Wednesday, April 16, 2014

2015 Contenders, Point/Counterpoint Edition: Lord and Lady Bunny - Almost Royalty! by Mr. and Mrs. Bunny (Polly Horvath, translator)



Point: Tess Goldwasser, Rabbit Enthusiast and Children's Librarian, St. Mary's County Libary

In the thrilling sequel to Mr. and Mrs. Bunny Detectives Extraordinaire, Mrs. Bunny longs for a new hat, which, of course, means a new occupation (you’ll remember the Bunnies became detectives mainly for the fedoras). What does Mrs. Bunny want to be? Queen. Of course. So begins the laugh-after-laugh shenanigans of Lord and Lady Bunny: Almost Royalty.

In order to achieve Mrs. Bunny’s dream, our heroes must travel to England. They board a cruise ship, only to run into their dear friend Madeline! Madeline (we’ll remember) is the clever daughter of neo-hippies Flo and Mildred, who happen to also be traveling to England, as they’ve inherited a Sweet Shoppe, and Flo believes the universe wants him to spread a love of sugar as far and well as he can, after ingesting a fortuitous box of pop tarts.

And that’s not all! Along Mr. and Mrs. Bunny’s journey to almost royalty, there are appearances from most beloved characters from the first installment, like Mrs. Treaclebunny, and a certain expert in animal communication (and rare coins apparently), as well as JK Rowling, Polly Horvath herself, everybody’s favorite floss-appreciating Prince of Wales, and some extremely stuck up hedgehogs.

It all sounds ridiculous, but would we want anything less from a book about bunnies by Polly Horvath? Bottom line: the book is smart and sweet. It’s genuinely funny, and while some of it may go over kids’ heads, the Newbery basically defines “child appeal” as appealing to any child, not all, or even most, children, and I personally know a lot of savvy children who will love this book (probably many of the same who enjoyed Flora and Ulysses).

Now, I turn it over to Rachael, who will discuss the experience of listening to Bunnies on audio, (and cover any points I missed)

Counterpoint: Rachael Stein, Blog Slacker and Audiobook Listener


Devoted About to Mock readers may remember that I loved Mr. and Mrs. Bunny - Detectives Extraordinaire!  They may also remember, however, that I called it an "Only Skink," by which I meant that it was... difficult to categorize. Difficult to evaluate. Difficult to shoehorn into any given set of awards criteria. I can muster up some sympathy for the casual reader who picks up Mr. and Mrs. Bunny, not knowing what she is in for. In for what she is. For what she is in? 

If you've returned for a second helping of Horvath's lunatic lapine world, however, you deserve exactly what you get. And what do you get, exactly? More! More bunnies, more hippies, and more royalty - plus vegetable candy, uppity hedgehogs, and a trip to jolly olde England. As Mrs. Bunny notes, travel is terribly educational: “And Mrs. Treaclebunny has promised to speak English from now on as well. In fact, she said when she goes to England, that's all she speaks anyway because the animals speak English there. She says anyone who has read children's books with animals in them set in England would know that. Is The Wind in the Willows written in Mole with a little Ratty thrown in? Is Winnie-the-Pooh written in Bear? No, it's English, because that's what the animals there speak. I didn't know that before. Travel is so broadening.”

Polly Horvath narrates the Lord and Lady Bunny audiobook herself, and I'm afraid she's a bit of an Only Skink in this area as well. As a new member of the ALSC Notable Children's Recordings committee, I'm learning to evaluate audiobooks according to performance and production, rather than plot and character. With my committee member hat on, I'm forced to concede that Horvath's narration is a little breathy and her character voices are inconsistent. Compared to someone like Katherine Kellgren, she's kind of amateurish. When I put on my avid listener hat, though, I must make the argument that none of those things matter in this case! No one but Horvath could adequately narrate these books, and in its own Skinkish way, her narration is pitch-perfect. As the people who heard me laughing out loud in the grocery store can attest - not to mention Sam, who had to put up with me walking around the house saying, "I'm, like, the Dalai Lama of sugar!"

So there. 

You're not going to see this one on the Newbery list, nor, most likely, on the Notable Recordings. Oh well. As Polly Horvath's fictional counterpart says, "Life is cruel. Carry chocolate bars." 

Published in February by Schwartz and Wade and Listening Library.  

Tuesday, April 15, 2014

2015 Contenders: West of the Moon, by Margi Preus

It may be my biases as a reader speaking, but I think folklore makes an excellent vehicle for discussing the subject of immigration. Folktales and myths are full of journeys, transformations, and unpredictable dangers. Sometimes the heroine of a folktale finds that the tools that have worked in her old life are no longer useful in the dark forest or cursed castle. Just as often, however, she finds that her whole life has been preparing her to defeat this dragon - that she has been building an arsenal without even realizing it.

Astri, the Norwegian protagonist of West of the Moon, is in the latter situation. Left behind when her father emigrated to America, separated from her younger sister and sold to a surly goatherd by her greedy aunt, her situation feels hopeless. Like Westley storming the castle with a wheelbarrow and Holocaust Cloak in The Princess Bride, though, she makes the most of her limited resources - even stealing when necessary. As Astri escapes from the clutches of the goat man and toward an America that feels as mythical as the land of Soria Moria, Preus interweaves her story with the Norwegian folktale, "East of the Sun and West of the Moon." As Astri tells the tale to herself and her sister, it serves as a bridge between her past and her future, while also shedding light on the deeper meaning of her journey.

This is, unquestionably, a first-rate novel. Preus easily hits all of the Newbery criteria high points. Her prose style is clear and lively, and the first-person present-tense narration is well-suited to the urgency of the plot. Settings are especially well-delineated, and Preus includes just enough sensory details to ground the story in a strong sense of place(s) without slowing down the pace. Characters are complex for the most part, though some of the secondary ones feel stock, and Astri and her sister show significant growth and development even in the space of a relatively short novel.

The tension between myth and reality is what really makes West of the Moon "distinguished" though - in both the senses of being "individually distinct" and "made conspicuous by excellence." I don't think I've ever seen folklore used in exactly this way, and that alone is enough to make me pay attention, especially when it often feels like children's literature is constantly repeating itself. But Preus doesn't just do something new here - she does it well. In her hands, a single folktale becomes a lens through which to view not just one girl, but a moment in the life of a culture.

As I read, my main question about West of the Moon had to do with its audience. There are some events in the first half of the book - most notably an attempted rape - that made me wonder if this is really more of a young adult novel than a juvenile one. In the end, though it walks that line as precariously as Far, Far Away does, I do think Astri's naivete and the youthful optimism of the tone places it in the juvenile zone. If the Newbery committee agrees, we may well see a sticker on this one in January. 

Published in April 2014 by Amulet Books (Abrams).


Monday, April 7, 2014

2015 Contenders: A Snicker of Magic, by Natalie Lloyd

The town of Midnight Gulch, Tennessee used to be plumb full of magic, but now all that’s left are traces – a snicker of magic here and there.  When Felicity Juniper Pickle rolls into town with her family in a beat-up green van known as the Pickled JalapeƱo, she’s not looking for magic, she’s looking for a place she can put down roots.  She’s hoping that Midnight Gulch, her mama’s hometown, will be the place where her mama’s wandering heart will finally settle down.  And despite the fact that, as Felicity herself says, “Making new friends, in a new place, when you’re the new girl, is harder than fractions,” she soon encounters Jonah, a sweet and generous boy who shares secrets, granola bars, and stories, and the two become fast friends.  It’s Jonah who encourages Felicity to participate in the school talent show.  Felicity has her own snicker of magic: the ability to see words representing the thoughts and feelings of people around her, and to shape those words into poems.  Unfortunately, when it comes to expressing her words in public, she becomes tongue-tied and awkward.  But if participating in the talent show will keep her family in Midnight Gulch for just a little longer, she’s willing to try it.  In the meantime, she learns about an old curse, the one that emptied the town of most of its magic, and which may have had a profound effect on her own family.  If Felicity finds a way to break the curse, will the magic come back?  And will Felicity and her family be able to stay in Midnight Gulch?

Stories like this one immediately bring to mind words like quirky and folksy, and it is both of those things.  However, the elegance of the language and the author’s brilliant ability to string words together elevates this book above other quirky, folksy Southern stories.  Consider, for instance, Felicity’s observations in the following paragraph:

“A rebel beam of sunlight pushed through the clouds, shining through the rain beads stuck to the screen and glass.  And then that strange, golden rain light shone warm and pretty over Oliver’s books.  I wondered if the sun had missed the books, had waited as long as it possibly could to shine over those spines again.  I knew how that felt, to love a story so much you didn’t just want to read it, you wanted to feel it.”

Like Felicity, this book revels in words and language.  In fact, if it has a fault, it’s that occasionally the pacing is sacrificed in favor of intricately described detail.  Characters are lovingly drawn – maybe a bit too lovingly in some cases (is wheelchair-bound Jonah a little too perfect?  Is Felicity’s little sister Frannie Jo precocious beyond believability?).  But the story never gets completely bogged down in sentiment, and there are nice, subtle touches of humor that keep the mood light.

I’m going to admit: I’m not a fan of the folksy Southern story.  So, when a book like this causes me to sit up and pay attention. I know it’s one to keep an eye on.  It’s early yet to be making predictions, but I’d be surprised if we don’t hear more buzz about this book when award season rolls around.

Published in February by Scholastic

*****

Today's guest reviewer is Misti Tidman, Children's Librarian at the Licking County Library System (Ohio).  She is a fellow 2014 Morris Seminar participant, and blogs at Kid Lit Geek.
 

Tuesday, March 11, 2014

2015 Contenders: Babe Conquers the World, by Rich Wallace and Sandra Neil Wallace

There's nothing sports fans like better than a good argument, so allow me to start one: who was the single best athlete in American history? Jim Thorpe? Jessie Owens? Jackie Robinson? Bo Jackson? Michael Phelps?

There's no definitive answer to the question, of course, but let's consider one other possibility: Babe Didrikson Zaharias. Over the course of her remarkable career, the Babe led her team to a national championship in basketball, won Olympic gold medals in the javelin and the 80m hurdles (as well as a silver in the high jump), won national titles in the javelin and the baseball throw, single-handedly won the national track and field championship (entering as a one-woman team, she scored more points than any other team), barnstormed as a baseball player, won a league championship as a bowler, co-founded the LPGA, and won multiple major golf championships -- including the 1954 US Women's Open, a title she captured after cancer surgery, while wearing a colostomy bag. She was a six-time winner of the Associated Press Woman Athlete of the Year, over a mind-breaking 22-year span (1932, 1945, 1946, 1947, 1950, 1954). Essentially, she was simultaneously LeBron James, Carl Lewis, Satchel Paige, and Tiger Woods.

Babe Conquers the World is an accessible yet detailed look at the life of this extraordinary athlete. It covers her many triumphs, as well as her challenges. Much like Amelia Lost from a few years ago, Babe Conquers the World doesn't shy away from its subject's faults -- Zaharias wasn't a particularly easy person to get along with, and the book notes this, while at the same time pointing out how difficult it was to be a female athlete in the first half of the twentieth century, and how hard Zaharias had to fight simply to have the opportunity to make a living.

The book is exhaustively documented and sourced; anyone who wants to follow the authors' research won't have any difficulty. It also includes a wealth of archival photographs, and though that's not of concern to the Newbery, it might be of interest to the Sibert committee.

I'm not sure it will be, as Babe Conquers the World isn't a "literary" work in the mold of something by Steve Sheinkin or Russell Freedman. Its odds of winning the Newbery, especially in what is shaping up to be a highly competitive year, are probably zero. But it's a great introduction to a fascinating figure, and I'd definitely purchase it and talk it up.


Publication in March by Calkins Creek Books




Thursday, March 6, 2014

2015 Contenders: Nightingale's Nest, by Nikki Loftin


“Little” John Fischer has a lot more on his plate than the average twelve-year-old. His family can barely make ends meet, and his sister died not too long ago, which he believes is his fault alone. When he hears the beautiful, healing song of a bird while out helping his father clear trees, he is surprised to find that the song is not from a bird, but a fragile little girl named Gayle. Little John discovers that Gayle is the newest foster child of mean Mrs. Cutlin, and after seeing the way the family treats her, he is determined to protect her. But when a rich man known as The Emperor (real name: Mr. King) offers to pay him in return for recording Gayle’s voice, our hero is left with a difficult decision: save his new friend, or save his family?

Those familiar with Hans Christian Andersen’s famously melancholy fairy tales will not be surprised to find that Nikki Loftin’s re-working of The Nightingale is a very sad read for the majority of its pages. Gayle’s voice has healing properties, but there is a lot of hurt here to be healed, none of which is smoothed over. Little John is largely friendless and possession-less, and his family is handling their grief in less-than-healthy ways. That’s just the tip of the iceberg, too. Readers who like their stories to be nothing but sunshine should avoid this book like the plague, to put it bluntly. Despite this, even when the book is at its saddest, all of the pain never feels anything less than real, each of its many tragedies completely plausible.

Perhaps this is because everyone, no matter how cruel they are, feels like a real human being. Little John and Gayle are credible kids in bad situations, and Mr. King is also depicted as less evil and more pitiable, a treat considering he seemed a little too evil at first. The true evil lies in Mrs. Cutlin, a character who is incredibly cruel with no redeeming characteristics. It’s shocking to see a character with the potential to make one’s blood boil in a children’s novel, and more shocking that she’s not remotely laughable due to how plausible she feels.

The characterization and plotting is a testament to Loftin’s skill as a writer, and the prose is just icing on the cake. Fairy tale adaptations, especially those of a magic realist sort, are so often a hit-or-miss sort of deal, largely hinging on whether or not the prose feels overblown. The first passage that impressed me was on page 3, and the gold in the writing never ceased. It even has funny moments. Little John might be in pain, but he can still crack a good one-liner as well as any kid in a “funny” book every now and then. The only flaw in the writing is that some of the bird references, such as Mr. King calling his recording room a “cage,” feel a bit contrived every now and then. This is, however, a small caveat in a book with so much else that works for it. After all, few books could pull off an ending like this one has and not make it seem even a little hokey.

Overall, though it’s early in the year, I would have to place Nightingale’s Nest at the top of my list of Newbery hopefuls. There may be a few on the committee that would find its highly unusual style a bit off-putting. They might not like the ending, which I will not spoil. But in the end, it’s a gorgeously-written, strange (in the best way) book with the power to move one to tears, even if they think they’ve seen it all before, and I think that what it has done is special enough to deserve consideration.

Published in February by Razorbill


*****

Today's guest reviewer is Kim Broomall. She's awesome, and you should follow her on Goodreads.

Friday, February 28, 2014

2015 Contenders: A Less Than Perfect Peace, by Jacqueline Levering Sullivan

There's no shortage of things going on in Annie Leigh Howard's life. Her family has moved from Seattle to Tacoma; her father, a mostly blind WWII vet, is still struggling to readjust to civilian life, five years after the war's end; her uncle is in love with her art teacher; her new best friend and her first real crush are refugees from Holland; her mother has just opened her own beauty salon (and may be having an affair); and she's trying to develop her own artistic talents through after-school lessons.

That's probably two or three subplots too many for a book of just over 200 pages, and it's almost inevitable that some of them get short shrift. At times, the "show vs. tell" balance skews, as we race over major plot points without getting that much of a chance to let them sink in. The parts with the strange neighbor next door seemed especially rushed to me.

And yet, A Less Than Perfect Peace isn't without its charms. Annie is an interesting character, with both great strengths and great weaknesses. She moves through a setting that's very well presented, full of little details -- the names of programs on the radio, descriptions of advertisements, references to pop culture figures -- that breathe life into the novel.

A Less Than Perfect Peace is the sequel to Annie's War (2009), which I haven't read, but for almost all of this book's duration, I thought it stood alone perfectly well. (A few of the scenes at the end, featuring cameos from the previous novel's characters, probably would work better for readers of the first one.) It's kind of a throwback, in that, although Annie is fourteen, and many of the issues raised are weighty ones, it's definitely a J book rather than a YA one. It might be of interest for the same readers, for instance, who enjoyed last year's Hattie Ever After, a title with similar sensibilities.

And that, I think, is where I end up in my evaluation. I don't think A Less Than Perfect Peace is Newbery material, but it's the kind of book that I can see being beloved by a small but loyal group of fans.


Publication in March by Eerdmans.

Monday, February 24, 2014

2015 Contenders: Caminar, by Skila Brown

Now that's how it's done.

Caminar is a verse novel about a boy named Carlos, who lives in Guatemala during that country's interminable civil war. When his sleepy village suddenly flashes into violence, Carlos is cut off from everyone he has known and loved, and struggling, not just with survival, but with what it means to truly be an adult.

It's not a secret around this blog that I don't like verse novels. However, Skila Brown demonstrates a clear, effective understanding of the poetic aspects of the form -- her line breaks are purposeful, her typographical choices are effective, and her metaphors are inventive. The verse novel form allows Brown to explore a larger conflict through a series of perfectly-delineated moments. This is the verse novel as it was meant to be written and experienced.

Frankly, Caminar is so polished and assured that it's hard for me to believe that it's actually Brown's first book. I try to shy away from making these kinds of pronouncements, but Caminar sure looks to me like the arrival of an important new voice in children's literature. It never talks down to its audience, even when the subject matter is nuanced and difficult. Carlos is a believable, conflicted hero, and the other characters are also well-described and three-dimensional -- a place where many verse novels run into trouble.The themes are also expertly woven into the narrative, especially the bits about the nahuales, the animal spirit guides that bring protection and insight.

One could complain that the epilogue isn't really necessary, though I think it helps to bring the narrative full circle. But otherwise, I can't find much to complain about in Caminar. It's smart, precise, and vivid, and I expect to be talking about it a lot more during the rest of the year.


Publication in March through Candlewick