historical fiction

Captain Alatriste

2 Comments

by Aturo Perez-Reverte
ages: adultish
First sentence: “He was not the most honest of pious of men, but he was courageous.”

Call this one the Spanish The Three Musketeers. It’s 1623, Madrid, Spain. Alatriste is a former soldier, who has taken to dueling for hire to keep money in his pockets. He is hired one night by some unknown men, high-born from what Alatriste can tell, to take out two Englishmen. Alatriste doesn’t — mostly because one begs for mercy for the other man — and as a result saves the life of the Prince of Wales. This is not a good thing for Alatriste — for the people who wanted the Prince dead are now after Alatriste’s life. Our narrator through this journey is Inigo Balboa, son of a former soldier and collegue of Alatriste and who has become a protege of sorts to the good Captain.

I liked this book, mostly because it felt like (and made references to) The Three Musketeers. Same time, same feel, similar characters (the Duke of Buckingham, who plays a role in Dumas’ work, makes an appearance, and Richelieu is talked about) — from the noble, yet misguided soldier, to the young impetuous lad (though not as impetuous as d’Artangnan), to the corrupt Church official… it’s all there. I liked the narrator, too. He was circular in his telling (I never could figure out who he was telling the story to; he would call them”Your Mercies”), jumping forward and backward in time, and talking so much about the history of Spain that I felt like Madrid and its people were almost another character. But when the action got going — as it occasionally did — it really got going. (Which, in many ways, is also like The Three Musketeers.)

I knew it was the first in a series when I started it, though I thought it would stand on its own more. It doesn’t end in a cliff hanger, but so many storylines and threads are started in this book, and never resolved, that it’s almost imperative that one read the next book. If only to find out why Inigo keeps calling Angelica a “Devil” because she never really did anything…

I’m just not sure how much I care. I may find myself a couple months down the line thinking about it and wondering what the next step in the story is, though. It’s definately one to mull over. Either that, or I’ll just watch the movie, which I didn’t even know existed. Anyone know anything about it??

Yellow Star

5 Comments

by Jennifer Roy
ages 9-12

This is not a happy book. Then again, what book about the Holocaust is a happy book? Granted, this one has a happy ending — it’s a story based on the life of the author’s aunt, and she survived — but getting there is harsh, depressing, and painful. Which means that Roy did an incredible job depicting the life and circumstances of her aunt Syvia’s childhood.

I’m trying to figure out a way to sum up the book without giving a mini-history lesson. For those who don’t know their World War II history, this story of one of the 800 survivors — only 12 of which were children — of the Lodz, Poland ghetto is not a fun one to read. Written in verse, I think to mimic the spare conditions of Syvia’s life, Roy captures the faith and family togetherness in the face of pure hopelessness quite well. There were parts that made me cringe — the Nazis deported all the children at one point, tearing them from their family; it was only through the courage and resorcefulness of Syvia’s father (and herself) that she managed to survive that time — and others that made me cry. I am amazed at Syvia, and at the luck — miracles? providence? chance? — that she had during her life. There were so many (more than 270,000 people lived in the ghetto at one time) that didn’t get her chance.

I’m not sure I can separate a critique of the book (can I say that in this instance I felt the verse was good, but unnecessary?) from the life. It’s a good book — not a great one — with a worthy story. And a story worth reading. Which makes the book worth reading, too.

Shooting the Moon

4 Comments

by Frances O’Roark Dowell
ages 10+

Sometimes, when I read a book, I’m so moved by it that I’m at a loss for words. This is one of those times. This book hit me hard, in the gut. I loved it, I was moved by it… but I have no idea how to write what I’m feeling right now.

Instead, I’ll send you to read Becky’s and Betsy’s reviews. They pretty much sum up everything I’d like to say.

(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.)

The Boy Who Dared

6 Comments


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.)

A Thousand Never Evers

6 Comments

by Shana Burg
ages 12+

Over the years, when I have told people that the year we lived in Mississippi was hell for me, they always ask me what made it so hard. I have struggled to try and find the perfect answer… it’s a combination of moving from a huge city to a smallish rural town combined with the blatant racism of our neighbors that we encountered that made it the worst place on earth for me to live.

Now, when people ask, I’m just going to refer them to this book. Burg — no stranger to the situation, being both Jewish and the daughter of a Civil Rights lawyer — captured, for me at least, the hate that some white people down south had (and have) for African Americans so perfectly that it was both uncanny and disturbing.

It’s the summer of 1963, and Addie Ann just wants to figure out how to survive seventh grade. Then her boss, Old Man Adams, dies, and leaves his six acre garden to all of Kuckachoo — both whites and blacks. Of course, that doesn’t sit well with the mayor or the sheriff, so they conveniently forget to inform the white side of town that Mr. Adams wanted it that way. So, later in the fall, when the garden is discovered to be destroyed, the person that the town decides is at fault is Addie’s Uncle Bump. Being Mississippi, no one expects the trial to come out right, and it’s up to Addie to find the missing pieces in order to set Uncle Bump free.

Actually, this book isn’t that easy to sum up in one paragraph: there’s an awful lot going on. A lot of it centers on the basic conflict between white and black: in employment, in housing, in voter registration, in the administration of justice. Everything negative you’ve ever heard of makes an appearance: the Klu Klux Klan, cross burnings, home bombings. But, I think Addie’s narration has a softening influence — she’s an engaging main character, one who’s vulnerable and tough at the same time. Her voice makes this book worth getting through; without her, it would be too depressing.

It was a very tough book for me to get through at points. But, I think it’s the toughness that comes from a well-written, and honest, book.

(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.)

Little Audrey

Leave a comment

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.)

Little Leap Forward

2 Comments

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.)

How the Garcia Girls Lost Their Accents

6 Comments

by Julia Alvarez
age: adult

Look, a non-Cybil’s book! (And an adult one at that!) I’ve been reading this at nights (by eliminating my TV watching — only one hour of the John Adams miniseries and a 1/2 hour 30 Rock this week…) for my on-line book group. It wasn’t earth shattering, but I did like parts of it.

The four Garcia girls are the daughters and granddaughters of a fairly powerful clan in the Dominican Republic. However, their father, Carlos, was involved in a plot to overthrow the dictator Trujillo, they have to flee to the United States. There, they try to adjust: Papi finding new patients, Mami taking the lead because she went to school in America for a few years. The girls — Carla, Sandi, Yolanda and Sofia — each make their own way, for better or for worse.

The real “gimmick” of this book is that it’s told backwards. You find out how the girls fared, before you find out how they got to where they ended up. It worked for me, at times, but I think, ultimately, it was more confusing than intriguing. I kept having to flip back to figure out which girl ended up which way (the copy I read had notes in the margins just for that purpose; initially, I was annoyed, but by the end, I was grateful). I think I would have rather a story told with flashbacks to their Dominican childhood.

There was much good about the book, though, especially when it addressed the immigrant experience. Alvarez captured both the initial intrigue of the unknown (near the end of the book, the children would long for the new and unexpected and fascinating things brought back for them from the States) to the challenging and finally accepting of their new culture. I enjoyed some of the individual stories, too, from the descriptions of the compound in the Dominican Republic, to the experiences of each of the girls.

In the end, though the thing that struck me most was that Alvarez writes with honesty and with love for the characters and both their countries. The book made me think about all the immigrant experiences, and the challenges they face when they arrive in a new country. Which is something worth thinking about.

The Walls of Cartagena

Leave a comment

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

2 Comments

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.)