by Susan Campbell Bartoletti
ages 12+

I’m not sure how many people know the story of Helmuth Hübener. He was a boy during the rise of Hitler to power, and a teenager during the war. He was a member of my church, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints (the Mormons). He was increasingly disturbed by Hitler and the Nazis and the war, and decided to do something about it: distribute leaflets and paphlets, being helped by two of his friends, with information gained from the BBC. For which he was arrested. And executed.

He was 17.

I was familiar with Hübener’s story before reading this book; soon after I left to college, my two brothers were in a production of a play about Hübener’s efforts and outcome. I never saw the production, but I had one brother playing an SS officer and the other was one of Hübener’s friends (Karl Schnibbe). Needless to say, it was a pretty emotional event for everyone (including my mother, who sat in the audience and watched one son torture the other!), something so monumental that it made it into letters to me.

Needless to say, I was pretty interested in this book, not only because of the church connection but because of the play. Especially since I only knew the barest outline of Hübener’s life and what he had done, or tried to do. And on top of all that, there’s issues of church and state, and patriotism and doing one’s best. Not to mention is freedom of speech more important than obeying the law. It’s a complex story.

Bartoletti handled the whole thing marvelously. Told in flashback from Hübener’s reminsinces on his last day of life, she basically covers 10 years of his life… from Hitler’s initial rise to power in 1932 through to Hübener’s death in 1942. She treated Hübener’s beliefs and our church well, and accurately, and never made anyone out to be more than human. Hitler was evil, of course, but Bartoletti balanced the evil of Hitler’s deeds with the desire of the German people to save face, and their belief that Hitler’s promises would make everything better. She also addressed the complexities of obeying the law versus doing what one believes to be right, and Hübener’s efforts to fight the propeganda of the Nazis.

The only thing that I didn’t like — and it’s a minor quibble — is that because this is a book for younger readers, Bartoletti glanced over a lot of the harshness and violence. I felt like the trial and torture and prisonment of Hübener was glanced over, and almost downplayed. I think I would have liked a bit more, but that would have made this book more young adult than I think Barotoletti was going for. (Though my library has it shelved in the YA section.)

As I said, though, that’s a minor quibble. The afterword is fascinating, and the book is gripping. And I think this is one World War II story that deserves to be wider known.

(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 Ruth White
ages 9-12 (though my library has it shelved in the Teen section…)

There are some books that just floor you when you read them. Either they’re so fabulous that they draw you into their world. Or because the so horrible that you wonder how on earth people existed like that. Little Audrey is the latter. When I read The Glass Castle this summer, I was moved by Jeannette Walls’s courage in dealing with her less-than-ideal living situation. I had much the same reaction to White’s book: it’s deeply saddening that anyone would have to live like they did, and it’s remarkable that they survived and thrived as much as they did.

Little Audrey is the story of a part of White’s childhood. Told (and somewhat fictionalized) though the eyes of White’s oldest sister, Audrey, this is the story of the White family in a mining “holler” in southwest Virginia in 1948. It’s not a pretty life: their father is a drunk, taking the scrips (they don’t get money) and spending most of it on alcohol. They’re barely making it from week to week. Audrey’s recovering from the scarlet fever, and is supposed to be gaining weight, but it’s hard when there’s not enough food to go around. Yet, through it all, and through the tragedy that happens in their life, they find hope. Audrey learns about the inner strength of her mother. She also finds kindness in those around her, from her neighbors to her schoolteacher to her friend, Virgil. It’s an inspiring and hopeful book, something which you don’t expect from the subject matter.

This is a book for younger readers, after all, and White only glances on the wreck that was her father. It’s probably a good thing — Audrey was young enough not to really notice or understand what was going on, but at the same time, she’s an incredibly perceptive girl. She knows her mother is trying to make do even though her father is trying to drink them all into oblivion. She knows her father beats her mother. She knows when to stay out of his way. And she knows that she will make do in spite of it all.

It’s a good book, one that surprised me how much I was drawn in and moved by it. And the fact that it’s a true story made it all the more powerful.

(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 Guo Yue
ages 7/8-12

Little Leap Forward is a boy in Bejing, China in 1966. It is the height of Chairman Mao’s reign, but it hasn’t really touched Leap Forward’s life much. He still plays by the river with his best friend, Little-Little, and he still enjoys his silkworms and the music he hears around him. One day, the boys capture a little yellow bird, which Leap Forward calls Little Cloud. He takes the bird home, intending on taming it and enjoying it’s music. The bird, once caged, won’t sing. Then the Red Guards arrive and Leap Forward’s life — and perspective — change.

This is a small autobiographical novel that while not detailed, I think caputures something different about the Cultural Revolution and China during that time. Leap Forward isn’t running from anything, he isn’t being oppressed; he’s mostly just trying to be a kid. Yet, because of the bird and a bamboo flute and a desire, his life was changed. There is a simple humanity and kindness to the book that I don’t remember finding in the other books I’ve read about this time.

Additonally, I loved the paintings, done by Clare Follows, Gue’s wife; they’re simple, yet beautiful. Something that I could spend time absorbing. But I have to admit, what I enjoyed most was the author’s note at the end where Gue tells part of his story. It’s touching and sad and sweet and just perfect. He as also released a CD called Music, Food and Love, which I’d love to find and listen to. He sounds like a remarkable man, one with a fascinating story to tell.

(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 Julia Durango
ages 10+

Calepino has an easy life, especially for one born as a slave. Taken in by Dona Isabel after his mother died when he was born, Calepino has learned to speak eleven languages, can read in several, and spends most of his days lazing around the Dona’s house. That is, until he turns 13. Then Father Pedro, the local Jesuit priest, decides that Calepino needs to earn his keep. So, he is drafted to help translate for the captured Africans who have arrived to be sold into slavery. It’s there that he meets Mara and Tomi, who, along with Dr. Lopez and the San Lazuro leper colony, will change the course of Calepino’s life.

I liked this book — it’s a good, solid piece of historical fiction. Many of the characters, including Father Pedro who was canonized by the Catholic Church in the 1800s (according to the author’s note), were either real, or based on real people. Durango touched upon the evils of slavery, the horror of leprosy, and the Spanish Inquisition and did so in a manner that was serious, but humane and delicate. You understood the importance and horror of the events, but without going into detail that a child couldn’t handle. It’s a good introduction to the topics and the time period, one in which I could see spurring many discussions. In addition, I really liked Calepino as a narrator. He was a likable person, and an eventually diligent and willing one, which made the circumstances that he found himself in (and the ones he propelled) all the more compelling.

Good reading.

(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.)

Tennyson lives in the backwoods of Mississippi and is perfectly happy. That is, until her mother, Sadie disappears. Her father, Emery Fontaine, decides to go looking for her and leaves Tennyson and her sister, Hattie, with their Aunt Henrietta, who runs the Fontaine family house, Aigredoux. Once there, Tennyson is faced with an aunt who can’t live in the present, a house that’s falling apart, the fact that her mother may never come back, and most interesting (and haunting) of all, the dreams of her family’s past that she keeps having.

This book is a hard one to pin down. I liked it; there’s a lot going for it in terms of mood and Tennyson is a good, strong main character. I liked the portrait of the deep South, both in the 1930s and the glimpses into the height of the Civil War. It’s full of tragedy and mood and discovery and dreams. I think out of all of it, I liked the dreams the best — Blume captured the essense of the High South, the grand ladies, the southern mannerisms, the Gone-With-The-Wind fierceness in the face of destruction and betrayal. I found the dream sequences fascinating.

Real life was less so. I was pained by Sadie; I cringed even though Blume just skirted the top of the iceberg when it came to Sadie’s mothering. I felt so terrible for the girls, and for Emery who was just trying to keep it all together. There were so many deeper issues in the book; I’m not sure how many would come across to a child reading this, or if it’s just my life and wide reading that makes the neglect and jealousy and betrayal pop out at me.

For that reason, though, the ending worked for me. I could see what Blume was doing with it. Yes, it ended abruptly, but I think this part of Tennyson’s life was finished, and she was moving on. Therefore, the book needed to end, even if the story wasn’t ended. I could see, though, how it can be unsettling, leaving all the ends dangling, the story unfinished.

It’s at the very least a good mood book, and a good Southern book. And a very good one for a cool fall day.

(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.)

True: There are a LOT of books about World War II out there.

True: There is also a lot of books about kids dealing with war and the effects it has on daily life.

True: Jimmy’s Stars is one of those books.

However, even though it’s a WWII book about a child, Ellie (age 11), dealing with how the war touches everyday American life, it doesn’t come off as trite, or overdone, or sentimental. True: it’s a very touching portrait of a girl trying to come to grips with her brother, Jimmy, entering the war. It’s simultaneously a very simple book and a very complex one.

The thing that carries this book from the beginning, is Ellie. She’s so real, so believable, so heart-breakingly hopeful that she literally leaps off the page and into your heart. You want her life to be okay, everything to go on as normal, and yet nothing can because of the war. It touches her life in so many ways — from the big: Jimmy going away, her Aunt Toots coming to live with them, her mother and sister going to work; to the little: to the dreaded summer canning, a girl’s bragging about her brothers being heros.

Interestingly enough it’s both an anti-war book (war does things to people that aren’t very good; is war really worth it), as well as one that subtly chastizes those who don’t appreciate what the soldiers — especially the ones who were just the line soldiers — have done (and do) for the safety of the country (and the world). It’s not often you see those two sentiments paired in a book, but it works well here. And it made me think not only about those who served in World War II, but those that are currently serving. And the sacrifices their families make so I can type here on my computer in relative saftey and freedom, telling you to go read this book.

You won’t regret it.

(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.)