold War. There are frightening things all around, from the threat of nuclear war, to McCarthy’s Communist hunting, to the monsters in the movies.

And in Sierra Madre, California, Paul and his friends — Arnie, Crank and Oz — are in the thick of it all. Especially when the filming of the greatest B movie of them all — Invasion of the Body Snatchers — comes to their hometown. Being movie buffs, they are drawn to the set, which, in turn, opens up a whole can of worms: espionage, scientists, blacklisting, movie magic. You name it, it’s probably in there.

This book is wild and fun. It feels like a B movie: a bit cheezy, a bit over-the-top, but in the end, quite lovable. Kidd’s writing style flows — even if sometimes the narrative time line gets a little bit fuzzy, flipping between movies, real time and flashbacks — and Paul is a winner of a character. He’s concerned about his friends, he wants everyone to get along, and yet he’s not willing to give in to all the conspiracy theories and fear that are all around him.

There’s nothing really deep or life-changing about the book. It’s mostly just fun times and monster movies. Which is really just fine.

(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.)

by Linda Beatrice Brown
ages: 10+
First sentence: “Luke took the key out of the sideboard drawer in the dining room, took a rifle and put the key back very carefully.”
Review copy provided by the publisher.
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Fiction about children during wartime is pretty overdone, in my humble opinion. Do we really need another book that illustrates the horrors of war, the trials that the children go through, the pain of separation? Probably not. But in this case, I’ll make an exception: Brown’s book takes the generic child-in-war story and moves it beyond the cliche to something else. Something more gripping, more lyrical, more — dare I say it? — poignant.

Luke is twelve years old. He hates his master, he hats the South, and he is running away to join the Union and fight to end slavery and free his people. Daylily is ten. She’s been freed by her master, but in the journey north with her Gramma and Buttercup (whom we never really find out much about), the two are brutally murdered. We’re never quite sure if they’re murdered by Union or Confederate soldiers, but the fact of their murder renders Daylily silent and bruised. She’s lucky to be left with her life, and she knows it. Caswell is seven, and he’s the son of a wealthy landowner who’s off fighting for the Confederacy. He’s lost in the woods, trying to find a neighbor’s house and his Mamadear who was carted away in the night because she was in labor.

The three manage to meet in the woods, going north, and make an unlikely trio. Yet dire circumstances make strange bedfellows. And when they meet Betty Strong Feet, things get even more unusual. The three children learn about survival, and working together, but most of all about love and friendship in the face of adversity.

The plot arc is huge: not only do we follow the children through the few months during their time in the woods and with Betty, but we follow their paths for the ten years after they got separated. This didn’t quite work for me: I felt that the book got preachy and too altruistic near the end; on the one hand, it was important to see how the children had changed because of their experiences together, but — on the other hand — perhaps it would have been nice to leave that to the imagination.

Minor quibble with the ending aside, the book was lyrical, descriptive and quite powerful. A fresh look at a overdone subject.

(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.)

by Richard Peck
ages: 9-12
First sentence: “You could see from here the house was haunted.”
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I’m not a big Richard Peck fan. Sure, I’ve read his other Grandma Dowdel books, but while I think I found them charming, I think that’s about all I found them to be. Not exactly thrilling or touching or even memorable.

That said, I really wanted to love this one. Perhaps it’s because it’s that time of year, and it’s vaguely a Christmas book. Perhaps it’s because I’ve heard so much good about Peck over the years that I wanted to see if I could figure out what I was missing.

It was a good book: charming, like I remember the others being; funny at times, poignant at others. It’s full of fun and interesting and mildly skanky characters; historical details from the 1950s, from Elvis going into the Army to the Russian scare. There’s a lovely, hilarious Christmas program and an overall moral to the story. There’s bullies and new friends, there’s adjusting to small town life by our narrator, Bobby, one of the new Methodist parson’s kids. Yet — like so often when you have expectations from a book — there was something missing. Something to make the book soar. Becky has more thoughts on that — and she hit upon much of what I was feeling.

Perhaps some of Peck’s other books are 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.)

and Other Lies Muscle Man McGinty Told Me
by Nan Marino
ages: 9-12
First sentence: “Muscle Man McGinty is a squirrelly runt, a lying snake, and a pitiful excuse for a ten-year-old.”
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Not quite sure where to start on this one.

On the one hand: it was an interesting story of loss and tension and dealing with differences. Tamara’s best friend, Kebsie, has just moved out of her foster house and back in with her mother. Without saying goodbye to Tamara. In her place, Tamara has Muscle Man McGinty, who loves (loves!) to tell stories.

On the other hand: in a book that is so thoroughly driven by the main character, it helps if that character is sympathetic. I understand that she was hurting. I understand that she was resentful. I understand that she had annoying, stupid, bad parents. But. I. Hated. Tamara. Wanted to smack her upside the head and tell her to get a better attitude.

On the one hand: it captures the essence of a 1960s summer, from endless games of kickball, to the anticipation of the first moonwalk, to the tension about the Vietnam War, to the joys of sitting on a roof and howling at the moon.

On the other hand: I thought Marino could have been better with the middle one — it was a small undercurrent that swelled in the last few pages. It was unevenly paced: I wanted more oomph, more tension, more — oh, more like Shooting the Moon, which I thought captured much of these same themes but did it better.

On the one hand: It’s a quick read. And some kids will really like both Tamara and Muscle Man’s stories.

On the other hand: that kid is not me.

(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.)

by Mary Ann Hoberman
ages: 8-11
First sentence: “You would have thought it was the best news in the world.”
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It’s the Depression, and Allie’s father has lost his job in New Haven, Connecticut. He has, however, found another job in Stamford. However, that means the family — Allie, her brother Danny, and her parents — will be moving away from everything Allie has known.

However, when Allie finds out that they will be living on a street called Strawberry Hill, everything will be okay. Won’t it?

This is the story of how Allie came to accept the inevitable, learn to like her new home, and make friends. It’s a quiet story, somewhat predictable, that follows Allie’s ups and downs over the first year that she lives in Stamford. There’s new places to discover, there’s a new school class to get used to, there’s disappointments, there’s pretty mean girls (there’s ALWAYS pretty mean girls), there’s new best friends, there’s unexpected friends.

What really made this book stand out for me, though, was the undercurrent of Jewishness. Allie and her family are Jewish — something that, unlike in, say, All-of-a-Kind Family, isn’t readily noticeable or even prevalent, but nonetheless is still there. The only holiday we get is Hanukkah, and other than a few mentions of temple, that’s pretty much it. Except for an instance of Antisemitism. That, in particular, I found intriguing, especially when Allie’s mom lays into the kid. It was the most obvious sign of the times — aside from a few mentions of lost jobs and hobos, the book could have been contemporary — and one that I thought was done quite well.

Overall, though, the book could have been better. According to the author blurb, Hoberman is a poet of some renown, and I couldn’t help but thinking that the language of the book just fell flat for me. I expected more of a poet, I guess. Something more, well, poetical.

That said, it is an interesting look at the Depression-era, and a nice story of friendship.

(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.)