tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-50240028010677180542024-03-05T06:17:05.865-05:00For Those About to MockA Mock Newbery Blog.
We're tastier than mock apple pie!Unknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger415125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5024002801067718054.post-57780008629194438052022-08-26T07:14:00.007-04:002022-08-26T07:14:52.289-04:00The (Official) End of an Era<p> Hi, folks.</p><p>For anyone who may be wondering, For Those About To Mock is officially closing its electronic doors. We haven't posted anything in a year, but I wanted to come back and put a bow on this site, and express my gratitude for the opportunity I had over the years to contribute to this blog.</p><p>A few months ago, I accepted a new job; I love what I'm doing, but the new position doesn't really intersect with children's literature or programming. Similarly, our other contributors have also moved into new jobs or new phases in their lives.</p><p>I learned so much from my time writing here. I met fantastic people through my interactions in this space, many of whom have become dear friends. I want to thank my fellow bloggers, each of whom, in some way, made me a more incisive reviewer, a more careful reader, and a better person. Thanks to all the publishers who sent us review copies, the readers of and commenters on our posts, and the authors who made any of this discussion possible. I'm grateful to each and every one of you.</p><p>It's possible, I suppose, that I might reopen this at some point. I only got about halfway to our goal of reviewing all the historical Newbery winners, and there are past reviews of mine that could stand to be revisited. (My glowing review of <i>The Island of the Blue Dolphins</i>, for instance, completely leaves out any discussion of the more problematic colonial aspects of the text, and I'd write it very differently now.) But until or unless that day comes, consider this a fond farewell.</p><p>May your reading adventures bring you comfort, joy, new perspectives and ideas, and a richer, kinder life.</p><p><br /></p><p>~Sam</p>Sam Eddingtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01008209097162183766noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5024002801067718054.post-6260801227629151202021-08-26T14:38:00.002-04:002021-08-26T14:38:35.446-04:00Newbery Wayback Machine: The Higher Power of Lucky (2007)<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9jgEOjDl4grygSxDgHbqUIG2krlpB0I1KekjYF_YtnCV2AZ_bl0gNAaDzMpbbzONuMvIR0lxKROPWty5jCFh4y3z1Tw7sMz_H-bcuCf6mtikRbz6by35AgRekhW5dQRGLuQbhQyUQvGpQ/s499/lucky.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="499" data-original-width="369" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9jgEOjDl4grygSxDgHbqUIG2krlpB0I1KekjYF_YtnCV2AZ_bl0gNAaDzMpbbzONuMvIR0lxKROPWty5jCFh4y3z1Tw7sMz_H-bcuCf6mtikRbz6by35AgRekhW5dQRGLuQbhQyUQvGpQ/s320/lucky.jpg" width="237" /></a></div>January 2007. After two years of study, I received my shiny new Master of Library Science degree, and interviewed for what would become my first "professional" library job, at the <a href="https://www.amargosalibrary.org/">Amargosa Valley Library</a> in rural Nevada. <p></p><p>It was also the month that <i>The Higher Power of Lucky</i>, by Susan Patron, won the Newbery. Patron wasn't exactly an unknown in the publishing world -- she'd written the text for several picture books, as well as a middle-grade novel called <i>Maybe Yes, Maybe No, Maybe Maybe</i> -- but all of those titles dated back to the early 1990s. <i>Lucky</i>, however, served as a reintroduction for Patron, and she would later follow it with a pair of sequels. </p><p>Those two events are connected in my head. Partly, this is because the first "library scandal" I can remember centered around <i>Lucky</i>'s use of the word "scrotum," which had the kinds of people who clutch pearls about children's books clutching some serious pearls. And partly it's because Amargosa Valley is just over the Nevada border from <i>Lucky</i>'s California desert setting; the book's descriptions of massive dust storms, creosote bushes, and hard-baked dirt always bring me back to that time in my life. </p><p>In terms of plot, <i>Lucky </i>hits a lot of the Archetypal Newbery Book points. The protagonist, Lucky Trimble, is a motherless girl (check), with an absent father (check). She lives in a small town (check), which is populated by a cast of quirky characters (check). As she stands at the edge of adolescence (check) events occur that will help her to process her long-standing trauma (check). This is a familiar template; the question is, how well does <i>Lucky</i> execute the prescribed twists and turns of the narrative?</p><p>The answer is...pretty well! I wouldn't say that it's the best of its type on the Newbery rolls -- it doesn't quite have the emotional heft of, say, <i><a href="http://abouttomock.blogspot.com/2016/09/newbery-wayback-machine-missing-may-by.html">Missing May</a></i> -- but it's a solid effort. Lucky's main concern, that her guardian, Brigitte, will leave her and return to France, feels genuine, and the novel does a good job of weaving together its themes and imagery. This is true even though some of them, such as Lucky's interest in the language and affirmations of 12-step programs, are unusual for a middle-grade book.</p><p>If you're not inclined to like this kind of novel, <i>The Higher Power of Lucky</i> may not be the one that changes your mind -- the quirky characters aren't quite <i><a href="https://abouttomock.blogspot.com/2019/05/2020-contenders-lost-boys-gift-by.html">The Lost Boy's Gift</a>-</i>level caricatures, but some of them are painted with broad strokes, and the ending is a theatrical set piece that realism-minded readers may struggle with. But, both when I read <i>Lucky</i> shortly after it won the Newbery, and when I reread it again a decade and a half later, I felt like it succeeds at the task it lays out for itself.</p><p>I don't know that <i>The Higher Power of Lucky</i> would win again if we re-selected the 2007 Newbery. Any of the three Honor books could easily have won (<i>Penny from Heaven, </i>by Jennifer L. Holm, <i>Hattie Big Sky</i>, by Kirby Larson, and <i>Rules</i>, by Cynthia Lord), and the committee didn't even have space for Sara Pennypacker's <i>Clementine</i> or Laura Amy Schlitz's <i>A Drowned Maiden's Hair</i>. It was a competitive year. But I think <i>Lucky</i> was perfectly reasonable choice, even if its appeal is somewhat narrow.</p>Sam Eddingtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01008209097162183766noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5024002801067718054.post-79998983808742205342021-06-16T09:47:00.002-04:002021-06-16T13:24:14.631-04:00Newbery Wayback Machine: The Whipping Boy, by Sid Fleischman (1987)<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE32RvjbJwezw2vS_dyPaV6UhPN6-ExHMkZwhrU46rM97P_HZNxn5kk-3Qf9uyZIYYk2wW1oP5AuteDCggIUxCIM6pp6co9xPNW6sM6KR_oPOUq44kcP_9B5JP4Kl1jMM2hX20r7r5yUI_/s472/11824.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="472" data-original-width="318" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE32RvjbJwezw2vS_dyPaV6UhPN6-ExHMkZwhrU46rM97P_HZNxn5kk-3Qf9uyZIYYk2wW1oP5AuteDCggIUxCIM6pp6co9xPNW6sM6KR_oPOUq44kcP_9B5JP4Kl1jMM2hX20r7r5yUI_/s320/11824.jpg" /></a></div>The prince's real name may be Horace, but everyone thinks of him as Prince Brat. He is constantly pulling pranks and causing trouble, secure in the knowledge that he will never be punished. Rather, punishment is reserved for Jemmy, his Whipping Boy -- every time Prince Brat is in trouble, Jemmy must endure whatever corporal punishment is deemed sufficient for the offense.<p></p><div>Jemmy dreams of leaving the castle and returning to his previous life in the streets. What he does <i>not</i> expect, however, is for Prince Brat to show up in his room one night, insisting that Jemmy accompany him in running away. This sounds like a terrible idea to Jemmy, but when the prince gives an order, what is he supposed to do but obey? The unlikely pair quickly run into a whole host of complications -- greedy criminals, a bear, and royal soldiers among them -- leading to a final set piece in the sewers deep beneath the city.</div><div><br /></div><div>All of this happens at an almost absurdly breakneck pace. <i>The Whipping Boy</i> is, at least in the edition that I read, a mere 90 pages. The plot is constantly in motion, with essentially no downtime. Kids who like a lot of action in their stories may find a lot to like here.</div><div><br /></div><div>The book does strike me as an unusual Newbery choice, however. I didn't find the characters particularly compelling or well-developed, the setting is off-the-shelf quasi-medieval, and the prose is serviceable, but not more than that. That's not to say that I can't understand why <i>The Whipping Boy</i> was popular; words that <i>Kirkus Reviews</i> used to positively describe it at the time included "rollicking" and "melodrama," and both of those seem fair to me. If that's what the reader is looking for, they'll find it in this story, executed both briskly and well. But I'm still unconvinced that <i>The Whipping Boy</i> has many markers of the kind of literary excellence that the Newbery is supposed to recognize.</div><div><br /></div><div>Possibly, it just wasn't considered a strong year. The three Honor books were <i>A Fine White Dust</i>, by Cynthia Rylant; <i>On My Honor</i>, by Marion Dane Bauer; and <i>Volcano: The Eruption and Healing of Mount St. Helens</i>, by Patricia Lauber. I know some elementary school kids end up reading <i>On My Honor</i>, but I don't think any of those books are considered upper-tier entries in the kidlit canon. The most highly-regarded books of the year all seemed to come from authors outside the USA -- Brian Jacques (<i>Redwall</i>), Diana Wynne Jones (<i>Howl's Moving Castle</i>), Philip Pullman (<i>The Shadow in the North</i>). </div><div><br /></div><div>Sid Fleischman was a man with a fascinating life -- he worked as a professional magician, served in World War II, wrote screenplays, and published adult novels, in addition to his work for children. Though he won the <i>Boston Globe-Horn Book</i> Award in 1979 for <i>Humbug Mountain</i>, <i>The Whipping Boy</i> represented his only appearance on the Newbery rolls. His son, Paul Fleischman, would win the Newbery two years later for <i>Joyful Noise</i>, making them the only parent-child combo to ever take home the gold medal. </div>Sam Eddingtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01008209097162183766noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5024002801067718054.post-76462938791052686032021-06-09T14:01:00.003-04:002021-06-09T14:04:53.750-04:002022 Contenders: The House That Wasn't There, by Elana K. Arnold<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1XgS3BYbTMJ3aztNWY_-mhJC3xLqfHGrJR5yjcaVDmaPP6n3i60hOwTDAIXY_Bjm19aE5GI45t25in4-yqSSsIvDPLhQPXt9tVMWR5NL_7sowqxgHSjrghDmnVIOZisPrCRkDlvaWG2PV/s2048/house.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1356" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1XgS3BYbTMJ3aztNWY_-mhJC3xLqfHGrJR5yjcaVDmaPP6n3i60hOwTDAIXY_Bjm19aE5GI45t25in4-yqSSsIvDPLhQPXt9tVMWR5NL_7sowqxgHSjrghDmnVIOZisPrCRkDlvaWG2PV/s320/house.jpg" /></a></div>Plenty of our authors who write for young people produce books for different age groups. However, it's usually easy to spot a common sensibility. Even if <i>Hole in My Life</i> and <i>Rotten Ralph</i> are for widely disparate audiences, no reader is going to walk away wondering if they're actually both from the pen of Jack Gantos, for instance.<div><br /></div><div>And then there's Elana K. Arnold, who might be our most chameleonic American children's author currently working. Her YA work, such as the fiery and blood-drenched <i>Damsel</i> and <i>Red Hood</i>, seems a long, long way away from the gentle coziness of <i>A Boy Called Bat</i>, or the low-key delight of <i>What Riley Wore</i>. There aren't any narrative tricks or obvious markers in the prose that serve as a common thread; if I didn't already know that all of these books were hers, I doubt I ever would have suspected that she had produced each one of them.</div><div><br /></div><div>Since I <i>do</i> know that, however, it's worth digging deeper to see if there's anything that underpins all of Arnold's work. I'd argue that yes, there is a unifying theme: that it's impossible to thrive in the world unless a person can accept themselves for who they are -- and that one's true friends and real family are the people who also provide that acceptance and love. </div><div><br /></div><div>That's exactly the feeling I got while reading Arnold's newest middle-grade title, <i>The House That Wasn't There</i>. It's a story that follows two characters -- Alder, who has lived in his southern California neighborhood for his whole life, and Oak, who has just had to move from San Francisco to the house next to Alder's. Their initial encounters are rocky, as Oak's family is remodeling their new house, which results in an immediate casualty -- the beautiful old walnut tree that stands between her house and Alder's. Let's just say that this doesn't dispose Alder and his mother to think kindly of Oak and her mother.</div><div><br /></div><div>I'm not sure it's possible to explain where the plot goes from there without giving the whole thing away. There are strong elements of magical realism at play, along with such more grounded concerns such as learning to navigate shifting friendships, caring for new pets properly, and understanding family dynamics. There's also a beautifully-executed double twist ending that I found deeply enjoyable, and a satisfying emotional arc (filled with that acceptance and love that I mentioned) for both of our protagonists.</div><div><br /></div><div>As is sometimes the case in stories suffused with magical realism, there are several elements in the book that remain unexplained. This isn't taken to an extreme -- <i>The House That Wasn't There</i> isn't <a href="http://abouttomock.blogspot.com/2017/06/2018-contenders-orphan-island-by-laurel.html"><i>Orphan Island</i> </a>or <a href="https://abouttomock.blogspot.com/2012/05/digressions-boy-and-bear-in-boat-by.html"><i>A Boy and a Bear in a Boat</i>,</a> those books that seem to deliberately test the boundaries of how many unanswered questions the reader is willing to entertain. But I would caution anyone picking up <i>The House That Wasn't There</i> that, if they expect the novel to be a puzzle box like <i><a href="https://abouttomock.blogspot.com/2012/01/winners-circle-when-you-reach-me-by.html">When You Reach Me</a> </i>or <i><a href="https://abouttomock.blogspot.com/2012/08/the-winners-circle-westing-game-by.html">The Westing Game</a></i>, they may want to adjust said expectations. </div><div><br /></div><div>Arnold's recognition from the ALA committees thus far has been for her YA work (<i>Damsel</i> was a Printz Honor title in 2019). As I've previously noted, I'm making no attempts to handicap the Newbery this year, but I would say that <i>The House That Wasn't There</i> is of a high enough quality that, should it place this year, I wouldn't be the slightest bit surprised. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Published in March by Walden Pond Press / HarperCollins</div>Sam Eddingtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01008209097162183766noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5024002801067718054.post-9906010524969333552021-04-30T11:09:00.005-04:002021-04-30T11:12:57.434-04:002022 Contenders: The Troubled Girls of Dragomir Academy, by Anne Ursu<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU5jYeB7kgv7ldVqGxuUqbfMCW5AOS3YJnPgC2YVxi4gdMcTvhyQ7hl8Xx6KFl0MyXN3H2-sMIoioEW0ALPXC2fIJcveT4N1S0KJXew3VZgR-qsV5hy3BN_9dG6rrLWJG6APau1ogmLIPd/s475/55424824._SY475_.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="475" data-original-width="314" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU5jYeB7kgv7ldVqGxuUqbfMCW5AOS3YJnPgC2YVxi4gdMcTvhyQ7hl8Xx6KFl0MyXN3H2-sMIoioEW0ALPXC2fIJcveT4N1S0KJXew3VZgR-qsV5hy3BN_9dG6rrLWJG6APau1ogmLIPd/s320/55424824._SY475_.jpg" /></a></div>One of the great pleasures of spending time with an author's work over the course of several books is coming to understand what's closest to that author's heart, what techniques they use, and what motifs constantly recur in their writing. I love getting to explore an author's craft in depth, to see how it grows and develops -- and what stays consistent in it from novel to novel.<p></p><p>Longtime readers will perhaps smile at this point and note that this introduction comes attached to a review of the new Anne Ursu book, <i>The Troubled Girls of Dragomir Academy</i>. Though I can promise that I don't set out to give every Ursu novel my most glowing review of the year, it seems to happen anyway. I'm being honest in my assessments, but I'd be dissembling if I didn't point out near the top that in this case, the review is coming from inside the fan club.</p><p>Believe it or not, I haven't actually read everything Ursu has ever written (I still have yet to get to <i>The Cronus Chronicles</i>, and the two novels for adults). I <i>have</i>, however, read her previous three novels (2011's <i><a href="http://abouttomock.blogspot.com/2012/01/sams-two-cents-breadcrumbs-by-anne-ursu.html">Breadcrumbs</a></i>, 2013's <i><a href="https://abouttomock.blogspot.com/2013/07/2014-contenders-real-boy-by-anne-ursu.html">The Real Boy</a></i>, and 2019's <i><a href="https://abouttomock.blogspot.com/2019/02/2020-contenders-lost-girl-by-anne-ursu.html">The Lost Girl</a></i>), and, when I set those alongside <i>Dragomir Academy</i>, certain similarities begin to emerge.</p><p>Maybe most notably, <i>Dragomir Academy</i> shares with its three predecessors what I've come to think of as Ursu's signature plot movement. Each of these four novels painstakingly constructs a full, rich, three-dimensional world -- and then pulls the rug out from under that world, revealing terrible truths behind a beautiful lie.<a href="#_ref1" name="ref1">[1]</a> The protagonists then are forced to choose how to react to the blinding sight of these truths, whether to retreat in fear or to push forward no matter how much it hurts -- and Ursu never fails to remind the reader that pressing onward <i>will</i> hurt, even if it's a better choice than being willfully deceived. </p><p><i>Dragomir Academy </i>follows Marya Lupu, who lives in a village in the country of Illyria, where the citizens live in fear of a magical plague called the Dread, which emerges from the forests to massacre entire settlements. The Dread can only be held at bay by sorcerers -- men who can wield the necessary magic that counters and disperses it. Everyone in the village believes that Marya's brother, Luka, will become such a sorcerer, and a representative from the Sorcerers' Guild is indeed coming to test Luka for magical ability. But the visit doesn't go as planned, and soon Marya has been whisked away and sent to the titular Dragomir Academy, a sort of reform school for problem girls, which is perched high in the remote mountains.</p><p>At Dragomir, Marya does her best to fit in, to mold herself into what the school wishes her to be. But she and her new friend Elana Teitler begin to suspect that all is not as it seems, that there may be dark secrets that are woven into the very fabric of the Academy. As conditions outside Dragomir worsen, Marya and Elana's quest to know the truth may in fact be of life-or-death importance.</p><p><i>The Troubled Girls of Dragomir Academy</i> takes as its central argument what I've come to think of as the thesis of Ursu's entire oeuvre. If I may be forgiven the reviewing <i>faux pas</i> of quoting myself -- because I don't know how else to say it -- <span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, "Palatino Linotype", Palatino, serif; font-size: 15.4px;">evil works first by fracturing the relationships between people, and then by destroying each person's sense of their true self. In <i>Troubled Girls</i>, that evil takes a similar form to that in which it appeared in <i>The Lost Girl </i>-- a brutally oppressive culture of patriarchy that poisons everything and everyone it touches.</span></p><p>Tonally, <i>Dragomir Academy</i> is also similar to <i>The Lost Girl</i>, in that the icy bleakness of <i>Breadcrumbs </i>and the looming paranoia of <i>The Real Boy</i> have been replaced by a white-hot rage. If anything, <i>Dragomir Academy</i> ratchets up that anger, to the point that I'm not sure you could actually write anything more furious and still have it function as a middle-grade novel. Its unsparing fire can perhaps be best explained by Ursu's laconic Twitter observation that <i>Dragomir Academy </i>is "my <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Brett_Kavanaugh_Supreme_Court_nomination#Confirmation_hearing">Kavanaugh hearing</a> book." If you put yourself in that mindset, <i>Dragomir Academy</i>'s approach won't surprise you, and book's ending, in which joy, heartbreak, victory, and defeat all collapse into a massive singularity, will also feel completely lived-in. </p><p>It's important to note here that Ursu's flame doesn't burn everything it touches. She's too careful of a writer to take the easy way out; this is not a book in which all of the men are monsters and all of the women are saints. There are male characters who recognize the societal poison of the patriarchy and work against it, and there are female characters who are working for the status quo. Additionally, no one is perfect, and even the most noble figures in <i>Dragomir Academy </i>make mistakes, in a way that makes them feel like real, genuine people.</p><p>On a less heavy note, even if <i>Dragomir Academy</i> has fewer Easter eggs than <i>The Lost Girl</i> did, it's not devoid of them. Some are so barely concealed that I'm not even sure they qualify; that Marya's best friend is named Elana, in a book that lists fellow fiercely feminist author Elana K. Arnold in its acknowledgments, is maybe less Easter egg than homage. On the other hand, the fact that "Illyria," which certainly sounds like a fantasy kingdom, was also an old name for portions of the Balkans -- and that "Dragomir" is a common name in that part of the world even now -- is the sort of thing that's unlikely to come to the attention of most readers, but is delightful nonetheless. </p><p>I don't even really try to predict the Newbery anymore; I have no idea whether or not <i>The Troubled Girls of Dragomir Academy</i> will be the book that puts Ursu up on the podium. But dangit, this is an amazing novel, and I hope it finds its way to many readers. I'll be here in the Anne Ursu Fan Club box seats, cheering it on.</p><p><br /></p><p><i>Publication in October by Walden Pond Press, who were kind enough to send me a review copy</i></p><p><br /></p><p>
<a href="#_ref1" name="ref1">[1]</a>There are parallels here to what Ursu <a href="http://kirbyslane.blogspot.com/2013/08/friend-friday_30.html">once wrote</a>, "This is what writing is like--the world looks fuzzy and obscure and then in one moment, for no reason, a corner of the veil lifts and suddenly you see the stories that have been lying there the whole time." </p><p> </p>Sam Eddingtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01008209097162183766noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5024002801067718054.post-36125298698864217332021-04-01T15:33:00.005-04:002021-04-01T15:37:07.387-04:00Newbery Wayback Machine: Daniel Boone, by James Daugherty (1940)<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyluFIj0PuWEL9ciB80SyxgSiFKEEiAyGaH4vYN_jCHm3__v_n1_LGHuuDhiHiqkM77naGff9x9-HuniJsizBI03BBiA2XgG_PhZGaQOHHIqu8xHfxzcJacP8YGvz8X4wtV5xSWRPnsN8S/s331/db.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="331" data-original-width="260" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyluFIj0PuWEL9ciB80SyxgSiFKEEiAyGaH4vYN_jCHm3__v_n1_LGHuuDhiHiqkM77naGff9x9-HuniJsizBI03BBiA2XgG_PhZGaQOHHIqu8xHfxzcJacP8YGvz8X4wtV5xSWRPnsN8S/s320/db.jpg" /></a></div>Hooooooo boy.<p></p><p>I don't know how well it comes across, but I've tried to be fair to these early Newbery winners. While not glossing over their flaws, I've tried to show how each one fits into the emerging story of American children's literature, note the things that each one does well, and place the books in the context of their time.</p><p>My friends, all of that fails me when I come to <i>Daniel Boone</i>, James Daugherty's 1940 winner. It's a self-satisfied hymn to racism and Manifest Destiny, accompanied by hideously ugly (and somehow even more racist) artwork by the author. The pacing is terrible, and the prose confuses overuse of adjectives for inspiring writing. It doesn't even work very well as a biography -- it doesn't have a timeline, assumes far too much background knowledge on the part of its readers, and sometimes fails to even refer to its many poorly described characters by their full names. </p><p>No libraries in my consortium own <i>Daniel Boone</i>; I had to use the statewide interlibrary loan system to even find a copy to read. It's completely out of print, a distinction that might make it unique in the Newbery canon. Even the most deeply problematic Newbery winners stay in print -- <i><a href="http://abouttomock.blogspot.com/2012/07/the-winners-circle-shen-of-sea-by.html">Shen of the Sea</a></i>, <i><a href="http://abouttomock.blogspot.com/2017/05/newbery-wayback-machine-hitty-her-first.html">Hitty: Her First Hundred Years</a></i>, <i><a href="http://abouttomock.blogspot.com/2012/02/winners-circle-matchlock-gun-by-walter.html">The Matchlock Gun</a></i>, all are still easily available, straight from the presses. But if, for whatever reason, you want a copy of <i>Daniel Boone</i>, you're going to have to find it on the secondhand market, at prices that are often north of $100. </p><p>Part of the problem is that the racism (mostly directed at Native Americans, but with jabs at African Americans as well) so thoroughly permeates the book that it would be impossible to produce an edited version, as was done for <i><a href="http://abouttomock.blogspot.com/2016/02/newbery-wayback-machine-voyages-of.html">The Voyages of Doctor Doolittle</a> </i>and <i><a href="https://abouttomock.blogspot.com/2016/06/newbery-wayback-machine-rabbit-hill-by.html">Rabbit Hill</a></i>, and have more than a pamphlet left. I'm reminded of Roger Ebert, who, when speaking about software designed to remove offensive passages from DVDs, opined, "Theoretically there could be a version of <i>Fight Club</i> suitable for grade-schoolers, although it would be very short."</p><p>Daniel Boone himself is a complicated historical figure, and certainly one about whom a fascinating biography could be written. It's hard to get a sense of the man from <i>Daniel Boone</i>, however -- his personality is flattened into a caricature of a frontiersman. I don't feel like I know him much better after finishing the book than I did before I began. </p><p>James Daugherty was well-regarded in his day, both as an author and as an illustrator -- he picked up two Caldecott Honors as well, for <i>Andy and the Lion</i> (1939) and <i>Gillespie and the Guards</i> (1957). I haven't read either of those, though I do note that <i>Andy and the Lion</i> at least is still in print. I can say that, at this remove, Daugherty is not a major figure in the history of children's literature. If <i>Daniel Boone</i> is representative of his work, it's easy for me to understand why.</p><p>The only remaining question I have is this: is <i>Daniel Boone</i> the worst Newbery winner ever? I think it depends on what criteria you want to use. The other real contender, in my personal view, is <i><a href="http://abouttomock.blogspot.com/2012/02/winners-circle-smoky-cowhorse-by-will.html">Smoky, the Cowhorse</a></i>. <i>Smoky</i> is probably three times the length of <i>Daniel Boone</i>, and might be the single least interesting book I've ever read; from a purely technical perspective, I'd argue that it's worse than <i>Daniel Boone</i>. But if there's a more nauseatingly racist book among the Newberys, I certainly can't tell you what it might be; I'm unable to come up with a good ethical defense of <i>Daniel Boone</i>, and from that perspective, it might represent the actual bottom of the Newbery barrel. </p>Sam Eddingtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01008209097162183766noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5024002801067718054.post-77248140520501311712021-03-19T09:40:00.006-04:002021-03-19T09:40:56.383-04:00The White Stag, by Kate Seredy (1938)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3bF2b24gwkwXDv857aFaQrCumggyF_oyvgrvS4N58h3VPCQOWM4RCYekEoOlmFssgEgS3iY10Co6hungeFqgqgH0mUCDPfykGeLyUUboyxm3klbqFmkS8Jnvzzw-g4AbmFqKll3B9cmkS/s350/ws.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="350" data-original-width="222" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3bF2b24gwkwXDv857aFaQrCumggyF_oyvgrvS4N58h3VPCQOWM4RCYekEoOlmFssgEgS3iY10Co6hungeFqgqgH0mUCDPfykGeLyUUboyxm3klbqFmkS8Jnvzzw-g4AbmFqKll3B9cmkS/s320/ws.jpg" /></a></div>It occurred to me while reading <i>The White Stag </i>that it's possible to divide those early Newbery winners into two categories. On the one hand are books that, while they'd no doubt be written differently today (and, in most cases, with a greater eye toward sensitivity on racial matters), could, on a conceptual level, pass muster with modern editors, publishers, and readers. It requires no great leap of imagination to imagine a 2021 debut, for instance, for a <i><a href="http://abouttomock.blogspot.com/2016/02/newbery-wayback-machine-story-of.html">The Story of Mankind</a></i>-style overview of world history, or a book like <i><a href="http://abouttomock.blogspot.com/2016/02/newbery-wayback-machine-voyages-of.html">The Voyages of Doctor Doolittle </a></i>that featured a child's adventures with a doctor who could talk to animals, or a <i><a href="https://abouttomock.blogspot.com/2020/12/newbery-wayback-machine-thimble-summer.html">Thimble Summer</a></i> sort of novel about a child growing up in Wisconsin during the Great Depression.<div><br /></div><div>On the other hand, there are books that I can't imagine a present-day author even attempting, or a publishing house in 2021 trying to put out. Who would try their hand at a piece of squirmily Orientalized glurge like <i><a href="http://abouttomock.blogspot.com/2012/07/winners-circle-cat-who-went-to-heaven.html">The Cat Who Went to Heaven</a></i> these days, or dare to make up a bunch of "Chinese folktales" like the ones that fill the pages of <i><a href="http://abouttomock.blogspot.com/2012/07/the-winners-circle-shen-of-sea-by.html">Shen of the Sea</a></i>?<br /><p><i>The White Stag</i>, Kate Seredy's 1938 winner, seems to me to fall firmly into the second camp. The book is a retelling of the legend of the Huns, as they sweep inexorably across Asia and eastern Europe, on their way toward claiming their Promised Land of Hungary. They wait expectantly for the arrival of their own Joshua figure, Attila, and experience both the rewards and the wrath of their deity, Hadur (generally speaking -- the theology of the book is honestly kind of confused). All of this requires them to battle and destroy any number of other people, whose crime is essentially Being In The Way. Seredy clucks her tongue in the direction of the Huns for this, but with a level of indignation more suited to disputing a parking ticket -- she generally seems to regard the whole affair as just One of Those Things.</p><p>Maybe I'm wrong -- maybe there's a way to retell a myth like this so that modern children could find a path into the story. There are, of course, still volumes that retell Greek and Roman mythology for children, and those stories are also remote and violent. I think it would require a totally different approach than the one <i>The White Stag</i> takes, however -- one that doesn't frame the events as an adventure story designed "to pay homage to a race of brave men, men whose faith in their own destiny had led them to a land they still call their own."</p>Honestly, it's not that great of an adventure story either -- the characters are completely flat, the setting is underutilized, and the overall plot arc doesn't have the slightest hint of suspense. Seredy <i>does</i> have a feel for the heightened language of myth, and the sentence-level prose is easily the best thing about the book. That language is doubly impressive when one realizes that Seredy, a native of Hungary, didn't even speak English until she was an adult -- and thought of herself more as an illustrator than an author (she would win a Caldecott Honor in 1945 for her illustrations for <i>The Christmas Anna Angel</i>). If I had to guess, I'd bet that it was the sparkling wordsmithing that attracted the attention of the Newbery Committee. </div><div><br /></div><div>A lack of competition may also have helped. The committee named three honor books, the best known of which is <i>On the Banks of Plum Creek</i>, number four in Laura Ingalls Wilder's <i>Little House</i> series. Otherwise, the most famous American book of the year is probably <i>And to Think That I Saw It on Mulberry Street</i>, Dr. Seuss's first children's book (and one of the ones that the publisher just withdrew for containing offensive imagery). J.R.R. Tolkein's <i>The Hobbit</i> looms the largest of the children's books that came out in 1937, but it of course wasn't eligible for the Newbery. And so, <i>The White Stag</i> took the gold medal, though even among winners of the 1930s, it remains one of the more obscure choices.</div>Sam Eddingtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01008209097162183766noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5024002801067718054.post-79992494398232807532021-02-17T10:51:00.004-05:002021-02-17T13:04:21.859-05:00Newbery Wayback Machine: Tales from Silver Lands, by Charles Finger (1925)<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdZarib0GEdHw3gqYf0mOhCeXbj95_cEaWfaqPLiOJ16VjhrADhjqCRNOVbOik9aG7_GXEK0nHSSBf7CcfkLduXL9-Etj2zLF79y2TP8w8ru9S00UnJXrC4Y_yEUy6aal5Oxg64QQXIkya/s499/s-l1600.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="499" data-original-width="340" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdZarib0GEdHw3gqYf0mOhCeXbj95_cEaWfaqPLiOJ16VjhrADhjqCRNOVbOik9aG7_GXEK0nHSSBf7CcfkLduXL9-Etj2zLF79y2TP8w8ru9S00UnJXrC4Y_yEUy6aal5Oxg64QQXIkya/s320/s-l1600.jpg" /></a></div>The Newbery Terms and Criteria loudly proclaim, "there are no limitations as to the character of the book considered except that it be original work." And indeed, over the past ninety-odd years, we've had winners representing novels, poetry, nonfiction, picture books, graphic novels, biographies, and verse novels; nearly every form has taken home the gold medal at one point or another. This includes folktale-style short stories, which have won twice -- once for Arthur Bowie Chrisman's fakelore stylings in <i><a href="http://abouttomock.blogspot.com/2012/07/the-winners-circle-shen-of-sea-by.html">Shen of the Sea</a></i> (1926), and the year before that, when Charles Finger's <i>Tales from Silver Lands</i> was named the winner.<div><br /></div><div>The titular "Silver Lands" are Central and South America. Unlike Chrisman's "China" tales, Finger's have at least some authenticity to them. He lived and traveled extensively in those areas during his twenties, and this book comes across as having its genesis in those times. Though Finger doesn't provide the kind of source notes we'd hope for in a book of folktales today, he does at least provide the names of his informants and the place where he learned the stories for some of the tales. (Others are given no introduction at all, and the place and culture to which they belong remains opaque.) Finger does freely admit to having heavily edited some of the stories he was told in order to make them more readable; more than once, he interrupts himself in order to complain about the discursive, meandering manner in which his informants told the tales.</div><div><br /></div><div>Questions about authenticity aside, the stories in <i>Tales from Silver Lands</i> certainly have the <i>feel</i> of folktale collections like those of the Brothers Grimm -- eerie characters, symbolism that would make Jung proud, and a general feeling that they proceed from that state between waking and dreaming. Highlights include the <i>Sorcerer's Apprentice</i>-style "The Tale of the Lazy People," the trio of tales involving a pair of brothers ridding the land of three destructive giants, and the closing story, "The Cat and the Dream Man," which features the most unsettling of the villains in the book, the Fox-Faced Man, as well as an ending reminiscent of Grimm 187, "<a href="https://www.pitt.edu/~dash/grimm187.html">The Hare and the Hedgehog.</a>"</div><div><br /></div><div>Two Honor books were named in 1925, <i>Nicholas: A Manhattan Christmas Story</i>, by Annie Carroll Moore, and <i>The Dream Coach</i>, by Anne & Dillwyn Parrish. Left off the list was the book that would become the most enduring American classic of the year, Gertrude Chandler Warner's <i>The Boxcar Children</i>. There was probably no chance that <i>The Boxcar Children</i> could have won, given that "children having adventures without an adult" was actually sort of controversial at the time, and the Newbery was in its Tales From Far-Off Lands period -- the only winner from 1923 to 1933 that didn't spend at least part of its plot in some exotic locale was <i><a href="http://abouttomock.blogspot.com/2012/02/winners-circle-smoky-cowhorse-by-will.html">Smoky, the Cowhorse</a></i>. However, <i>Tales from Silver Lands</i> is certainly better than some of the other early winners, even if it hasn't become part of the kidlit canon.</div>Sam Eddingtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01008209097162183766noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5024002801067718054.post-20697300590489559952021-02-05T10:25:00.005-05:002021-02-05T15:59:20.401-05:00Newbery Wayback Machine: Dobry, by Monica Shannon (1935)<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6WbVVY_iYy5UmrDSvq546uDmmewD-Ci2gDTCSx3c0tm4N-1Zzs3vcU0mdaD4RJCfadLY7CNmiadUgmM82PjEG2xv11U0sPw8fvj7C5mk-VWVHPU8BpeLhBkwBZh7htwXz7PAKusrpfjEL/s1274/dobry.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1274" data-original-width="862" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6WbVVY_iYy5UmrDSvq546uDmmewD-Ci2gDTCSx3c0tm4N-1Zzs3vcU0mdaD4RJCfadLY7CNmiadUgmM82PjEG2xv11U0sPw8fvj7C5mk-VWVHPU8BpeLhBkwBZh7htwXz7PAKusrpfjEL/s320/dobry.jpg" /></a></div>Dobry is a Bulgarian boy, who lives in a Bulgarian village high in the Bulgarian mountains. He and his Bulgarian mother and grandfather tend their Bulgarian fields, raising a bountiful harvest of Bulgarian crops. Dobry has his eye on Neda, a Bulgarian girl, and makes some Bulgarian sculptures for her, as he dreams of attending Bulgarian art school. We learn about some colorful Bulgarian customs, Bulgarian folk songs, and Bulgarian stories, in this tale that positively brims with Bulgarian descriptions of Bulgarian folkways. Bulgaria!<p></p><p>That's not even a particularly exaggerated description of <i>Dobry</i>, the Monica Shannon book that took home the 1935 Newbery Medal. The book has almost nothing in the way of plot or conflict; the closest it really gets is a two-page discussion between Dobry's mom and his grandfather about whether or not Dobry should grow up to become an artist. Mom doesn't think so, Grandfather argues in favor of it, and mom resolves not to worry about it anymore, and doesn't. End scene. Back to descriptions of Bulgaria.</p><p>Dobry's nameless village is populated by characters who are more or less colorful, but none of them are villains, or even real annoyances. Indeed, the only really frightening thing involves reading about what the villagers do for fun. As the book opens, everyone is looking forward to the arrival of the "gypsy bear," who gives massages. I assumed this was just some big, strong, hairy guy -- but no, when the Romani show up a few chapters later, they have an actual bear in tow, which they've trained to walk on people's backs and give massages. Later, Grandfather is excited to try and win the Snow-Melting Games. I don't know what I expected those to be, but I did <i>not</i> figure that they would simply involve lying down in the snow to see whose body heat would melt the snow the fastest. And near the very end, Dobry wins the village's equivalent of a scholarship by diving into the frozen river to retrieve a golden crucifix that the priest has thrown in there, because this is a contest they hold every feast day of St. John the Baptist (Feb. 7). I'm just saying -- if these were my entertainment options, I'd probably be excited to go to art school too.</p><p>The book was apparently partly based on the early life of its illustrator, Atanas Katchamakoff. It took the Newbery ahead of three Honor books: <i>Pageant of Chinese History</i>, <i>Davy Crockett</i>, and <i>A Day on Skates</i>. The most famous children's books of the year were by non-US authors -- P.L. Travers' <i>Mary Poppins</i> and Kenji Miyazawa's <i>Night on the Galactic Railroad</i> -- and so weren't eligible. Even if I can't think of a single modern child I'd recommend <i>Dobry</i> to, it's certainly evocative of its place, and that may be enough to justify its award. </p><p><br /></p>Sam Eddingtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01008209097162183766noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5024002801067718054.post-91090204927742138082021-02-01T15:00:00.002-05:002021-02-01T15:00:23.104-05:00Newbery Wayback Machine: The Summer of the Swans, by Betsy Byars (1971)<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCGWe6MCyTuNo0saq0fQ-Q6HOBvuPJyvwjvkNuIJ6CyV2v1u0nEWkRmwSBsYv3qEjilnVirNGvo1i0eewP19qi7jFdhqaWOPBWaoZ0RNk8Ewik20YwGE0oV97HqJWP5wMxjA77DkhjJGdh/s400/swans.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="262" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCGWe6MCyTuNo0saq0fQ-Q6HOBvuPJyvwjvkNuIJ6CyV2v1u0nEWkRmwSBsYv3qEjilnVirNGvo1i0eewP19qi7jFdhqaWOPBWaoZ0RNk8Ewik20YwGE0oV97HqJWP5wMxjA77DkhjJGdh/s320/swans.jpg" /></a></div>Fourteen-year-old Sara Godfrey is having a difficult time, in a way that I think a lot of people her age -- or who have ever been her age -- would understand. She's hyper-conscious of what she considers to be her plain looks and unpopularity at school; her emotions are swinging wildly; and she's struggling in her relationships with her family. This family is a fragile unit -- Sara's mom is dead, and her beaten-down father works out of town, and only sees them on the weekends. The primary adult in Sara's life is her Aunt Willie, who loves her, but can be abrasive and difficult. Then there are her siblings, her attractive and popular older sister, Wanda, and her little brother, Charlie, who does not speak, and has some sort of intellectual disability -- his precise diagnosis, if he's ever been given one, is never stated in the book, but his symptoms as described might place him on the autism spectrum. <p></p><p>All of this makes Sara self-centered, in a manner that nearly every teenager experiences at one point or another. But one morning, Charlie is missing, and Sara begins searching for him; in the process, she begins to challenge her assumptions about herself, her family, and the other people around her.</p><p>For a book whose main plot is "the race to find a missing child," <i>The Summer of the Swans</i> is strangely subdued. It's a character study, rather than a thriller, and the plot elements exist largely to bring out different facets of Sara and the people around her. I think the book succeeds wildly on those terms -- I felt like each person in the book was someone who might well exist. The change in Sara's character also felt plausible and <i>right</i> to me. It's the perfect blend of "enough, but not too much," especially given the book's compressed timeframe. (It's really more like <i>The Forty-Eight Hours of the Swans</i>.)</p><p>I also loved the lyricism of the language. The descriptions of the swans themselves, both on the pond near the book's beginning, and in flight near the end, are lushly poetic without becoming highfalutin. I was also struck by the passage near the end, in which Sara compares life to a series of steps, which are different for each person, and on which each person is making different progress. I wish I'd written it, which is the best compliment I know how to pay.</p><p><i>The Summer of the Swans</i> is almost fifty years old now, and there are a handful of passing cultural references of questionable sensitivity, which it might be worth mentioning to a child reader before giving them the book. It's a beautiful jewel of a novel, though, one which may not be a huge crowd-pleaser, but which rewards a thoughtful, introspective reader. The 1971 awards drew from a crowded field (including not only the three Honor books, <i>Knee-Knock Rise</i>, <i>Enchantress from the Stars</i>, and <i>Sing Down the Moon</i>, but also <i>Frog and Toad Are Friends</i>, <i>Runaway Ralph</i>, and <i>The Trumpet of the Swans</i>). I think <i>The Summer of the Swans </i>was a perfectly good choice for the Newbery even in that company, which is high praise indeed.</p>Sam Eddingtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01008209097162183766noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5024002801067718054.post-77416253173893444752021-01-13T10:31:00.004-05:002021-01-13T10:32:27.152-05:00Newbery Wayback Machine: Gay-Neck, The Story of a Pigeon, by Dhan Gopal Mukerji (1928)<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM8qoSN0IdlYaLGp0nqTVNNTTq5klqAwQK1iPuRzRpvITqF-MS0OquHPR9RGbD64AthS6IaLmrCAUDcruEhNFRGHmTr34s_2rR8W-uRvwa3KPqI6mdzXebbgPJzKiXAA61F40a33olGtOG/s528/Gay-Neck-95-1499022303.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="528" data-original-width="355" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM8qoSN0IdlYaLGp0nqTVNNTTq5klqAwQK1iPuRzRpvITqF-MS0OquHPR9RGbD64AthS6IaLmrCAUDcruEhNFRGHmTr34s_2rR8W-uRvwa3KPqI6mdzXebbgPJzKiXAA61F40a33olGtOG/s320/Gay-Neck-95-1499022303.jpg" /></a></div><i>Gay-Neck, The Story of a Pigeon</i> begins, at least in my copy, with a brief dedicatory letter from the author to one Suresh Chandra Banerji, Esq. A portion of this letter reads:<p></p><div>"<i>For a pigeon, life is a repetition of two incidents: namely, quest of food and avoidance of attacks by its enemies. If the hero of the present book repeats his escapes from attacks by hawks, it is because that is the sort of mishap that becomes chronic in the case of pigeons.</i>"<br /></div><div><br /></div><div>This is what I believe is called "<a href="https://dictionary.cambridge.org/us/dictionary/english/give-the-game-away">giving away the game</a>." The plot, such as it is, is mostly Gay-Neck (so named for the patch of iridescent feathers on his throat) flying, being attacked by something, and then escaping. To be fair, Mukerji does switch it up more than his note lets on -- for variety, Gay-Neck not only escapes from hawks, but also owls, a buzzard-hawk called a Baz, and WWI airplanes trying to shoot him down.</div><div><br /></div><div>There is a sort of larger story, in which Mukerji, who tells this story as if it's autobiographical, hatches Gay-Neck from an egg, trains him in homing, rehabilitates him from injury, and finally sends him off from India to the European front in WWI to work as a carrier pigeon. This last part traumatizes Gay-Neck so that, after a particularly harrowing mission, he refuses to fly anymore, and is invalided back home, until he's cured of his fear at a Buddhist(?) monastery. </div><div><br /></div><div>The most interesting parts, though, have to do with Mukerji himself. His parents live in Calcutta, but spend part of the year in the Himalayan village of Dentam. Mukerji goes up there with them, but spends all of his time out in the jungle with a hunter named Ghond -- whose connection to Mukerji is never explained -- who teaches him to do things like hunt enraged water buffalo, hide from crazed elephants, and climb up to eagles' nests. Why is he learning to do this? Who knows! What do his parents think? They don't seem to think anything, until the very end when Gay-Neck comes back ahead of Mukjeri, and his parents worry that their son might be dead. I read the entire book, and I still have no idea why this city kid and pigeon fancier is spending all of his free time reenacting Kipling with this guy. </div><div><br /></div><div><i>Gay-Neck</i> wasn't Mukerji's first book, and since one of the earlier titles is called <i>Ghond, the Hunter</i>, it's possible that this gets explained there. But in the form that <i>Gay-Neck </i>was published in...let's just say that I've read <i>The Grey King</i>, <i>The High King, </i>and <i>Dicey's Song</i>, and this might still be the Newbery that "stands alone" the least. </div><div><br /></div><div>Be that as it may, <i>Gay-Neck</i> was also a milestone in this history of the Newbery Medal. Dhan Gopal Mukerji, who had emigrated the US as a young man, would become the first person of color to win the award. (He would, alas, also be the <i>only</i> one to win the award until Virginia Hamilton in 1975(!); it's an unfortunate truth that sometimes progress happens slowly.) The one classic from the year, A.A. Milne's <i>Now We Are Six</i>, wasn't eligible, so <i>Gay-Neck</i> was probably a fair choice, as odd a book as it is.</div><div><br /></div><div>Also, this is just a guess, but I think it's safe money that <i>Gay-Neck </i>is Bert's favorite Newbery winner.</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijRcep3OS9iP7aQQZ_ugBjl2ZFyrLJ2nc530PprfZdoVeamqf1Z4HcPhks5h0RrEIOxJCc_wHCuBx7fWMT82wojGHuc8c107ReC0w9jnt-FCFQeqREbgAXAKglKNsnaHXDsiaQ3fhTSSdw/s480/hqdefault.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="360" data-original-width="480" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijRcep3OS9iP7aQQZ_ugBjl2ZFyrLJ2nc530PprfZdoVeamqf1Z4HcPhks5h0RrEIOxJCc_wHCuBx7fWMT82wojGHuc8c107ReC0w9jnt-FCFQeqREbgAXAKglKNsnaHXDsiaQ3fhTSSdw/w320-h240/hqdefault.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"If you tell me more about this Ghond fellow, I'll show you my paper clip collection."</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div><br /></div>Sam Eddingtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01008209097162183766noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5024002801067718054.post-74945612856738984742021-01-05T15:43:00.006-05:002021-01-05T16:01:03.086-05:00Newbery Wayback Machine: Miss Hickory, by Carolyn Sherwin Bailey (1947)<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQnm6TX5mL22ZvTpnrOApQNhfyItLt-p952rFYWIYoJCb0CPWcWDKNmTBiTAmfkzzQzeJKv7sIX99cHwFfknUmy3FCRLMp9NPgkkRPzZyJmHE_lgvjZA9BXL4lQiOOxtLJZMy9sUxlCgZM/s380/Miss_Hickory.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="380" data-original-width="262" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQnm6TX5mL22ZvTpnrOApQNhfyItLt-p952rFYWIYoJCb0CPWcWDKNmTBiTAmfkzzQzeJKv7sIX99cHwFfknUmy3FCRLMp9NPgkkRPzZyJmHE_lgvjZA9BXL4lQiOOxtLJZMy9sUxlCgZM/s320/Miss_Hickory.jpg" /></a></div>Rachael warned me before I started <i>Miss Hickory</i> that it was a "weird book," in a tone somewhere between amusement and caution. My friends, let me tell you -- she knew what she was talking about. My journey through the Newbery winners has led me through a <a href="https://abouttomock.blogspot.com/2018/10/newbery-wayback-machine-mrs-frisby-and.html">society of superintelligent rats,</a> onto a <a href="http://abouttomock.blogspot.com/2015/02/the-winners-circle-wrinkle-in-time-1963.html">planet ruled by an Orwellian disembodied brain</a>, past <a href="http://abouttomock.blogspot.com/2016/07/newbery-wayback-machine-m-c-higgins.html">what might be the most surreal version of Kentucky possible</a>, and right to the gates of <a href="http://abouttomock.blogspot.com/2016/11/newbery-wayback-machine-graveyard-book.html">a cemetery where a child is being raised by the dead</a> -- and I'm not sure anything I've encountered has been half as bizarre as Carolyn Sherwin Bailey's 1947 medalist. <br /> <div>Let me try to explain what goes on in this one. The titular Miss Hickory is, for the second time in Newbery history, a protagonist who's a sentient doll. But, where <a href="http://abouttomock.blogspot.com/2017/05/newbery-wayback-machine-hitty-her-first.html">Hitty</a> was just a normal doll, albeit one that possessed consciousness, Miss Hickory is perfectly capable of walking around, eating and drinking, and carrying on conversations. As the book opens, Miss Hickory's owner, a girl named Ann, has left for the winter with her family and abandoned Miss Hickory, meaning that our heroine is going to have to fend for herself. A crow friend of hers finds Miss Hickory an abandoned robin's nest to stay in, and from there, the novel proceeds episodically. Miss Hickory helps some hen-pheasants form a Ladies' Aid Society; rescues a frog who's stuck in the ice; and, after some dithering, joins animals from near and very, very far, living and dead, for a procession to the barn, where the kind of Christmas Miracle that your aunt might share a story about on Facebook is taking place. There's also an entire chapter in which Miss Hickory doesn't appear at all, in which Doe and Fawn do their best to reenact the first five minutes of <i>Bambi</i>. </div><div><br /></div><div>Up until about three quarters of the way through <i>Miss Hickory</i>, it's weird and not all that exciting -- but not much weirder or less exciting than, say, <i><a href="https://abouttomock.blogspot.com/2016/06/newbery-wayback-machine-rabbit-hill-by.html">Rabbit Hill</a></i>. The book keeps insisting that Miss Hickory is stubborn and hardheaded, but I didn't think the evidence was that persuasive -- at one point, she refuses to go with the barn cat to see the great entertainment of a cow being given medicine, and, because she doesn't think anything is going to happen until she sees the procession of the animals, she makes it into the barn, but doesn't get to actually see the Christmas Miracle. But then, just as winter is ending, she runs into a squirrel who's done a bad job storing enough nuts to make it through the winter.</div><div><br /></div><div>At this point, reader, the squirrel, crazed with hunger, RIPS OFF MISS HICKORY'S HEAD AND EATS IT. As he chews, the decapitated head gives a soliloquy to her body, telling her body how selfish and stubborn she's been for her whole life. Once the head has been fully devoured, Miss Hickory's body, now free of all care, climbs up to the top of an apple tree, sticks her neck into a crack in a branch, and becomes fully grafted into said tree. Later, Ann comes back, and finds that Miss Hickory's body, now fused to the tree, has made it so this previously unfruitful apple tree is now flowering and growing again. Miss Hickory's body, which is also in full flower, resolves to grow an apple just for Ann. End scene.</div><div><br /></div><div>I have no idea what prompted this mescaline-infused fever dream of a conclusion. I have even less of an idea why Carolyn Sherwin Bailey, her editor, or the Newbery committee thought it was a good idea. The committee named five Honor books, so it seems to me that the 1947 field wasn't considered a weak one, although I'm unfamiliar with all five, and none of them are considered "classics." The best-known eligible books from the year are probably a pair of picture books, <i>Scuffy the Tugboat</i> and <i>The Little Fur Family</i>, and <i>The Littlest Angel</i>, which is the kind of book that never makes any lists of critics' favorites, but which, according to <i>Publishers Weekly</i>, was the 15th-best-selling children's book of the entire 20th century.</div><div><br /></div><div>I honestly don't know <i>what</i> to think of <i>Miss Hickory</i>. I don't think it's particularly good, or that it <i>works</i> in any meaningful sense -- but I'll be danged if it isn't memorable, a book that I'll have a much harder time forgetting than most of its peers. And I suppose that's its own kind of accomplishment.</div>Sam Eddingtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01008209097162183766noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5024002801067718054.post-86115030693165202802020-12-16T09:42:00.000-05:002020-12-16T09:42:02.523-05:00Newbery Wayback Machine: Invincible Louisa, by Cornelia Meigs (1934)<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaRnb6mGnaSN_4ZXPe5-dx6f8noao154jQVA6WUY7_mSUP_Da1LEWZyzOaQU5B7ZRWJpjV4_dqggHPz2CfUmO4PRcH8o9ITb3MWNeD8S8u0etbJ4pX5L2QDrwulF3p13mFM5o8mj4RZaNY/s1389/df4fbe59662407c88072d6572e043055.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1389" data-original-width="918" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaRnb6mGnaSN_4ZXPe5-dx6f8noao154jQVA6WUY7_mSUP_Da1LEWZyzOaQU5B7ZRWJpjV4_dqggHPz2CfUmO4PRcH8o9ITb3MWNeD8S8u0etbJ4pX5L2QDrwulF3p13mFM5o8mj4RZaNY/s320/df4fbe59662407c88072d6572e043055.jpg" /></a></div>An interesting facet of the experience of reading some of the older Newbery winners is the difference between their reception at the time of their publication and the way they come across now. When <i>Invincible Louisa</i>, Cornelia Meigs' 1934 winner was published, <i>Children's Literature </i>raved that it was a "graceful, well-written account," adding that Meigs "weaves in many evocative descriptions of Louisa's environment and feelings, thus creating a biography that seems more interesting and appealing than a more factual, unadorned work."<p></p><div>Reading <i>Invincible Louisa</i> in 2020, I found it a dull grind of a book. The tone, full of mawkish sentimentality and unconcealed hero worship, was off-putting and strange. In order to enjoy <i>Invincible Louisa</i> at all, one has to fully sign on to the theory that Louisa May Alcott was not only one of The Greatest Writers Ever, but that both she and every member of her family were some of the finest specimens of humanity that America has ever produced, worthy of the most profound respect and admiration. The hagiographic tone sits uneasily with me, and starts to feel downright defensive in places -- most notably when discussing Louisa's father, Bronson Alcott, the least practical of the New England Transcendentalists, and a man who, let's be honest, failed out of a lot of the things he tried to do. </div><div><br /></div><div>It also helps -- a <i>lot</i> -- if the reader already possesses a wealth of background knowledge on its subject. <i>Invincible Louisa</i> assumes that its audience has already read and is intimately familiar with the details of Alcott's most famous work, <i>Little Women</i>. Now, that book remains a classic, and there are still plenty of modern children who are familiar with the story -- if not from the novel, then perhaps from one of the <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Little_Women_(1933_film)">four</a> <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Little_Women_(1949_film)">classic</a> <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Little_Women_(1994_film)">film</a> <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Little_Women_(2018_film)">adaptations</a> of it. However, my guess is that the number of children who require no explanation as to the identities and importance of Ralph Waldo Emerson and Henry Thoreau is miniscule, as are those who can tell you the entire plot and theme of <i>Pilgrim's Progress </i>-- which are additional things that <i>Invincible Louisa</i> takes for granted. Given all of this, it's hard for me to picture many children who would make much headway with the book, assuming they even picked it up.</div><div><br /></div><div>Speaking of children picking <i>Invincible Louisa</i> up, I'm not sure I've ever seen a book issued with so many different covers with such little appeal. The image at the top of this article is the edition I read, which, with its severe black and white shot of Alcott in profile on a faded gold background, is almost confrontationally off-putting. But there's a whole wealth of other choices:</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfnxsgWaMBOj8QJFzv9pi0aElvBkuEpb8O_bW3c0whv5QTM9zbIpCSWSOqVunDdU_CGDM-oGjzwR4KKJXJPb_ASjzoCg4lA_4D_lUHBHq_KQsUixuWLhAWR7b5mSolZPJ45sqLl2codG6D/s852/Louisa-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="852" data-original-width="593" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfnxsgWaMBOj8QJFzv9pi0aElvBkuEpb8O_bW3c0whv5QTM9zbIpCSWSOqVunDdU_CGDM-oGjzwR4KKJXJPb_ASjzoCg4lA_4D_lUHBHq_KQsUixuWLhAWR7b5mSolZPJ45sqLl2codG6D/s320/Louisa-1.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">There's the original 1933 edition, where Louisa seems to be in the process of turning into a giraffe</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7e9agOFuDzZHmskcgBs6NBX0J8aWNzliaAmXonLRHvhJOcYACSFYEmdwGwIySP5pSV_qwZYqEkv3ZD-TcKlYMotLakta9YEWWZ2mpJmD4hmql-B3M8bLAPB9ZwgZ2IshiCgzqE6Fabhsi/s1936/81qebzBQamL.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1936" data-original-width="1259" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7e9agOFuDzZHmskcgBs6NBX0J8aWNzliaAmXonLRHvhJOcYACSFYEmdwGwIySP5pSV_qwZYqEkv3ZD-TcKlYMotLakta9YEWWZ2mpJmD4hmql-B3M8bLAPB9ZwgZ2IshiCgzqE6Fabhsi/s320/81qebzBQamL.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">A 1975 printing, in which Louisa is a knockoff Paul Klee drawing, and her soul is trying to escape from her puckered eyeballs.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbu_NqHmovveHVxMliovrq4YDZAtSVnmRdMlJViKqnKrpUtCTHDQiyPXqlVVdDD_8Z2UfUfh3ChqkW1bLBq7Jm1t0dz1ZuXPUKDyMpIKz626Dj4TB0BvV7sCzJ4Kn59gmhJy-rqYjHcxk4/s475/1106531.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="475" data-original-width="317" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbu_NqHmovveHVxMliovrq4YDZAtSVnmRdMlJViKqnKrpUtCTHDQiyPXqlVVdDD_8Z2UfUfh3ChqkW1bLBq7Jm1t0dz1ZuXPUKDyMpIKz626Dj4TB0BvV7sCzJ4Kn59gmhJy-rqYjHcxk4/s320/1106531.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The 1968 printing, with near-unreadable text on the blue cover, and an "insert image here" silhouette of Louisa</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOJvcR6oLx3fC6MxHStaQ3_zdQT5FrjogxCsGeZQRHXuH-J_XXtJMJvMX1glHK8kk2Pdqhz-75rPBMAZ5_oWmIAt5aDONCBOY4GYJmd_UMvSy_bNhyphenhyphenvJZPdIuaMZk3A1VrEmMRadMhgLRE/s500/51B-O1WDphL.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="313" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOJvcR6oLx3fC6MxHStaQ3_zdQT5FrjogxCsGeZQRHXuH-J_XXtJMJvMX1glHK8kk2Pdqhz-75rPBMAZ5_oWmIAt5aDONCBOY4GYJmd_UMvSy_bNhyphenhyphenvJZPdIuaMZk3A1VrEmMRadMhgLRE/s320/51B-O1WDphL.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The "I did this in five minutes using royalty-free images and fonts" Kindle cover</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkh0RWWwsyNVNfHTvTkt36bZk9NHnn8sv9UPULpgYB3WfPGrREC6BqCwYr1zpT2q3ZUlpt6-5VzYlI3tb2u8x2_ib19ovfJDQy2D35uIArVLVNBC4rYPMCOHDHAfJi_HVNjwGdpx4Mg-fo/s475/51BNDJRAB1L.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="475" data-original-width="294" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkh0RWWwsyNVNfHTvTkt36bZk9NHnn8sv9UPULpgYB3WfPGrREC6BqCwYr1zpT2q3ZUlpt6-5VzYlI3tb2u8x2_ib19ovfJDQy2D35uIArVLVNBC4rYPMCOHDHAfJi_HVNjwGdpx4Mg-fo/s320/51BNDJRAB1L.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The 1991 cover, which depicts the time that Louisa spent attending Sweet Valley High</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTQRRkN7cad2ZTw6676UNvErCWl4ZLLwsh3LEakoGyqjtnHxXh13YpmT4bWVMPe_eSJwHjmDaEVXPxp2zq-PXRohe8R6fGXdntPpX-K3-tbZ1LMPxBuu-pSyAReM8thSe8XqvfzHtXSY9b/s1360/71HPa3FxT9L.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1360" data-original-width="893" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTQRRkN7cad2ZTw6676UNvErCWl4ZLLwsh3LEakoGyqjtnHxXh13YpmT4bWVMPe_eSJwHjmDaEVXPxp2zq-PXRohe8R6fGXdntPpX-K3-tbZ1LMPxBuu-pSyAReM8thSe8XqvfzHtXSY9b/s320/71HPa3FxT9L.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">And the 1995 "designed by grandma" cover, which, bizarrely, seems to still be the one the publisher is using.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Poor Louisa. An iconic writer deserves better than this.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Eight Honor books were named in 1934, which is tied with 1931 for the all-time high. The best known of them is Wanda Gág's <i>The ABC Bunny</i>, which is the book I would have chose for the Newbery, but which, as a picture book, probably didn't stand a chance of taking the top honor that year. At any rate, we still have <i>Invincible Louisa</i>, though it's clad in some of the worst packaging imaginable.</div>Sam Eddingtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01008209097162183766noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5024002801067718054.post-75066114794466481252020-12-08T11:15:00.003-05:002020-12-08T11:15:21.531-05:00Newbery Wayback Machine: Thimble Summer, by Elizabeth Enright (1939)<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDoxpfnNp5LloPEL0u4Ov2Df2FxbMjK1dL6kTsMFHRhPRP_htnUvpc4EGrvMsVjZHzqW4MqYf0uCTRofwNyma5_g7j91CIfqNyss7OWhzh9_oIiWOPE_T0ykjlOi5oO4LgJR_Ii9i-L1vu/s392/thimble.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="392" data-original-width="260" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDoxpfnNp5LloPEL0u4Ov2Df2FxbMjK1dL6kTsMFHRhPRP_htnUvpc4EGrvMsVjZHzqW4MqYf0uCTRofwNyma5_g7j91CIfqNyss7OWhzh9_oIiWOPE_T0ykjlOi5oO4LgJR_Ii9i-L1vu/w212-h320/thimble.jpg" width="212" /></a></div><i>Thimble Summer </i>opens in the middle of a horrible hot and dry spell in rural Wisconsin. Nine-year-old Garnet Linden has gone swimming with her brother Jay in what's left of the nearby river. As she explores the exposed riverbed, she finds a silver thimble. That very night, the rains finally come, in a joyous, chaotic storm.<p></p><p>So begins Garnet's "thimble summer," full of joyous and exciting memories. They're memories fully grounded in the time and place of the Depression-era Midwest -- accidentally getting locked in the library with her best friend Citronella, taking in a starving teenaged orphan, winning a blue ribbon at the fair for a prize pig. All of this is described in sparkling, incisive prose, which is a delight to read. </p><p>This is an episodic, low-stakes novel, but one that excels in its ability to conjure up a time and a place. The characters are also brilliantly executed -- I especially appreciated Garnet's quickly shifting moods, where sadness easily gives way to happiness, and vice versa. It felt grounded in the reality of being a child, in the way that the best children's literature does.</p><p>And, in all honesty, <i>Thimble Summer</i> may be my favorite of the '20s/'30s Newbery books that I've read. It's not perfect -- for example, contemporary readers will notice the book's handful of passages about Native Americans and may question the sensitivity of some of them (though, to be clear, as these things go, this isn't <i><a href="https://abouttomock.blogspot.com/2018/03/newbery-wayback-machine-caddie-woodlawn.html">Caddie Woodlawn</a></i> or <i><a href="https://abouttomock.blogspot.com/2017/05/newbery-wayback-machine-hitty-her-first.html">Hitty</a></i>). It does hold up better than most American children's novels of that vintage, and it seemed to me to be a particularly honest novel, both in its descriptions of setting, and in its emotional tenor.</p><p>Elizabeth Enright's storied career would, in addition to her 1939 Newbery win, net her an Honor in 1958 for <i>Gone-Away Lake</i>, the title she's probably most famous for now. That one was ranked #42 in <i>School Library Journal</i>'s 2012 survey of children's novels, with two of her other books also showing up: <i>The Saturdays</i> (#75), and <i>The Four-Story Mistake</i> (#80). Five Newbery Honor books were named in 1939, the best-known of which is Richard & Florence Atwater's <i>Mr. Popper's Penguins</i>. It was a competitive year, which also featured Dr. Seuss's <i>The 500 Hats of Bartholomew Cubbins</i>, and Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings' <i>The Yearling</i>, which didn't make the Newbery list, but did win the Pulitzer Prize. Even in this storied company, I think <i>Thimble Summer</i> holds its own, and I'm glad for the time I spent with it.</p><p> </p>Sam Eddingtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01008209097162183766noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5024002801067718054.post-80652492260119325142020-12-02T15:00:00.004-05:002021-04-01T20:58:14.566-04:00Newbery Wayback Machine: The Twenty-One Balloons, by William Pène du Bois (1948)<div class="separator"><p style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="499" data-original-width="314" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH3Yj1MHHlqBFgluTnW2kNPVAkfQ_3imsBRi9WfcXw_bYiyeI5AH-KzlBBe_4Ahs0OPIcY0AtMusAL7ljV-mZHu3EWPo6n3lHMdm3yNdgtv-ul2S1_ubs7JdX8T9Bxvi2vHhTXrj9Rjcyg/s320/21+balloons.jpg" /></p></div><p></p><div>Professor William Waterman Sherman has taught math at a boys' school in San Francisco for forty years. Given that this is his background, his dream in retirement -- to spend an entire year living in blissful solitude on a carefully constructed hydrogen-filled balloon, without ever touching down -- is eminently understandable. </div><div><br /></div><div>It also, sadly for Professor Sherman, is a dream easily disrupted by a suitably uncooperative seagull. A hole in the balloon the size of said seagull leads him to come down on the island of Krakatoa. The island is supposedly uninhabited, but turns out to host a secret group of San Franciscan exiles, who have stumbled upon the diamond mine to end all diamond mines. </div><div><br /></div><div>Most of the remainder of the plot of <i>The Twenty-One Balloons</i>, which won William Pène du Bois the 1948 Newbery Medal, consists of the good Professor learning about the society of the Krakatoan residents. Their fabulous diamond-given wealth has allowed them to stealthily import materials for opulent houses, each in the style of a different country. We learn about their form of government (which is, somehow, based on restaurants), their unusual names (each family is assigned a letter of the alphabet, which leads to the book's best joke), and their futuristic inventions (the bedsheet roll works much better than the electrified bumper car-style furniture). However, readers can put the year in which the book is set (1883) together with the location of Krakatoa, and guess that this society may be running on borrowed time.</div><div><br /></div><div>All of this is narrated by Professor Sherman himself, in a frame story that involves his rescue, and his ensuing lecture before the Western American Explorers' Club. The novel owes a huge debt to Jules Verne (who is name-checked in the book), and a fair amount to <a href="http://abouttomock.blogspot.com/2016/02/newbery-wayback-machine-voyages-of.html">Hugh Lofting</a>, <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mary_Norton_(author)">Mary Norton</a>, and other authors in the "fantastic adventure" genre that was popular in the first half of the 20th century. The way in which <i>The Twenty-One Balloons</i> stands out may be in the narrowness of its focus. Unlike most of the other books in this style, it's not episodic -- despite traveling around the world, the Professor only visits the one exotic locale. Most similar titles also include at least one child as a traveling companion for the adult adventurer, but Professor Sherman emphatically does not. Now that I think about it, I believe there are only two children in the book who even have speaking lines, and neither of them emerge as a distinct character.</div><div><br /></div><div>If I'd read <i>The Twenty-One Balloons</i> as a child, I'm pretty sure I would have thrilled to it, in much the same way that I did to <i>Pippi Longstocking </i>and <i>The Mysterious Flight to the Mushroom Planet</i>. As an adult, I found it quaint, but -- except for a paragraph featuring a Native American chief, and a handful of the kind of offhand remarks about "natives" that are nearly impossible to avoid in books of this vintage -- generally inoffensive, and sometimes charming. </div><div><br /></div><div>Pène du Bois illustrated <i>The Twenty-One Balloons</i>, and was well-enough regarded as an illustrator to make him one of a handful of people to figure in both Newbery and Caldecott history -- he took two Caldecott Honors, for <i>Bear Party</i> in 1952, and <i>Lion</i> in 1957. His 1948 Newbery win came in a year that featured an embarrassment of riches. Five Honor books were named, including one that's likely better known these days, <i>Misty of Chincoteague</i>, by Marguerite Henry. Other well-known books from that year include Betty MacDonald's <i>Mrs. Piggle-Wiggle, </i>as well as a whole bevy of classic picture books: <i>Goodnight Moon</i>, <i>It Looked Like Spilt Milk</i>, <i>Stone Soup</i>, and <i>White Snow, Bright Snow </i>(which won the Caldecott). But, in its hydrogen-powered glory, <i>The Twenty-One Balloons</i> soared over all of them to take the gold medal.</div>Sam Eddingtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01008209097162183766noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5024002801067718054.post-3197951097634725432020-11-12T13:43:00.001-05:002020-11-12T13:43:09.998-05:00Newbery Wayback Machine: Maniac Magee, by Jerry Spinelli (1991)<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-ZiKz4aHcw1pB6-OBnGgSw-lA6J84j9_R4wACiWC_QPXQ1CzOUP7nFsvoKq-cSAGZbmjhV06ilGAyypjXldKMFH3UrOosI2V97dE_PDFS2HKPZdYrphoyHjQe98hFmWpjkXM2SpZ6iX0k/s376/Maniac_Magee_cover.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="376" data-original-width="252" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-ZiKz4aHcw1pB6-OBnGgSw-lA6J84j9_R4wACiWC_QPXQ1CzOUP7nFsvoKq-cSAGZbmjhV06ilGAyypjXldKMFH3UrOosI2V97dE_PDFS2HKPZdYrphoyHjQe98hFmWpjkXM2SpZ6iX0k/s320/Maniac_Magee_cover.jpg" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I freely confess that I am probably the wrong reader for <i>Maniac Magee</i>. This book not only won the 1991 Newbery, but the 1990 Boston Globe-Horn Book Award, as well as enough regional and state book awards to fill a trophy case. It placed #17 on the 2010 Fuse #8/School Library Journal <a href="http://blogs.slj.com/afuse8production/2010/04/13/the-top-100-childrens-novels-poll-1-100/">Top Children's Novels poll</a>. Plenty of smart, careful readers love this novel. The weight of opinion is on their side. You should probably listen to them.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I...did not love <i>Maniac Magee</i>. It's not a long book, and the chapters are extremely short, but I still had more trouble finishing it than anything I've reviewed since <i><a href="http://abouttomock.blogspot.com/2018/11/newbery-wayback-machine-miracles-on.html">Miracles on Maple Hill</a></i>. My brain kept actively resisting the novel, partly for reasons that are possibly unfair, and partly for reasons that I think are genuine flaws in the book.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Let's get the unfair stuff out of the way first. The title character, Maniac Magee himself, is less an actual kid, and more of a figure out of a tall tale. The introduction frames him exactly this way, and big chunks of the book are spent describing his various feats of athleticism and bravery. We've established before in this space that <a href="https://abouttomock.blogspot.com/2013/03/2014-contenders-navigating-early-by.html">child characters</a> with near-<a href="https://abouttomock.blogspot.com/search?q=counting+by+7s">superhuman abilities</a> are a tough sell for me in books that are neither high fantasy (the <i>Harry Potter </i>exception), or intended to be larger-than-life comedies (which exempts the likes of <i>Pippi Longstocking</i>). I found the sections of <i>Maniac Magee</i> that focused on Maniac's legendary exploits tiresome, but a different reader could easily feel otherwise.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">On a deeper level, <i>Maniac Magee</i> is really about the way that Maniac manages to bridge the gap between Black and White residents of the town of Two Mills. In an era where <i>Antiracist Baby</i> is a bestseller, and books such as <i><a href="https://abouttomock.blogspot.com/2014/10/2015-contenders-brown-girl-dreaming-by.html">Brown Girl Dreaming</a></i>, <i><a href="https://abouttomock.blogspot.com/2013/05/2014-contenders-ps-be-eleven-by-rita.html">P.S. Be Eleven</a>, </i>and <a href="http://abouttomock.blogspot.com/2017/12/2018-contenders-patina-by-jason-reynolds.html"><i>Patina</i> </a>and the rest of Jason Reynolds' <i>Track</i> series dig deeply into the entrenched causes and profound effects of American racism, <i>Maniac Magee</i> reads to me as almost unbearably naive. Maniac (who is White) "doesn't see color," and that's what lets him unite the two halves of the town. The American history of slavery, segregation, and discrimination doesn't seem to enter into it. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Look, I was there in the 1990s, and I remember the dominance of the strain of thought where the main thing we needed to overcome racism was to see everyone as "a member of one race -- the <i>human</i> race." While I'd certainly agree that we need to see the common humanity we all share, there's a whole lot more to dismantling structural racism than the power of that brand of positive thinking. Jerry Spinelli certainly captured a moment in time, but it's a moment where the prevailing ideas were, in my opinion, overly simplistic. In its own way, thinking that Maniac could unite the town in the way that he does is just as fantastical as Maniac's running exploits and knot-untangling skills.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Certainly, <i>Maniac Magee</i> has its heart in the right place, and maybe I'm being too harsh on a book in the light of later developments -- which is something I've previously complained about when it comes to books like <i><a href="http://abouttomock.blogspot.com/2016/04/newbery-wayback-machine-waterless.html">Waterless Mountain</a>. </i>I don't want to be unfair in my criticisms of a beloved novel.<i> </i>I don't think <i>Maniac Magee</i> has aged very well, however. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Other notable American children's novels of the year included the only Honor book, Avi's <i>The True Confessions of Charlotte Doyle</i>; Caroline B. Cooney's thriller <i>The Face on the Milk Carton</i>, which scrapes the upper edge of the Newbery eligibility guidelines; Jean Craighead George's <i>The Far Side of the Mountain</i>; and Judy Blume's <i>Fudge-a-Mania</i>. It's unusual for the Newbery committee to only name one honor book -- before 1991, the most recent time that that had happened was in 1980, and as of this writing, it hasn't happened since 1999 -- and so it's possible it was perceived as a thin year. But, given the many accolades <i>Maniac Magee</i> received at the time, it would be hard to argue that the book didn't deserve the gold medal. I'm still not sold on it, but again, it's entirely probable that I'm just not the right reader for the book. </div></div><p></p>Sam Eddingtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01008209097162183766noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5024002801067718054.post-49018215693144694252020-10-16T11:16:00.005-04:002020-10-16T11:16:50.257-04:00Newbery Wayback Machine: Roll of Thunder, Hear My Cry, by Mildred D. Taylor (1977)<p style="text-align: left;"></p><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhva8n92geA_LSt9l0FXE2KKdzjLrDSjXBxrvNL2uX3ya2Rdst_iNZvK2_gf2yy8yKWKsp-DEzBakCN56mvrzxQjcHBVEnPflA72v6na9KPaUBvjk9pQU8TzvEFC1VIXFv0Z-qiCG1yx_G8/s382/Rothmc_cover.jpg"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhva8n92geA_LSt9l0FXE2KKdzjLrDSjXBxrvNL2uX3ya2Rdst_iNZvK2_gf2yy8yKWKsp-DEzBakCN56mvrzxQjcHBVEnPflA72v6na9KPaUBvjk9pQU8TzvEFC1VIXFv0Z-qiCG1yx_G8/s320/Rothmc_cover.jpg" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Cassie Logan lives with her family -- her parents, her three brothers, her grandmother, and a family friend, Mr. Morrison -- in rural Mississippi during the Great Depression. These are hard times and a hard place for a Black family, but the Logans have something that serves as their anchor -- four hundred acres of land, which they work and protect with fierceness and joy. However, neither the bonds of family nor the grounding of the land can save Cassie from a hard education in the racism of her surroundings. Incident after incident drives this point home, until a climatic summer night involving a robbery, a lynching attempt, and a fire that threatens everything the Logans have.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i>Roll of Thunder, Hear My Cry </i>puts the reader so firmly in its setting that I could almost feel the red dust between my toes. This also extends to the characters, each of whom seemed three-dimensional and real. Each of Cassie's family members, all the way from Big Ma to her youngest brother, Little Man, have their own hopes and fears, dreams and desires. The secondary characters also come alive, with even the worst of them, such as the odious White storekeeper Kaleb Wallace, remaining rooted in reality. It's hard to overstate how well Mildred D. Taylor describes the place, time, and people in this novel.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">As legendary children's literature critic Zena Sutherland once wrote (in a positive overview of the novel), "[<i>Roll of Thunder</i>]<i> </i>is not an unflawed book, but it is a memorable one." There are, indeed, some places where it's possible to quibble with the plotting; most notable to me is Little Man and Cassie's reaction to seeing their race written inside their school readers, which felt to me like it happens way too early in the book, given the way the overall plot arc involves the children coming to a realization of how permeated with racism the world around them is. But overall, the book works so well that my mind didn't linger on any plot difficulties or other blemishes.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">1976 was a strong year for American children's literature. The 1977 Newbery Committee listed two honor books, <i>Abel's Island</i>, by William Steig, and <i>A String in the Harp</i>, by Nancy Bond; other well-regarded titles from the year include <i>Frog and Toad All Year</i>, by Arnold Lobel; <i>The Missing Piece</i>, by Shel Silverstein; and <i>Summer of the Monkeys</i>, by Wilson Rawls. Even in that company, <i>Roll of Thunder, Hear My Cry</i> stands as a worthy winner, and an enduring classic in the Newbery canon.</div><p></p>Sam Eddingtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01008209097162183766noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5024002801067718054.post-37748776545823414982020-10-07T15:31:00.005-04:002020-10-07T15:33:19.288-04:00Newbery Wayback Machine: Ginger Pye, by Eleanor Estes (1952)<p style="text-align: justify;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib1QulW5l2TL3gAU6hViTbU8MduTlEb4ohec0GKAkp74Z_g_gw_HjXyjJvRKgsIZSKiJcwHz9cErio5hyphenhypheneHyZvvTZftgaHypPr7HBXjdvqnRiTvuu7PV4GPNQru1TD1ZXIq0g5BOcicCJ6/s2048/1_FHqtRjfc5PVz1SZfbshg7Q.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1412" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib1QulW5l2TL3gAU6hViTbU8MduTlEb4ohec0GKAkp74Z_g_gw_HjXyjJvRKgsIZSKiJcwHz9cErio5hyphenhypheneHyZvvTZftgaHypPr7HBXjdvqnRiTvuu7PV4GPNQru1TD1ZXIq0g5BOcicCJ6/s320/1_FHqtRjfc5PVz1SZfbshg7Q.jpeg" /></a></p><p style="text-align: left;">The title character of <i>Ginger Pye</i> is a fox terrier mix who belongs to ten-year-old Jerry Pye. The story covers the way they come together, and several of their ensuing adventures, until Ginger is abruptly dognapped halfway through the book. The remainder of the novel largely consists of the attempts of Jerry and his sister Rachel to locate Ginger, until the dénouement when they are reunited. </p><p style="text-align: left;">The world of <i>Ginger Pye</i> is a relatively small one; the scene never leaves the environs of the Pyes' hometown of Cranbury (a thinly fictionalized version of West Haven, Connecticut). That world, however, is outlined with a keen eye. I could clearly visualize the places, events, and, especially, the characters. The supporting cast, in particular, is described in ways that feel true to the ideas children have of other people. From Sam Doody, the captain of the high school basketball team, whom the Pye children look up to with barely-disguised hero worship; to the children's Uncle Bennie, who is only three years old, but worthy of profound respect, simply because he's an uncle; to Mr. Tuttle, who is one of the tallest men in town when seated, but only of average height when standing, because his height is concentrated in his torso -- they all seemed, not only like recognizable people, but those people as they might be described by elementary school-aged children. </p><p style="text-align: left;">This isn't a plot-driven novel, and the plot as it stands is probably the weakest element of <i>Ginger Pye</i> -- the confrontation between the Pye children and the dognapper seems like it's going to provide the climax of the book, but it never really happens. On the other hand, the plot isn't really the point; as in so many of these mid-century "family novels," the individual episodes are what the reader remembers after finishing the book.</p><p style="text-align: left;">As is often the case in books from the 1950s, there are some questionable racial attitudes in <i>Ginger Pye</i>. They're always mentioned more or less in passing -- I don't remember there being a single character of color on the book -- but they're there nonetheless, as when Rachel worries that that a whistle will bring a congregation of "Gypsies" around, or when she frets that a bee sting on her lip makes her "look like a Ubangi." It's the sort of thing one might want to discuss with a child reader before handing them the book.</p><p>Five Honor books were named in 1952: <i>Americans Before Columbus</i>, by Elizabeth Baity; <i>Minn of the Mississippi</i>, by Holling C. Holling; <i>The Defender</i>, by Nicholas Kalashnikoff; <i>The Light at Tern Rock</i>, by Julia Sauer; and <i>The Apple and the Arrow</i>, by Mary & Conrad Buff. I've never read any of them, so don't feel particularly able to talk about how they stack up to <i>Ginger Pye</i>, but I also note that none of them have become lasting classics. The best-known book that wasn't recognized by the Newbery committee is likely <i>Ellen Tebbits</i>, the second novel by Beverly Cleary. That one is well-regarded, but as far as I'm aware, isn't considered one of Cleary's top-tier titles. If parts of <i>Ginger Pye</i> perhaps haven't aged all that well, it was still one of the finest achievements in American children's literature for its year, and was a fine choice for the Newbery.</p>Sam Eddingtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01008209097162183766noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5024002801067718054.post-74431529962107308582020-09-24T14:46:00.003-04:002020-09-24T14:50:02.601-04:00Newbery Wayback Machine: The Tale of Despereaux, by Kate DiCamillo (2004)<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgJz0ppQT4yksPk3hTQDqfVpO1CD3JIlAOAkmgWj3YnZuExOCQY2iUGNtPIhAWhmEVfKkvGkfW6iemhPQTlXdSohGZKMxi1byonvH6zOu0T52JcUinb9HwqQAs4Wz66GG6km4AadC1wK2N/s375/The_Tale_of_Despereaux.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="375" data-original-width="260" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgJz0ppQT4yksPk3hTQDqfVpO1CD3JIlAOAkmgWj3YnZuExOCQY2iUGNtPIhAWhmEVfKkvGkfW6iemhPQTlXdSohGZKMxi1byonvH6zOu0T52JcUinb9HwqQAs4Wz66GG6km4AadC1wK2N/s320/The_Tale_of_Despereaux.jpg" /></a></div><i>The Tale of Despereaux </i>likely needs little introduction from me. It exists in the rarified air of <i><a href="http://abouttomock.blogspot.com/2015/02/the-winners-circle-wrinkle-in-time-1963.html">A Wrinkle in Time</a></i>, <i style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, "Palatino Linotype", Palatino, serif; font-size: 15.4px;"><a href="https://abouttomock.blogspot.com/2018/10/newbery-wayback-machine-mrs-frisby-and.html">Mrs. Frisby and the Rats of NIMH</a></i><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, "Palatino Linotype", Palatino, serif; font-size: 15.4px;">, </span><i>The Giver</i>, and <i>Holes -- </i>Newbery winners that are eventually encountered by just about everyone who spends time with children's books. The last time that <i>School Library Journal</i> and Fuse #8 ran their <a href="https://s3.amazonaws.com/WebVault/SLJ/SLJ_Fuse8_Top100_Novels.pdf">Top 100 Children's Novels poll</a>, <i>Despereaux</i> ranked #51, a placing that, if anything, undersells the book's popularity.<br /><br />Kate DiCamillo is one of the most important American children's writers of the 21st century. She had already vaulted to prominence with her debut book, <i>Because of Winn-Dixie</i>, which had netted her a 2001 Newbery Honor, but <i>Despereaux</i>, her third novel, truly cemented her place in the firmament. <i>Despereaux</i> features all of her trademarks: an unlikely hero; a sweet relationship between a human and an animal; and moments of gentle humor mixed in with moments of deep tenderness. <div><br />The novel's structure builds as several plot threads are introduced -- one in which the titular hero, a tiny, misfit mouse, meets and falls in love with a princess, and then is thrown into a dungeon; one in which a rat named Chiaroscuro, torn between his love of the light and the dark nature of ratly culture, accidentally causes a national catastrophe; and one in which a small girl named Miggery Sow is sold by her father into a life of hardship and abuse. All of these stories converge in the second half of the novel, culminating in an ending both thrilling and compassionate. <br /><p></p></div><div><i>Despereaux</i> isn't a novel without flaws -- I may be in the minority, but I remain unenthused by the persistently intrusive narrator, and some of the descriptions of Miggery Sow start to shade uncomfortably into the physiognomic. However, they're minor flaws, and the book on the whole is a triumph. </div><div><br /></div><div>The 2003 publishing year featured an embarrassment of riches in American children's literature. In addition to <i>Despereaux</i>, the year included two highly-regarded books that would end up as Honor titles (Kevin Henkes' <i>Olive's Ocean</i>, and Jim Murphy's <i>An American Plague</i>), two classic picture books (Mo Willems' <i>Don't Let the Pigeon Drive the Bus!</i>, and Mordecai Gerstein's <i>The Man Who Walked Between the Towers</i>), and <i>Gregor the Overlander</i>, the book that introduced a pre-<i>Hunger Games</i> Suzanne Collins to a wide audience. Even with that competition, however, <i>Despereaux </i>was and remains an uncontroversial choice for the gold medal. </div>Sam Eddingtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01008209097162183766noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5024002801067718054.post-2949695379053796012020-03-16T11:11:00.001-04:002020-03-16T11:11:09.496-04:002021 Contenders: Lily to the Rescue, by W. Bruce Cameron<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4zmAoCi5iS8ibcr6yhKpYiZtk9eqTVUubgGcfSggq-vt2oS1QcYz3C3kiW0zE4__8HAhClHuZESpx2-Yx9k3UqOiwghIEwsGgmXuEVFTLf36CW6gjkxWzOtl3b5a9zypMjnOYFX6b44E1/s1600/814-MN-N4%252BL.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1043" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4zmAoCi5iS8ibcr6yhKpYiZtk9eqTVUubgGcfSggq-vt2oS1QcYz3C3kiW0zE4__8HAhClHuZESpx2-Yx9k3UqOiwghIEwsGgmXuEVFTLf36CW6gjkxWzOtl3b5a9zypMjnOYFX6b44E1/s320/814-MN-N4%252BL.jpg" width="208" /></a></div>
When my stepdaughter was younger, her favorite genre was something that I referred to as "animals in mild peril." These are books where the protagonist usually has a parent or other relative who works as a vet, or a wildlife rescuer, or something similar, and where the plot will revolve around one specific animal's journey. The literary apotheosis of this type is probably something like Elana K. Arnold's<a href="https://abouttomock.blogspot.com/2017/03/2018-contenders-boy-called-bat-by-elana.html" target="_blank"> <i>A Boy Called Bat</i>,</a> and there are dozens of series with names like <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Animal_Ark" target="_blank">Animal Ark</a> and <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Vet_Volunteers" target="_blank">Vet Volunteers</a> that cover this ground at length.<br />
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W. Bruce Cameron is best known for his adult work (<i>A Dog's Purpose</i>; <i>8 Simple Rules for Dating My Teenage Daughter</i>), but he's no stranger to the Animals in Mild Peril realm; in fact, <i>Lily to the Rescue</i> is a spin-off from Cameron's earlier Puppy Tales series. It's narrated by the title character, a rescue dog who works at a shelter, helping to comfort and socialize the other animals. Her special human is Maggie Rose, whose mom also works at the shelter. Lily reports what she sees and hears accurately, but her interpretations of events are often wrong, which is the source of much of the novel's gentle humor.<br />
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The plot involves Lily and Maggie Rose's rescue of an injured crow named Casey. There aren't any surprises here to anyone familiar with the genre, but the characters are warmly written, and the book's brisk pace means that it doesn't overstay its welcome. <i>Lily to the Rescue</i> isn't complex or powerful enough to be a real Newbery contender, but it's got more depth than most of its competition; given that it's going to be the starting point for its own series, readers who eagerly devour this sort of thing should plan on spending some time with Lily.<br />
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Publication in March by Starscape / Tom Doherty Associates / MacmillanSam Eddingtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01008209097162183766noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5024002801067718054.post-19266742351188372072020-02-20T10:34:00.005-05:002020-02-20T10:34:59.312-05:002021 Contenders: Blue Skies, by Anne Bustard<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWbAe4ttqhr2wpE_sYmildstuoqlbJ_w97XYInW4x4M1JTt3u1A5j_mvj8wKasaafAWNHE9yF4c1K-fA9ia61Rta0pZmKe5kf3BdBY6wgnvFPSSWtdQBR2GSBy3sQNk5c4yjH0emdsqBTa/s1600/blue-skies-9781534446069_hr.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1059" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWbAe4ttqhr2wpE_sYmildstuoqlbJ_w97XYInW4x4M1JTt3u1A5j_mvj8wKasaafAWNHE9yF4c1K-fA9ia61Rta0pZmKe5kf3BdBY6wgnvFPSSWtdQBR2GSBy3sQNk5c4yjH0emdsqBTa/s320/blue-skies-9781534446069_hr.jpg" width="211" /></a></div>
Life is complicated for fifth-grader Glory Bea Bennett. Her father was lost on Omaha Beach, and is listed as MIA -- but Glory Bea is sure that he's coming home, just like he promised. This means that she isn't taking much of a shine to Randall Horton, her father's old friend from the military who seems to be taking <i>too</i> much of an interest in Glory Bea's mother. But one of the Merci Boxcars -- forty-nine railroad boxcars sent to the USA from the grateful people of France -- is going to be stopping in Glory Bea's hometown of Gladiola, Texas, on its way to the state capital in Austin. Glory Bea is sure that boxcar will bring her father home.<br />
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I had a hard time fully engaging with <i>Blue Skies</i>. Part of this, if I'm being honest, was because reading about Glory Bea constantly reminded me that I'd already encountered that particular piece of wordplay in <a href="https://abouttomock.blogspot.com/2012/03/2013-contenders-glory-be-by-augusta.html" target="_blank">another children's novel</a>. But more so, it was because I felt like <i>Blue Skies </i>never fully took flight. Many of the plot points seemed awfully familiar to me, from<a href="https://abouttomock.blogspot.com/2013/03/2014-contenders-navigating-early-by.html" target="_blank"> a child character refusing to believe that a family member who perished in WWII is actually dead</a>, <a href="https://abouttomock.blogspot.com/2014/02/2015-contenders-less-than-perfect-peace.html" target="_blank">to the trauma resulting from combat service in WWII</a><i>, </i>to <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Parent_Trap_(1961_film)" target="_blank">a child trying to break up their parent's new relationship</a>.<br />
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A well-worn plot can, of course, be magic in the right hands, if the details, setting, and characters bring it to life. Probably the area in which <i>Blue Skies</i> does best is the setting -- the (fictional) town of Gladiola rang true to me, and the bits about the Merci Boxcars do a great job of highlighting a nearly-forgotten slice of American history. Overall, however, I often felt like I was having trouble remembering the book even while I was reading it.<br />
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It's possible that readers with an affection for historical fiction or mid-20th-century Americana may find and love <i>Blue Skies</i>. It's hard for me to imagine that it will garner a mass following though, or that it will tick enough boxes for the Newbery committee to show it some love.<br />
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Publication in March by Simon & SchusterSam Eddingtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01008209097162183766noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5024002801067718054.post-50759124648444872702020-02-05T11:36:00.006-05:002020-02-05T11:36:47.903-05:00Newbery Wayback Machine: Up a Road Slowly, by Irene Hunt (1967)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir6zEnzKDJfXnSvqefFLuq6yrexBSbXJD8vu1Yitktf6ziYcNpM0iVnQOOOrqVCAVNaQQhkDXlxhyPC24TtlG5ITEHm5A2DWkEoBlN3sInNGTdKqpuHcbbRrUIzsppfoEwHrnI-Lzn7pwo/s1600/65954.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="475" data-original-width="295" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir6zEnzKDJfXnSvqefFLuq6yrexBSbXJD8vu1Yitktf6ziYcNpM0iVnQOOOrqVCAVNaQQhkDXlxhyPC24TtlG5ITEHm5A2DWkEoBlN3sInNGTdKqpuHcbbRrUIzsppfoEwHrnI-Lzn7pwo/s320/65954.jpg" width="198" /></a></div>
<i>Up a Road Slowly</i>, Irene Hunt's 1967 Newbery winner, covers ten years in Julie Trelling's life, from the time she loses her mother at the age of seven, to her graduation from high school at seventeen. During this period, she lives with her Aunt Cordelia, a stern schoolteacher who nonetheless softens as the narrative progresses. She also deals with her dissipated Uncle Haskell, falls in, out, and in love, and navigates changing family dynamics, as marriages and moves alter circumstances.<br />
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I didn't much care for <i>Up a Road Slowly </i>as I read it, and my assessment didn't really change after I finished it. It's a pale copy of a copy of <i>Anne of Green Gables </i>(1908) or <i>Little Women </i>(1868-69) <i>-- </i>heck, Julie's personal goal, to become a writer, is exactly the same as that of Anne Shirley and Jo March, and though the book mercifully ends before Julie enters the working world, she comes from a whole family of schoolteachers (which, you may remember, is the profession that both Anne Shirley and Jo March enter). But Julie is a good deal less memorable than her predecessors; I finished the book feeling like I didn't really know her all that well.<br />
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Part of the problem is that the book covers ten years in less than 200 pages (in my edition), which means that it's racing at breakneck speed through the whole process, casually mentioning events that have never been recounted, and generally telling, not showing. One of the reasons that Anne and Jo feel so alive is that we have plenty of time to linger on their adventures and learn their individual quirks -- <i>Little Women</i> also covers ten years, but is easily twice as long as <i>Up a Road Slowly</i>, and the timeline of <i>Anne of Green Gables</i> and <i>Anne of Avonlea</i> (1909) combined is only six years or so.<br />
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There are other issues too: the prose feels deliberately affected and old-fashioned, even for the time; I never really got to like Aunt Cordelia all that much; and there are some passages that feel awfully dated now. The worst of these last is probably the part where, when Julie is seven, two boys forcibly hold her arms back while a third, Danny Trevort, kisses her. After Julie, justifiably in my opinion, punches Danny in the face and gives him a black eye, Aunt Cordelia tells her "that a small boy's kiss was hardly in as poor taste as a small girl's physical violence." Though Cordelia eventually revises her opinion to admit that "the boys certainly have their share of the blame for this unfortunate episode," it just wasn't enough for me. Julie actually ends up dating Danny at the conclusion of the book, but I still came out of it wishing that I was reading about Anne and Gilbert Blythe instead. It's way funnier when Anne cracks the slate over Gilbert's head, and a good deal less rape-y to boot.<br />
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Clearly, I'm the wrong audience for <i>Up a Road Slowly</i>. As for the Newbery? Well, it wouldn't have been my choice, but I don't think it was an obvious mistake. The 1966 publishing year wasn't the strongest of the decade. Other than the three Honor books, <i>The King's Fifth</i>, by Scott O'Dell; <i>Zlateh The Goat and Other Stories</i>, by Isaac Bashevis Singer; and <i>The Jazz Man</i>, by Mary Hays Weik, the only other "classic" book from the year I can identify is Lloyd Alexander's <i>The Castle of Llyr. </i>The Alexander book would have been my choice, but given that he had already won a 1966 Honor for <i>The Black Cauldron</i>, and would later win the 1969 Newbery for <i><a href="https://abouttomock.blogspot.com/2016/06/newbery-wayback-machine-high-king-by.html" target="_blank">The High King</a></i>, his Prydain books are pretty well represented in the Newbery canon. Even if I don't think <i>Up a Road Slowly</i> is all that good, I can't identify anything I think was obviously slighted. All years aren't created equal.<br />
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<br />Sam Eddingtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01008209097162183766noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5024002801067718054.post-18518725004306236242019-11-27T14:03:00.001-05:002019-11-27T14:08:42.355-05:002020 Contenders: Blue Daisy, by Helen Frost<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgapScdGrHigzRgWCzeVJse_ET85LFhfqQe0jtTGTJGdRYezNDAceE2XeYDv-edSY8Z9k2nr0RzgD9itTdLWpRD7D1_h41bLn3S0AyS6fMb7s4W2vtKFp0T3OAHxwTWhLmzgB_HtLEWCceb/s1600/bluedaisy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="266" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgapScdGrHigzRgWCzeVJse_ET85LFhfqQe0jtTGTJGdRYezNDAceE2XeYDv-edSY8Z9k2nr0RzgD9itTdLWpRD7D1_h41bLn3S0AyS6fMb7s4W2vtKFp0T3OAHxwTWhLmzgB_HtLEWCceb/s320/bluedaisy.jpg" width="212" /></a></div>
One day, friends Sam and Katie happen to see a dog, filthy and thin, wandering through their neighborhood. None of their neighbors, from the flower-gardening Wilson sisters to the rock-throwing Tracy twins seem inclined to show it any kindness. Sam and Katie are concerned for the dog, and want to love and help her -- but in a childish moment of weakness, they do something that makes the dog mistrust them. Now, all they want to do is make things right -- but how?<br />
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What I liked most about <i>Blue Daisy</i>, a brief novel for younger middle-grade readers, was the way that its protagonists seemed like real children. Sam and Katie are generally good kids, who are nonetheless capable of momentary breakdowns in impulse control. Not only does this lead them to do something they profoundly regret, but they're unable even to really voice why they did it in the first place. Development of executive function is hard work, and seemingly inexplicable lapses happen to even the most well-behaved and kindest children. I thought that Helen Frost portrayed this with sensitivity and gentleness, while still creating an accurate portrayal of the way things can suddenly go sideways for kids.<br />
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<i>Blue Daisy</i> is the first of Frost's books that I've read since <i><a href="https://abouttomock.blogspot.com/2013/12/2014-contenders-salt-by-helen-frost.html" target="_blank">Salt</a></i> (2013). I do note that, while they're very different books, some of the reservations I had about <i>Salt</i> are the same ones I have about <i>Blue Daisy</i>. <i>Blue Daisy</i> is written in alternating sections, with Sam's being written in poetry, and Katie's in prose. This distinguishes the voices, to be sure -- but I'm not sure the stylistic choice works fully. Sam and Katie come across as very similar characters, and while Sam is slightly more dreamy and impulsive than Katie (and so, it could be argued, fits better in verse), the fact that each one ends up narrating some of the other's words and actions blurs the lines that separate the two. (Katie's dialogue, for instance, is in prose when she's delivering it, but in poetry when Sam is reporting it.)<br />
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I also wished the secondary characters stood out a little more. That's a big ask in a short novel, and it likely won't make a difference to the book's target readers, but it's the sort of thing that might get discussed by the Newbery committee.<br />
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Realistically, it's hard for me to imagine <i>Blue Daisy</i> bubbling to the top in a year with several strong Newbery candidates that take more risks and excel in more facets of storytelling. I do think, however, that the kind of kid who likes to read quieter books, and anyone who enjoys animal stories, will be won over by this novel's charm.<br />
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Published in March by Holiday HouseSam Eddingtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01008209097162183766noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5024002801067718054.post-48105726463712263092019-09-10T10:25:00.000-04:002019-09-10T10:25:04.907-04:00Blog Tour: My Jasper June, by Laurel Snyder<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8zjvuFw7OyhzefoaDnvSOZeTK5xTJ1bfyoa6DXlTUK4S4X4dAWzuo-krxmvFFLBsibYz_gHooOaiUOKu1EVQUEP3x32S4jP6inDVy8Fh8W2qFXFK_4x5StSMSIkZpb2GwPLGITG9Sr8TW/s1600/Laurel+Snyder.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="202" data-original-width="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8zjvuFw7OyhzefoaDnvSOZeTK5xTJ1bfyoa6DXlTUK4S4X4dAWzuo-krxmvFFLBsibYz_gHooOaiUOKu1EVQUEP3x32S4jP6inDVy8Fh8W2qFXFK_4x5StSMSIkZpb2GwPLGITG9Sr8TW/s1600/Laurel+Snyder.jpg" /></a>Hello, folks! Our friends at Walden Pond Press asked if we'd be interested in being part of the blog tour for <i>My Jasper June</i>. Of course, we've already reviewed (and loved!) the book, but I'm excited to rep Laurel Snyder, as she's officially confirmed as our Eastern Shore Regional Library visiting children's author for 2020. I'm really excited to bring her out to speak to students here on the shore, and I look forward to getting the opportunity to meet her in person when she visits in April!<br />
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In the meantime, you should read <i>My Jasper June. </i>I'm reposting our review of the book below, to tell you all the reasons why it's wonderful.<br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, "Palatino Linotype", Palatino, serif; font-size: 15.4px;">After a terrible tragedy last year, Leah finds herself in a holding pattern, distanced from her friends, her neighborhood, and her parents. One summer day, alone and restless, she takes a walk by the creek, and meets another girl, a free spirit named Jasper. Leah and Jasper quickly become inseparable -- but the tensions in Leah's life, as well as Jasper's own dark secrets, won't be denied, and eventually threaten to tear the new friends completely apart.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, "Palatino Linotype", Palatino, serif; font-size: 15.4px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, "Palatino Linotype", Palatino, serif; font-size: 15.4px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, "Palatino Linotype", Palatino, serif; font-size: 15.4px;">There are two things that I think </span><i style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, "Palatino Linotype", Palatino, serif; font-size: 15.4px;">My Jasper June</i><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, "Palatino Linotype", Palatino, serif; font-size: 15.4px;"> does exceptionally well. The first is its respectful, honest portrayal of the inner lives of its main characters, girls at the awkward intersection of tween and teen. This was also a feature of Laurel Snyder's previous novel, </span><i style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, "Palatino Linotype", Palatino, serif; font-size: 15.4px;"><a href="https://abouttomock.blogspot.com/2017/06/2018-contenders-orphan-island-by-laurel.html" style="color: #9900ff; text-decoration-line: none;" target="_blank">Orphan Island</a> </i><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, "Palatino Linotype", Palatino, serif; font-size: 15.4px;">(which won our 2017/18 Maryland Mock Newbery), and represents one of her key strengths as a writer. Leah and Jasper both felt real and recognizable to me, which helped me care about their adventures and fortunes.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, "Palatino Linotype", Palatino, serif; font-size: 15.4px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, "Palatino Linotype", Palatino, serif; font-size: 15.4px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, "Palatino Linotype", Palatino, serif; font-size: 15.4px;">The other area in which </span><i style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, "Palatino Linotype", Palatino, serif; font-size: 15.4px;">My Jasper June </i><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, "Palatino Linotype", Palatino, serif; font-size: 15.4px;">excels -- perhaps more so than any other book for children that I've ever read -- is in its laying bare the double bind that those grieving a traumatic loss often find themselves in. At the very moment when they need the most support, they often experience isolation, as those around them no longer know what to say to them or how to act around them, distancing themselves from the griever as a result. Without going too far into sad details from my own experience, I'll say that I've seen this dynamic and the pain it causes in real life, and Snyder does magnificent work in limning it. The scene in which Leah finally loses all patience and calls a school teacher out on this behavior at the public swimming pool is cringey in </span><i style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, "Palatino Linotype", Palatino, serif; font-size: 15.4px;">exactly</i><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, "Palatino Linotype", Palatino, serif; font-size: 15.4px;"> the way the incident might play out in reality.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, "Palatino Linotype", Palatino, serif; font-size: 15.4px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, "Palatino Linotype", Palatino, serif; font-size: 15.4px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, "Palatino Linotype", Palatino, serif; font-size: 15.4px;">In a lot of years, </span><i style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, "Palatino Linotype", Palatino, serif; font-size: 15.4px;">My Jasper June</i><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, "Palatino Linotype", Palatino, serif; font-size: 15.4px;"> would be my immediate choice for Newbery frontrunner. This year also features </span><i style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, "Palatino Linotype", Palatino, serif; font-size: 15.4px;"><a href="https://abouttomock.blogspot.com/2019/02/2020-contenders-lost-girl-by-anne-ursu.html" style="color: #9900ff; text-decoration-line: none;" target="_blank">The Lost Girl</a></i><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, "Palatino Linotype", Palatino, serif; font-size: 15.4px;"> and </span><i style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, "Palatino Linotype", Palatino, serif; font-size: 15.4px;"><a href="https://abouttomock.blogspot.com/2019/02/2020-contenders-moon-within-by-aida.html" style="color: #9900ff; text-decoration-line: none;" target="_blank">The Moon Within</a></i><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, "Palatino Linotype", Palatino, serif; font-size: 15.4px;">, so it's more complicated than that. But it's at the very least in the conversation, and I heartily recommend that you pick it up and have a look for yourself.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, "Palatino Linotype", Palatino, serif; font-size: 15.4px;">***</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, "Palatino Linotype", Palatino, serif; font-size: 15.4px;">And here's the itinerary for the remainder of the blog tour!</span></div>
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Sam Eddingtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01008209097162183766noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5024002801067718054.post-57243385334490779132019-07-30T13:15:00.002-04:002019-07-30T13:16:15.771-04:002020 Contenders: The Long Ride, by Marina Budhos<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Jamila Clarke, Josie Rivera, and Francesca George live in Queens, New York, in 1971. Though their neighborhood is majority white, all three girls are mixed-race. This year, the three friends will be entering middle school, but even more changes are in the air. A school busing initiative has been enacted, and Jamila and Josie will be making the long trek to attend a school in a majority-black neighborhood; Francesca's parents are choosing instead to send her to a private school. Against this backdrop, our heroines will struggle with family drama, navigating relationships with boys, school politics, and more.<br />
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Probably too much more, to tell the truth. As I was reading <i>The Long Ride</i>, I felt that it was trying to stuff too many themes and plot points into a book that's right around 200 pages. Some of the subplots are so briefly developed that they might as well not be there (it's hard to remember that Jamila's service as campaign manager for an acquaintance's bid for class president even happened), while others seem rushed or less than fully explored. This also affects the pacing, which I thought had a certain stop-start nature that worked against the story.<br />
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The book that <i>The Long Ride</i> reminded me of most was <i><a href="https://abouttomock.blogspot.com/2012/03/2013-contenders-glory-be-by-augusta.html" target="_blank">Glory Be</a></i>, Augusta Scattergood's 2012 novel. Both volumes are exceptional in the way that they conjure up a specific place and time, and help the reader feel what it was like to be a child there and then. Both attempt to meld a story about family relationships and friend dynamics with larger issues of civil rights, racism, and justice. And, to be honest, neither book is really able to achieve this goal; they both end up having bitten off more than they're able to chew.<br />
<br />
Marina Budhos's previous work has been for adult and young adult readers, and she's received starred reviews, nominations, and awards for many of those books. If <i>The Long Ride</i> doesn't quite hold together, it may be that Budhos is still becoming comfortable with writing books for a younger age group. I don't think <i>The Long Ride</i> will seriously contend for the Newbery, but it does make me curious about the next story that Budhos will choose to tell.Sam Eddingtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01008209097162183766noreply@blogger.com0