2013 Contenders: Summer of the Gypsy Moths, by Sara Pennypacker

Suppose I told you that there was a book out this year in which a pair of 11-year-old girls find their foster parent dead, and then elect to bury her in the backyard and continue on with their lives. Who would you think had written such a book? Jack Gantos? Polly Horvath? Roald Dahl, in a long-lost manuscript only recently rediscovered? What if I told you that it was actually by Sara Pennypacker, the author of Clementine, and that instead of being a black comedy, or a surreal, Daniel Pinkwater-style excursion, its closest tonal comparison was to a Hallmark Original Movie?

If you’re anything like me, your final reply was something like, “Wait…what?” And the single biggest problem with Summer of the Gypsy Moths, the Sara Pennypacker book in question, is that it never gets past that reaction, never finds a way to seem plausible or to allow for the suspension of disbelief.

Part of the issue is that the characters seem much more like a collection of overly precious quirks than like real people. Stella, the narrator and one of the aforementioned 11-year-olds, is obsessed with a newspaper household advice column called Heloise’s Hints; fills in the narratives of Reader’s Digest Condensed Books with sections about cleaning; can sense when something is wrong; and rhapsodizes in her narration like someone auditioning for a part in a Nicolas Sparks movie. Angel, the other 11-year-old, is in foster care because her mother was a singer who died in a car accident, and her father was a fisherman who drowned in an accident because his boat didn’t have enough life jackets; conducts seagulls on the beach into flight; and faithfully watches her dead foster parent’s soap opera so that she can give daily reports over the grave. There was not a single point during the book that I believed in either of them as more than authorial constructs. Kids with disrupted lives can certainly develop odd habits as coping skills, but in real life, those habits rarely look quite so much like literary devices.

But, the more I think about it, the more I think there might not have been any possible way for Summer of the Gypsy Moths to succeed, because however you look at it, it’s still a positive, life-affirming, ostensibly realistic book about a pair of preteens who bury their caretaker in the backyard. The tone and plot are so terribly mismatched that it might not have mattered if the characters were Anne Shirley and Lyra Belacqua, or if it were co-authored by Beverly Cleary and Laura Ingalls Wilder. The problem isn’t simply one of execution, but one that exists on the conceptual level itself.

I don’t think Sara Pennypacker is a bad writer – even in a book as unsuccessful as Summer of the Gypsy Moths, there’s some excellent prose, and she is, after all, still the author of Clementine. But I think the sooner she puts this one in her rear-view mirror, the better, and I don’t believe it is or should be a serious contender for any of the ALA awards.


Published in May 2012 by Balzer + Bray / HarperCollins

The Winner's Circle: The Witch of Blackbird Pond

"No, writing is not lonely. It is a profession crowded with life and sound and color. I feel privileged to have had a share in it." —Elizabeth George Speare*

A couple of chapters into The Witch of Blackbird Pond, I had to flip back to the copyright page and double check that it was actually published in 1958. That's just four years after The Wheel on the School, which, while it has some admirable qualities, can most kindly be described as quaint.  

Witch, on the other hand, with its vivid, immediate language and strong heroine, could easily have been written last year. In the fifties, it must have been a groundbreaking read. Despite the fact that it takes place over three centuries ago, it feels like a harbinger of modernity in middle grade literature. In the next ten years, Island of the Blue Dolphins, A Wrinkle in Time, and From the Mixed Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler would all take their place in the Newbery pantheon. Witch feels much more a part of their world than that of The Wheel on the School and Ginger Pye. 

I suppose you could argue that the focus on "who marries whom" is feministically retrograde, but in this era of Team Jacob/Edward/Peeta/Gale, that hardly stands out as old-fashioned. And realistically, this is historical fiction.  In seventeenth century New England, a girl's choice of husband really did go a long way towards deciding her fate in life. Go Team Nat!

So yes, I'd hand this book to any kid today (and I would probably play up the love triangle plot as well, because frankly, the witch trial was a bit of a letdown after all the foreshadowing). I really like the cover they're using these days too, with rosy-cheeked Kit looking all ready to start some Caribbean-style trouble. Ahead of her time, just like her creator. 

But happily, Elizabeth George Speare is not one of those authors who had to wait for the world to catch up to her talent. She won the Newbery Medal twice, as well as a Newbery Honor, the Scott O'Dell, and, in 1989, the Wilder. Wilder Committee chair Anita Silvey commented on the "vitality and energy, grace of writing, historical accuracy and tremendous feeling for place and character" of Speare's writing. That feeling for place is very much apparent in Witch, where Kit is reluctantly seduced by landscape of Speare's native New England.

Aaaand it was in that very New England that the book was challenged a mere ten years ago. For promoting witchcraft. File under "unclear on the concept."   

Travis Jonker also re-covered the novel earlier this year. He put a bird on it!

2013 Contenders: Neversink, by Barry Wolverton

One thing I think we can all agree on: puffins are funny. With their awkward walk, missile-shaped bodies, and confrontationally bright beaks, they seem to have been designed by a team of comedians willing to do anything for a laugh.

One thing puffins are not, however, is heroic. Lockley J. Puffin is no exception, but his curiosity and his willingness to speak out against injustice force him further and further into this unwanted role despite his best efforts. His island, Neversink, is being forcibly oppressed by a group of owls, headed by a tyrannical pygmy owl named Rozbell. Most of the puffins and other auks would rather submit than resist, but Lockley, with help from a walrus named Egbert, a hummingbird named Ruby, and the Great Auk himself, is determined to make things right – and protect the safety of Lucy, his mate, and their unborn child.

The world of Neversink is a richly-realized blend of Norse mythology, surreal humor, and Watership Down-style fantasy. Creating a memorable fantasy setting is no mean feat, especially for a debut author, but Barry Wolverton manages it. The prose itself is also marvelous. The scene in which Lockley comes face to face with the sea goddess Sedna, in particular, is truly lovely, reaching a sort of prose poetry that shows up all too infrequently in children’s literature.

I did wonder if the political intrigue and historical in-jokes would be of interest to a juvenile audience, though that was more noticeable at the beginning of the book. And, while Lockley himself is a fully three-dimensional character, not everyone in the book is quite as well-rounded. Rozbell, in particular, is an effective villain, but one without much depth. The setting and the hero, however, largely make up for any such shortcomings.

With the number of excellent books that have already been published so far, I’m not sure you’ll see Neversink in the ALA awards come January. But I’d highly recommend it for any readers with interests in fantasy, animal novels, or mythology.

Published in March through Walden Pond Press / HarperCollins.

Anaheim, Anaheim, oh how you shine!

We've been a bit lean on posts lately, and that state of affairs is likely to continue until July.

On the plus side, we're both going to be in Anaheim for ALA Annual Conference in two weeks. I know some of our fellow kid lit nerds will be there too - if you see us wandering around, please say hello! (And tell us where the good ARCs are. I promise I won't knock down the poor publisher reps in my haste to seize them.)

Remembering Peter D. Sieruta

As you may have heard, Peter D. Sieruta, author of the Collecting Children's Books blog, passed away suddenly the other day.

I didn't know Peter personally at all, aside from the occasional comment exchange, but he has been one of my professional heroes for several years. In addition to his many thoughtful insights about children's literature, he set a certain tone of civility, humility and kindness that deeply enriched the discourse of our community. Just in the past few months, I've turned to Sam several times to say something like, "Peter Sieruta is such a kind, gentle person."

I will miss him, and I will be thinking of him next year on "Newbery Day."

2013 Contenders: The Humming Room, by Ellen Potter

If you're nerd enough to be reading this blog, you probably know that Betsy Bird is redoing her Top 100 Picture and Chapter Books polls over at Fuse 8. She's counting down from 100 for both lists, and I fully expect The Secret Garden to appear within - or quite close to - the single digits of the Chapter Books list. People looooooove that book. They lurve it. They loaf it. (Myself included.)

So you'd have to have a mighty pair of ovaries in order to re-imagine Burnett's masterpiece, and that's just what Ellen Potter does with The Humming Room. In place of spoiled colonialist-spawn Mary Lennox, we have neglected trailer-dwelling Roo Fanshaw, who survives the slaughter of her parents by hiding underneath said trailer. In place of a mansion in Yorkshire, we have a former sanitarium on an island in the St. Lawrence river. And there are, of course, a sickly cousin, a grieving uncle, a wild boy, and a secret garden.

Ellen Potter writes maddeningly uneven books. I would argue that the best portions of The Humming Room are better than the best 2012 has offered so far. Roo Fanshaw is a wonderful character, and Potter is shrewd to point out that neglect happens amid both luxury and poverty. Like Mary Lennox, Roo is believably unlikeable in the early chapters, protecting herself with a habitual sullen ferocity. Then, of course, the seeds of her innate goodness germinate in the rocky soil of the island with a satisfying inevitability.

In any retelling of The Secret Garden, the setting must become a character in itself, and Potter succeeds in bringing her world to life with lyrical, Romantic prose. The St. Lawrence nourishes its inhabitants and shapes their characters in obvious and subtle ways. The house itself, formerly a sanitarium for children with tuberculosis - is appropriately creepy. And her take on the garden is fresh and delightful.

Where Potter falters a bit is in her secondary characters. Cousin Phillip, the uncle, and the wild boy are all underdeveloped, and they do not differ sufficiently from their parallels in Burnett's work. It feels like Potter spent all of her time lovingly crafting Roo and her world, and then plugged in the other necessary elements in a halfhearted 1:1 ratio. They don't stand up well beside Roo.

Still, like The Kneebone Boy before it, this is a lovely book, and I eagerly await the masterpiece that I know Ellen Potter is going to write one of these days. She's one of the best middle-grade authors we have.

Feiwel and Friends, February 2012

The Winner's Circle: Moon Over Manifest, by Clare Vanderpool (2011)

There's a kind of novel that we have a tendency to think of as The Newbery Book. It has a female protagonist, one right on the edge of adolescence. Invariably, she's motherless. It's set in a small town, one populated entirely with "quirky characters." It's probably historical fiction, and odds are good that it contains some life-affirming lessons about the power of literature, or art, or story.

Even though it's The Newbery Book, it doesn't actually win as often as it sometimes feels like. It has a proud historical tradition that includes books such as Up a Road Slowly (1967), Dicey's Song (1983), Missing May (1993), and Walk Two Moons (1995), but in the past 15 years, I only count two or three Newbery winners of this type: The Higher Power of Lucky (2007), Moon Over Manifest (2011), and maybe, depending on how you think about it, Out of the Dust (1998). Yet, for reasons of which I'm not entirely sure (maybe because they tend to be tough sells to child readers?), it's a category that continues to loom large in the minds of librarians and other kidlit folks.

At any rate, Moon Over Manifest, Clare Vanderpool's surprise 2011 winner, fits the bill perfectly. It is set during the Depression, and its heroine, 12-year-old Abilene Tucker, has been sent by her itinerant father to stay the summer in the town where he grew up: Manifest, Kansas. She stays with the local bootlegger/temporary pastor, is befriended by the plucky newpaper columnist, and does gardening for the Hungarian medium. As she searches for clues to her father's past, she finds that the history of the town seems to hinge on the events of the year 1918 -- a story that has hurt the town deeply, but also has the potential to heal it.

2011 was the first year that I was involved with the Maryland Mock Newbery, and it so happened that we had the discussion/voting meeting on the same day as the announcement of the actual Newbery. When the news came in that Moon Over Manifest had won, it was followed by...some expressions of disbelief, and some uncomfortable silences. It wasn't on our shortlist, and even most of the librarians who had heard of it hadn't read it. It truly seemed to come from nowhere to win the award.

And...after having read the book, the award still doesn't make much more sense to me than it did that day. The pacing seems herky-jerky, speeding arbitrarily through some events, and slowing way down for others. Abilene is desperate to know about her father, but her other personality traits aren't particularly well-defined. Using Ms. Sadie, the medium, to tell the vast majority of the 1918 story threatens to turn her into a Ms. Exposition, the climax of the 1918 story features a Talking Killer, and the final revalations about Ms. Sadie felt to me more appropriate to a Guiding Light episode. I never felt truly engaged with the plot. I don't think that it's because it's The Newbery Book -- I really enjoyed The Higher Power of Lucky, so I know it's possible for those titles to appeal to me -- but because it isn't fully successful at telling an effective story.

If we were to give the award out again today, the most likely candidate might be Rita Garcia-Williams' One Crazy Summer, which did pick up a Newbery Honor, the Coretta Scott King, and the Scott O'Dell. Our 2011 Mock Newbery winner was The War to End All Wars, by Russell Freedman, which is also an excellent title, and probably should have gotten more acclaim than it did.

Moon Over Manifest didn't do it for me (though my daughter loved the audiobook, so opinions do differ), and I think it very likely that this award won't age very well. But that's, as always, only one man's viewpoint.