Reviews from Bookshelf middle-grade

I'd describe this as Cormac McCarthy for kids. Set in the bayous of Southeast Texas where even today there are plenty of alligators and creepy loners who live in the sticks (as a Texan I can say these things), horribly sad, violent things take place in this book. Kittens are drowned, dogs are chained, daughters are betrayed by jealous mothers. I'm not sure I'd read this to my child, and it made me cry, but it also has a kind of lyric beauty that is rare in books period and rarer still in books marketed to children. Don't be fooled by the cartoony cover and illustrations. This is a serious, dark book.

Aside from the silly title, this is a great title for readers fifth-grade and up. We get a couple of months in the lives of Kirsten and Walker, who--despite their different skin colors--have more in common besides both being late on the first day of school. Richly drawn main characters live and move surrounded by less-nuanced but believable secondary stock figures (librarian, 7th-grade mean girl, etc). There's a bit of a mystery to be unraveled, but the core of this book is about finding one's place and finding the way to stand up for one's self--not in some big, showy, moralizing way, but in smaller gestures: a note on the teacher's desk, a clever comment to avoid the mean-girl's intrusion into personal issues, a message scratched in a secret spot on the belly of a mom's sports car.

Looking forward to reading more from this author.

Solid middle-grade novel--endearing characters and solid plot movement. Felt very wholesome, although that's probably because I'm used to the hard-core grit of YA. :)

Sweet story of dealing with a sister's illness in a Japanese immigrant family.

This was an interesting way to learn more about the Scopes Trial and how it was the brainchild of local businessmen who wanted to put their town on the map. The narrator, however, was too ingenuous for me. Frances seemed like a very, very young fifteen; I wish Kidd had given her voice to a twelve-year-old instead. In fact, the freedom of movement Frances enjoys seems more appropriate for a kid than a young woman of the period.

Recommended on audio.

This is a very special book, and not just because it received a starred review from Kirkus Reviews calling it "a stirring and thought-provoking account of an unsung figure in 20th-century American history." In these pages, Lewis Michaux emerges as both a flawed human being living in difficult times and as a player in some of the most important events of African-American and American life over 30 years.

As a novel "in documents," No Crystal Stair weaves together actual materials (articles, FBI files, pamphlets, bits of poetry) with journal-type entries from Lewis Michaux, his family members, prominent authors, and many other figures (some historical, some imagined) that he crosses paths with in the pages of the novel. For example, we hear from the banker who turns him down for a loan when he wants to start the bookstore; from his sister-in-law who disapproves of his politics and doubts his faith; from authors on the rise, like Nikki Giovanni; from reporters; and (my favorite!) from teenagers who get turned onto books because of his recommendations.

Not all the voices in the novel are perfectly distinct, but that's okay. Because by the end, we've got a gorgeous portrait of a life that's full of nuggets of wisdom, little-known facts about life in Harlem, spot-on portrayals of debates on race and civil rights (integration or independence? accomodation or confrontation? violence or patience?), and anecdotes that you'll want to tuck into the pockets of your heart. A few of my favorite quotations from the book:

Lewis: "If a sexy book gets them in the door, I'll show them a sexy book. Then I'll show them Douglass or DuBois or something else of value. If you're in the book business, you've got to sell books."

Lewis: "I found out who the real Lord is. That is the landlord. He comes to see me every month. So praying doesn't get it. Work gets it. And I'm working hard."

Elder Lightfoot, Lewis's brother: "If there's no devil, who gets the credit for raising all the hell?” and “Be willing to help anybody who is down, but don't go down helping him.”

Snooze (teenage male): "Man, how does Hughes know this stuff? It's like he's inside my head. Like he's reading my mind. I, too, sing America. I read it over and over. It carves itself deep in my mind 'til it sticks. I can't shake it. Don't want to."

Lewis: "Until the neglected and the rejected are accepted and respected, there's gonna be no damn peace . . . nowhere! Only a tree will stand still while it's being chopped down" (after assassination of Martin Luther King, Jr.).

This is a book with much, much heart. In addition to being lovingly executed, it's flawlessly researched. It's a beautiful example of multi-genre research that teachers can share with students of all ages. Tom Romano--the guru of multi-genre research--would be thrilled with this book.

The core narrative here centers on one family at the beginning of the civil war and how their lives are changed when Delfin, a woman from New Orleans, and her companion join their Southern Illinois household. The gradually unraveling mystery surrounding Delfin provides an unusual perspective on race dynamics and cultural differences in this era. However, the central story is framed by a skimpy account of a boy returning with his father (Delfin's son) to visit the old homestead. This device adds nothing to the "real" story, and neither the boy nor his father emerge as real characters due to the sparseness of the framing narrative. It feels like something tacked on to work the book up to a publishable length, which one wishes a renowned author like Peck would be above.

Graham's hands let him do some crazy things. Yes, Graham comes off as a bit dense, but there's something to be said for this: extraordinary gifts are sometimes more extraordinary because of the ordinariness of those who possess them.

I recommend this on audio--great British narrator.

I admired Jordan Sonnenblick before I even knew his books. Like me, he put in a number of years teaching in the public schools of Houston through Teach For America. Plus he's a funny, unassuming guy who is unstinting when it comes to sharing his experiences. Among other things, he gave me heaps of advice about managing publicity and pulling off high-quality author visits.

Maybe all this awesomeness contributed to the moment of fear that struck my first-time-author heart: what if I don't like the work as much as I like the person?

Not to fear, though: Drums, Girls, and Dangerous Pie and the companion novel After Ever After hit all the right notes. These are middle-grade fiction at its best. Put it out there for guys or girls. Serve it up in class or outside. These books are real without crossing any of those tricky boundaries that are so worrisome for librarians and teachers of the younger crowd.

I accidentally listened to these books out of order, hearing Jeffrey's story in After Ever After before Steven's in Drums, Girls, and Dangerous Pie. It didn't really matter, though, because After Ever After really is a companion book, not a sequel, and nothing is lost for readers who haven't read D,G, and DP. The self-deprecating humor and general wholesomeness of the guys is a common thread, but Steven and Jeffrey's challenges, strengths, and outlooks are appropriately distinguished. Together, the two novels offer a view of how childhood cancer affects--and continues to affect--families.

For all their differences, both Steven and Jeffrey are sweet but not TOO sweet boys. The books are clean but not squeaky; Sonnenblick's pitch-perfect voice keeps the reader from ever thinking for a second that the writer is writing at a younger audience. This is writing for middle-grade readers at its best.

I know I mentioned the humor already, but really. Really. So funny. Like Tad in After Ever After calling his little sister the "emergency replacement child" that his parents cooked up just in case he croaked. In light of my colossal inability to generate humor, this kind of funny floors me.

Readers from fourth to ninth grade would likely enjoy Heidi's adventures and quest for answers to that question young people (all of us, really) wish to answer: Who am I?

For Heidi, this question is more literal than figurative. Her mentally disabled mother has a vocabulary of 23 words, so for obvious reasons she can't help much. Bernadette, the neighbor who raised Heidi and helps care for her mother, knows little more. She found Heidi's mom (who, when asked her name, says only "So Be It") cowering in the apartment hallway with infant Heidi in her arms. A sufferer of agoraphobia, Bernadette welcomes the two into her life.

And it's a good life, if unconventional, for Heidi. That is until the list of things she doesn't know about her mother and herself becomes too long to ignore, and Heidi goes in search of the one place she knows her mother has been--a home called Hilltop House in Liberty, NY.

The book is totally free of the foul language and sexual awakening that are almost requisite in most YA books, so younger readers (who usually prefer an older protag, anyway) won't encounter any too-mature material. Still, the narrative is sophisticated enough and the hungers that motivate Heidi are universal enough that even older readers will find much to like here. The book has a firm ethical core without being preachy or treacly, no small accomplishment. In fact, I think this "juvenile" text succeeds where a YA title with similar themes (_Defining Dulcie_ by Paul Acampora) fails.

Don't miss this graceful and engaging title, which presents a compelling plot without sacrificing character development or subtlety.