What I Read in April

Technically, April isn't quite over, but it's close enough that I know I'm not going to finish any more books before midnight tonight. So here's what I read this month:

1. A Wrinkle in Time by Madeleine L'Engle
I decided I wanted to read this book to my kids (even though Aaron had already read it himself) since the movie was coming out. But then, everything I've heard about the movie has been incredibly lame, so we have not rushed out to see it, but I'm still glad we read the book.

I know I read this book when I was a child, but I only remembered two things from it: Charles Wallace fixing his mom and Meg a midnight snack and all of the children bouncing their balls in synchronization with each other. Now that I've read it again, I can't believe I had no recollection of Mrs. Whatsit, Mrs. Who, or Mrs. Which; or zapping through time and space; or Charles Wallace being hypnotized and turning into a shell; or a living brain pulsing on a pedestal. It's funny what the mind latches onto and remembers.

This book might have been a little too scary for Max and Bradley. I don't think it gave either of them nightmares, but at one point, Max shrieked at me to stop reading, and that's usually a pretty good indication that it has crossed the line into the "too intense" category. But we asked Aaron to spoil the ending for us, and then he allowed me to continue.

I know this book won a Newbery, helped establish a genre, and is beloved by many, but it just isn't my favorite. I have nothing against the book itself; I just can't ever seem to fully invest in science fiction.

Even though we haven't seen the movie yet, my hold for the graphic novel adaptation came in literally the day after we finished this book, and my boys devoured it one, two, three, as soon as I brought it home. I didn't get a chance to read it before it had to go back to the library, but they said it stayed pretty true to the original.

2. Brideshead Revisited: the Sacred and Profane Memories of Captain Charles Ryder by Evelyn Waugh
April was classics month for my book club, and this was the selected read. It had actually been on my to-read list for awhile, so I was grateful for the incentive to finally read it.

And I needed it. The knowledge that I would have someone to discuss it with when I was done was maybe the only thing that helped me get through the first couple of hours of listening. It was rough: it begins with Charles Ryder in the army in World War II. When he finds out his division is going to be staying at a large manor called Brideshead, his mind flashes back to twenty years before when he spent a great deal of time there with the Marchmain family. But first, you have to get through his first year at Oxford, during which part I spent the whole time wondering what was real and what was only perceived because they were all too drunk to see straight.

It picked up, or at least became more interesting to me, after he started spending more time with the whole Marchmain family, and not just Sebastian. But I can't say I ever liked the story. Each character was complex and incredibly flawed, and I had more sympathy for some (Julia) than for others (Charles). It reminded me a lot of Rules of Civility, probably because of the time period (the two novels are about fifteen years apart, but still felt similar) but also because all of the characters make such stupid choices. However, I adored the writing in Rules of Civility, and I found it a little tedious and at times cryptic in Brideshead Revisited.

But I think the main reason for my distaste is that I despised, absolutely despised, Charles Ryder. And it's hard to like a book when you dislike the main character so much. I know most people at my book club didn't agree with me, but I found his selfishness to be quite sickening.

Speaking of book club though, if I had read this book on my own, I probably would have hated it. Chances are, I might have even abandoned it partway through. But getting the chance to discuss it with other readers who felt just as baffled and confused as I did at times (what was the deal with Sebastian's teddy bear anyway?) made all the painful moments worth it. In fact, the discussion was so good that I would be quick to recommend this as an excellent choice for others looking for good book club material (although, fair warning, I feel like you'd need a group of fairly serious readers to tackle this one).

Mature content: infidelity (off-stage) and lots of drinking

3. Pie by Sarah Weeks
I checked out this book from the library because I thought it would make the perfect readaloud for March since we like to go all out for Pi(e) Day. But then, other books pushed their way ahead, and we didn't get to it. As it turned out, we didn't get to Pie Day either because of the cold, snowy weather in March, which meant that both the book and the party got pushed back to April. Coincidence? I think not.

This book was a happy surprise. We chose it because of its subject matter, and while there are certainly many tantalizing descriptions of pies, we ended up loving it for its story. When Aunt Polly, world-famous pie maker, dies unexpectedly, she leaves her beloved pie shop to Reverend Flowers, her grumpy cat, Lardo, to Alice, and her top secret pie crust recipe to . . . Lardo. That's right. She leaves her recipe to a cat, and a most unlikeable cat at that. Many people are desperate for that recipe, and after Aunt Polly's apartment is found ransacked, Alice knows this is serious and she has to get to the bottom of it.

I feel a little guilty for liking this book so much because last month I talked about a book called Zinnia and the Bees, and one of the main things that bugged me about it was that Zinnia's mother has a complete personality shift at the end. Well, the same thing happened in this book. Alice's mother is selfish and bratty, and then, all of a sudden, she's not. It's ridiculously convenient, and yet, it didn't bother me in this story the way it did with Zinnia. Maybe it was because I was reading it to my kids, and my ability to suspend my disbelief is naturally extended when I'm with them. But really, I think it was just because we were having so much fun with this story, so I was willing to overlook little pet peeves. Plus, I really loved Sarah Weeks' writing style, especially the way she so easily and naturally filled in the back story. You didn't even realize a flashback was happening until it was over.

And of course, this book fulfilled its main purpose, which was to get all of us hyped up and excited for forty-four pies and one hundred and eighty friends and neighbors at our annual pie party.

P.S. Deal alert: the paperback is less than $3 on Amazon right now, so you might want to snag one if it sounds good.

4. And Both Were Young by Madeleine L'Engle
Yes. YES. YESSSSSSS. My search for a clean, well-written, interesting young adult novel was finally rewarded. I would feel comfortable recommending this to any teenager (and plenty of adults as well).

This is one of Madeleine L'Engle's early, early novels. Published in 1949, it takes place right after WWII in a boarding school in the Swiss Alps. The setting is breathtaking (as you might imagine), and there is plenty of skiing to go around (this would be a perfect winter read). Philippa, or Flip as she is usually called, has been enrolled at the boarding school because her mother died and her father is an artist and must travel for work. She . . . does not have the best attitude about it. She feels like she doesn't relate to any of the other girls and consequently spends most of her free time seeking out places to be alone.

One day she is out exploring and comes upon a little chateau nestled among the trees. There is a dog that she immediately recognizes because she'd been pummeled over by him when she and her father had been staying at the beach right before they took the train to Switzerland. But more interesting than the dog is the dog's owner--a boy named Paul who is as nice as he is handsome. Flip starts sneaking out on Sunday afternoons to spend time with Paul, and having a real friend gives Flip the confidence to overcome some of her shyness at school.

There's more, too: a dark, troubling side of Paul, a creepy hobo who wanders the hills, secret ski lessons, and an art teacher who mentors Flip when she needs it most. And even though Flip and Paul spend all that time alone together, they never do more than hold hands. Madeleine L'Engle nailed the innocent, clean romance.

My one issue (observation? complaint?) was that as the story progressed, Paul seemed younger and younger to me. I'm sure this had to do with the fact that as you learn more about his past, he seems more vulnerable because of all that he's been through.

Although the book was published in 1949, it was revised and reissued in 1983. I originally started with the 1983 edition from the library, but when that copy had to go back, I switched to the 1949 edition on my kindle. It sounds like there are differences between the two, but for my part, I couldn't see what those were.

I can't tell you how good it felt to read a young adult novel that I actually enjoyed and would eagerly recommend to others. This book was a major win for me.

P.S. And right now, the kindle edition is only $4.

What books did you read this month? Anything worth recommending? Share in the comments!

What I Read in March

March was a good reading month for me, especially considering the fact that one of the books I read will probably be one of my top five reads in 2018. Keep reading to find out which one it was . . .

1. Zinnia and the Bees by Danielle Davis
Most books ask the reader to suspend their disbelief on some level., but I'm going to be perfectly frank and say that I just couldn't do it with this one. I wanted to like it because Zinnia, the protagonist, is a knitter, which I found immediately endearing. But when a truck filled with beehives crashes and the hundreds of liberated bees choose to collectively land in Zinnia's unruly curly hair, I was skeptical. But then the bees proceed to stay on top of her head for something like the next three weeks. She hates it (understandably) but just pulls up a hood and carries on with the other traumas in her life (her brother's abrupt departure, an emotionally distant mother, and friend problems). One has to wonder why a) no one else notices the buzzing bees, b) Zinnia doesn't ask someone to drive her outside the city or at least to a park where the bees could find an appropriate home, or c) Zinnia's new friend, a brilliant naturalist, doesn't come up with any ideas himself (even though he says he'll help her). If the events in the book took place during a single day, maybe this would work, but over several weeks, no way.

The other thing I couldn't handle, and this is actually a big pet peeve of mine in general, is that Zinnia's mother is an austere, insensitive, unloving mother (and always has been from the sounds of it), but then one day, she flips things around and begins to invest in their relationship. Of course, a big event triggers this, so maybe it isn't completely unbelievable, but I still have a really hard time with someone being painted as completely awful and then expecting me to just go along with this miraculous change in attitude and temperament. If this is going to be asked of me, then you have to give me at least a little glimmer that such a change could be possible before it actually takes place.

I can appreciate the fact that there are different books for different tastes, and this one just wasn't for me

2. Ellen Tebbits by Beverly Cleary
We're not quite ready to read the last book in the Ramona series. She and Aaron have grown up together, matching year for year, and now they're both in fourth grade, which is when the final book takes place. We'll read it in the next couple of months, but it will be bittersweet for sure.

In the meantime, we read Ellen Tebbits, which was new to me as well as to my kids. Ellen has a quieter personality than Ramona, but that doesn't mean she avoids childhood drama. In fact, the fight between her and her best friend, Austine, is probably one of the most realistic squabbles turned serious that I've ever read.

I always love Beverly Cleary's books for their strong time stamp. For example, at one point, Ellen and her mother go to the department store to pick out a pattern and material for a new dress. Can you imagine going to Nordstrom's to shop for fabric?! But I guess in an era when sewing for your entire family was in vogue, it would make sense to sell what the mothers would buy.

I gave Maxwell Otis Spofford for his birthday, which is the followup to this book. I thought I would read it aloud as well, but at the time, we were still in the middle of Ellen Tebbits, and by the time we finished, he and Aaron had both already read it on their own.

3. Just Mercy: A Story of Justice and Redemption by Bryan Stevenson

This was my book club's pick for March, and I'll be surprised if it doesn't make it into my top five books of 2018. It was so good, but it's not for the faint of heart.

It was one of those books that left me pacing around the house, shouting, "This is happening in MY country?! During MY lifetime?!" "And also, "Our justice system is broken. BROKEN. And so corrupt." Mike's probably glad I'm done with it and that I processed all my feelings at book club so he doesn't have to hear about it anymore.

The book is by Bryan Stevenson, a lawyer who founded the Equal Justice Initiative, a nonprofit organization that strives to provide fair trials and secure humane sentences for all prisoners . In the book, he exposed many of the holes in our justice system--things like bribery, insufficient evidence, dishonesty, corrupt officials, and racial prejudices. He also shared many stories, which opened my eyes to the truth in painful ways.

One of these was about Walter, a man who was falsely accused of murder and sentenced to death row. The only evidence against him was a shaky testimony given by a man who later admitted he had been bribed by police in exchange for a lesser sentence for a crime he had committed. It was frightening to see how easily Walter was convicted of murder and how difficult it was to reverse that decision (even with plenty of evidence supporting his innocence).

But ultimately, the book was about mercy. Bryan was adamant that "Each of us is more than the worst thing we've ever done." I believe that, and that was something I tried to stress during our book club discussion. In this book, the criminals are the "good guys," the ones being wronged, and the ones the readers end up rooting for. But I was kind of amused how quickly we started pointing our fingers and condemning some of the other people in the stories: the prison guard, the judge, the white police officer, and the nosy neighbor. It was as if we needed a target for all of the anger and indignation we were feeling. But those people were also "more than the worst thing they've ever done." It was hard to admit, but they needed mercy, too.

Anyway, you can probably tell that this is a book for which I could easily have written a whole review. Maybe I should have. But I highly recommend it nonetheless.

4. Seek This Jesus by Neill Marriott
I became a fan of Neill Marriott the moment I first heard her endearing southern accent during General Conference. Her talks have been some of the most memorable of my life, and I think about them often, in all sorts of situations. (Side note: she was released from the Young Women General Presidency this past weekend during General Conference, and it made me want to cry. I feel so sad that I won't get to hear any more talks from her.)

This is a slim book, but I loved every word of it. Turns out, Sister Marriott has a way with words on paper just as much as she does when she is speaking. In fact, there were times when her voice seemed to leap off of the page as she shared her experiences.

This was a good mix of personal stories and bold insights. One of the most impactful stories for me was about one of her daughters when she was in elementary school. She didn't have any friends and felt so lonely at school. Sister Marriott said she found out the times her daughter's class went to recess. She said, "Each day at 10:10 am, I dropped to my knees wherever I was in the house. The kitchen floor, the family room rug, the bathroom tiles, all became prayer places as I petitioned the Lord on behalf of my lonely daughter." But the thing that made my eyes prick up instantly with tears was this: "That was when she needed me, and that was when she would have me."  I loved the way she accessed the power of prayer on her daughter's behalf.

I also loved this thought, which actually goes along perfectly with my theme for 2018 (which I still haven't written about . . .): "The temporal world rushes into any space in our lives that we will give it, filling our spiritual needs with good but mostly temporary activities."

This is a book I'm sure I'll revisit frequently, probably even later this year as part of my rereading goal. But first, I have to loan it to my mom.

5. Hello, Universe by Erin Entranda Kelly
This was the winner of the 2018 Newbery Medal. I had never even heard of it beforehand, which either shows that I was not great about following Newbery news ahead of time (which is true) or that it wasn't a favorite to win. Regardless, I put the audio on hold as soon as the winners were announced, and then I flew through it as soon as I got it.

It follows four characters: Virgil (a shy boy who is being bullied by Chet and is secretly smitten with Valencia), Valencia (a deaf girl who loves nature, is tormented by a recurring bad dream, and doesn't realize Virgil exists), Chet (the aforementioned bully), and Kaori (a self-proclaimed psychic who happens to have both Virgil and Valencia as (her only) clients). The bulk of the story takes place on a single Saturday when all four characters happen to cross paths and interact in a rather uncanny way. It begins when Chet meets Virgil in the woods and drops Virgil's backpack (which happens to be holding his pet guinea pig, Gulliver) down a deep, dark well.

I had mixed feelings with this one. I liked the story and the characters, and I absolutely adored the ending, but my overall reaction was surprise that it had won the Newbery. The writing was good, but I wasn't blown away by it (although Kaori did get me to laugh out loud several times). The plot line was interesting but not super intricate. And it was just a little bit on the short side. I had a difficult time seeing what set it apart from other beautifully executed middle-grade novels. I liked it for sure (much more than Zinnia and the Bees--see above) and would recommend it, but it's not one I'm rushing out to buy for our personal shelves.

What did you read in March? I'm always up for new recommendations!

The Book Blab Episode 13: The Girl Who Drank the Moon Plus Two Other Newbery Favorites

Several months ago, Suzanne and I announced that we would be reading The Girl Who Drank the Moon by Kelly Barnhill in preparation for an upcoming mini book club. That mini book club finally happened last week when Suzanne was in Utah for a friend's wedding, and I was able to steal her away for an hour so we could discuss the book in person.

There was so much to talk about with this story, and we could have gone on for much longer if we'd had the time (and if we'd thought anyone would actually want to watch a three-hour long episode). In fact, after we wrapped up our conversation and stopped recording, we remembered other things we had wanted to talk about. (And at that time, Suzanne also diagnosed why I loved this book even though it's fantasy. Apparently it's because it's more theme driven instead of plot driven. Who knew?!) Anyway, we hope some of you accepted the invitation to read this book with us and will share your thoughts, questions, or opinions in the comments. Enjoy!

1:23 - There will be spoilers in this episode!
2:00 - Plot summary of The Girl Who Drank the Moon
5:40 - Introduction of characters
8:58 - Sorrow versus hope
14:00 - "A story can tell the truth, but a story can also lie."
17:15 - The power of love

• 19:35 - The relationship between love and magic
• 21:15: "There is no limit to what the heart can carry." 

23:40 - Humanizing the villain leads to complex emotions
27:00 - Did this book deserve the Newbery?

• 28:25 - Amy's thoughts
• 29:50 - Suzanne's thoughts
• 32:20 - Would a child like this book?

34:40 - Two other Newbery recommendations

• 35:00 - Suzanne's recommendation 
• 36:20 - Amy's recommendation

37:50 - Conclusion

Books talked about during the show:

The Girl Who Drank the Moon by Kelly Barnhill
A House in the Sky by Amanda Lindhout and Sara Corbett
The Giver by Lois Lowry
When You Reach Me by Rebecca Stead

Caddie Woodlawn by Carol Ryrie Brink

I put Caddie Woodlawn on our readaloud to-read list a long time ago. I had grown up watching the 1989 Wonderworks film adaptation, and I think I'd read the book as well. It seemed like one we'd eventually enjoy reading, although I had no immediate plans for it.

But then my good friend, Sarah, read it aloud to her five-year-old daughter, and she praised it so highly that it quickly bumped its way up to the top of the list.

Caddie is something of a tomboy, growing up wild and free on the Wisconsin frontier in 1864. When her family moved there from Boston seven years before, she and her little sister, Mary, were both frail and sickly. After Mary died, Caddie's father decided Caddie needed to build up her own health in the great outdoors: "Harriet, I want you to let Caddie run wild with the boys. Don't keep her in the house learning to be a lady. I would rather see her learn to plow than make samplers, if she can get her health by doing so. I believe it is worth trying. Bring the other girls up as you like, but let me have Caddie."

And so Caddie's mother does, although she's not always thrilled about it. Caddie swims in the river, makes regular visits to the Indian camp, goes hunting with her uncle, and plows the field with her brothers, Tom and Warren.  Her father's plan works. She is happy and healthy and thinks she has the best life in the world. However, as she grows older, her mother insists on a little more propriety, which Caddie resists at first until she realizes she doesn't have to give up who she is and what she loves in order to become a lady.

We were well into the book when we found out it's based on the life of the real Caddie Woodlawn, a fact I had forgotten (or never knew). We love fiction and are often quite inspired by it, but there's something special when you realize that a character's brave and honorable acts are actually founded in fact. I guess they mean just a little bit more.

For example, let me tell you a little bit about the Hankinson family. When Sam Hankinson settled in Wisconsin, he married an Indian woman and together they had three children. As the town and surrounding area gradually grew more populated, the Hankinsons felt the harsh prejudice and judgment of the white families around them. Eventually, Sam's wife decides to leave her husband and children and return to her people (a decision that seems prompted in part by Sam's own shame of her).

She goes to the schoolhouse to tell her children goodbye, and it is one of the saddest, most heartrending scenes, both for the reader and for Caddie, who can't contain her tears and lets them fall to the book that's open on her lap.

For months, Caddie has been saving a silver dollar she received from her Uncle Edmund, and she finally knows exactly how she wants to spend it. The next day after school, she leads the three Hankinson boys to the general store and buys each of them candy, a top, a comb, and a handkerchief. She spends every last cent, and with each present, the boys' eyes light up a little more.

Later that night, Tom questions her, "But Caddie, you needn't have spent your whole dollar. You could have got them each a top or a hoarhound stick, and kept the rest for yourself."

But Caddie replies, "No, Tom, it had to be all of it. I wanted to drive that awful lonesome look out of their eyes, and it did, Tom. It did!"

It was such a sweet, poignant lesson to me (and hopefully to my kids too). Caddie stripped away all the labels and prejudices heaped upon this family (even by Caddie's own mother) and saw them for who they really were: three little boys who desperately missed their mother. The shopping spree was fun, but the attention she gave them was even more meaningful. For just a few minutes, they no longer felt like outcasts but like royalty.

Something similar happened a little later on in the book, but this time it was between Caddie and her younger sister, Hetty. Hetty is not a tomboy like Caddie. However, on occasion, she tags along with Caddie, Warren, and Tom but mostly just so she can turn on her heel at the least sign of mischief and run home to tattle to their mother. Consequently, the three adventurers avoid her whenever possible.

One afternoon though, Caddie is by herself on the quiet hill north of the house. She has picked a bouquet of flowers and is braiding the stems together while she thinks and daydreams. Then she catches sight of Hetty, and her first thought is one of irritation. She just knows Hetty is coming to disturb her peace by spreading some bit of news she's discovered.

But surprisingly, Hetty just takes a seat beside Caddie and says, "It's kind of nice to be just us two alone . . . isn't it? Without the boys. But I guess it's more fun for you with the boys."

In just those few words, quite a lot is revealed about Hetty: "It was almost as if Caddie had never seen that little face before. Suddenly she understood for the first time that Hetty was all by herself. Minnie was too young, and Tom, Caddie, and Warren had no room in their adventures for a tagging and tattling little sister. Was her eagerness to be the first to tell only her way of trying to make herself important in the eyes of all the selfish older people?"

The moment was so unexpected and sweet that it made me want to weep. For all of her energy and shenanigans, Caddie could be quite mature and perceptive. This was one of those times, and I felt like reaching through the page and giving her a hug when she said, "I think it's nicer since you came, Hetty. I really do."

But if you asked my boys what their favorite part of the book was, it wouldn't be that moment of generosity toward the Hankinson children or this sweet glimpse of sisterly bonding. No, they would most definitely say, "Tom's story about Pee-Wee." One day while Caddie, Tom, and Warren are plowing a field, they decide to take turns telling stories to each other. Tom's story is about a greedy, quick-tempered, and rather heartless farmer named Pee-Wee who uses any misfortune to his advantage. My kids thought this story was so funny and, in a moment that will surely go down in our family's readaloud history, even asked me to read it again immediately after I read it the first time.

A couple of weeks after we finished it, Maxwell brought home a paper from school detailing an upcoming assignment where they had to tell a story to the class. And what story do you think Max wanted to tell? Pee-Wee, of course. Now, as those of you who have actually read the story know, there are some rather morbid moments, which are meant to just be far-fetched and ridiculous, but which might sound rather disturbing coming out of a six-year-old's mouth. Luckily, I was saved because it took him ten minutes to tell, and he was only supposed to talk for two to four minutes (although, if you ever catch Max unoccupied, you will be in for a treat if you ask for his best retelling of Pee-Wee).

Readers are always finding new coming-of-age stories to rave about, but I believe this one could rival just about any of them. Caddie grows and matures throughout the book without losing any part of herself. She is still the same brave, fiery tomboy we started out with, but by the end of the story, she is wiser and just a little softer around the edges. This is due in large part to her father, a man who maybe edged out Atticus Finch as "best father in all of literature" for me. He is gentle and perceptive and lets Caddie know he loves her simply because she is his Caddie.

At the very end, Caddie makes this observation, "I'm the same girl and yet not the same. I wonder if it's always like that? Folks keep growing from one person into another all their lives, and life it just a lot of everyday adventures. Well, whatever life is, I like it."

Is it any wonder that we all fell in love with Caddie?

Have you read Caddie Woodlawn? What lessons did you learn? What was your favorite scene?

A Few Thoughts on the 2016 Newbery, Caldecott, and Geisel Awards

There's nothing quite like the announcement of the ALA Youth Media Awards bright and early on a Monday morning to get your week off to a good start. (At least for me, anyway.)

I didn't stay as current with newly published books during 2015 as I would have liked (I'm going to take 75% of the blame and give the remaining 25% to my library because, seriously,  they are so slow when it comes to processing new books). Because of this, I don't have as many opinions on the winners as I have in past years. But I'll share the few I have.

First, the Theodore Seuss Geisel award (given for the most distinguished beginning reader book).

Last year, I said I wished we could get a bit more variety in the easy reader department instead of Mo Willems, Mo Willems, Mo Willems (although I will say he deserves all the recognition he's received), and I got exactly that this year. Not a Mo Willems book in sight (but not because he didn't write some good ones. Just check out Diva and Flea if you don't believe me).

The medal went to Don't Throw It to Mo (I guess since Mo Willems didn't win anything, something with Mo in the title had to win), and A Pig, a Fox, and a Box, Supertruck, and Waiting won honors.

I think I've mentioned that I'm a Round 2 Cybils judge this year in the Easy Reader/Early Chapter books category, and both Don't Throw It to Mo and A Pig, a Fox, and a Box happen to be on the Cybils shortlist. Because of that, even if I had an opinion on them, I couldn't share it here. However, you maybe remember that our library doesn't seem to be a fan of promptness, so it's not hard to keep my mouth shut because I haven't read them yet. Grrrrrr.

I wasn't surprised to see Kevin Henkes on the list. Everything he writes/illustrates seems to be gold. I actually haven't read Waiting yet though because of that one thing I already mentioned twice so far in this post. Nor have I read Supertruck because of . . .  my own negligence (I can take the blame when it's my fault). So obviously, my opinion is worth about zippo in regards to the Geisel.

Then there's the Randolph Caldecott award (given for the most distinguished picture book) .

Trombone Shorty, Waiting, Voice of Freedom, and Last Stop on Market Street won honors. And Finding Winnie: The True Story of the World's Most Famous Bear received the medal.

I have to say, I have been waiting months to read Finding Winnie, and that's not an exaggeration. It was published during the last quarter of the year, but the book world was buzzing about it long before then. There happened to be two picture books about Winnie-the-Pooh published this year. The other one was Winnie: The True Story of the Bear Who Inspired Winnie-the Pooh. That one was published at the beginning of 2015, so we've read it. I've been dying to know how Finding Winnie compares, and by the looks of its shiny new medal, it must be even better. (Let this be a lesson to me, sometimes it's worth it just to buy the book.)

As for the other winners, I've only read Last Stop on Market Street. I really did awesome this year with keeping up, you can see.

And finally, the John Newbery award (given for the most outstanding contribution to children's literature):

Before the Newbery was announced, I thought to myself, Well, there's no way I read the Newbery winner this year since I only read one eligible book. (I couldn't even stay current with the easy readers and picture books, remember?)

But then a picture book, Last Stop on Market Street, won the medal, and so I had, in fact, read the winner after all. That was a real shock, and also, kind of a delightful surprise.

It is not unheard of for a picture book to win the Newbery medal, but it's only happened once before (in 1982). However, you may have noticed, Last Stop on Market Street also won a Caldecott Honor, and I don't know that the same book has ever been awarded a Newbery Medal and a Caldecott Honor (I'm sure someone has figured that out by now, but not me.) So it was kind of a record-breaking year.

Three books were awarded Newbery Honors this year: The War That Saved My Life (I've had this reserved at the library a couple of times this year and still haven't read it, although the audio won the Odyssey award, so maybe I need to listen to it instead), Roller Girl (sigh. another graphic novel--remember how I felt about the one that won last year?), and Echo (a book that I know very little about but sounds great).

Although I thoroughly enjoyed the awards this year and look forward to reading many of the winners, I must admit that the longer I follow these awards, the more disenchanted I become with them. For one thing, I'm finally acknowledging the fact that the winners are selected by a committee of human beings who are governed by their own personal biases, tastes, and beliefs, and I believe that shows in the books that are selected. If you took the same set of books but had two different committees judge them, you'd come out with different winners. Maybe not all completely different, but some of them for sure. That's not necessarily a bad thing. It's kind of fun to see what themes and trends emerge every year. And I know each committee takes their responsibility very seriously, and I respect them for that, but they're still human. So I'm starting to give less and less credibility to that shiny gold sticker on the front that says "most distinguished contribution to American literature for children." Most distinguished in the opinion of fifteen people, you mean.

Also, as with so many other things, the ALA awards have become as much about making a political statement as honoring the best literature. It's frustrating and annoying and oh so aggravating to me, but it's the way it is. Because of that, I can guarantee you that some of the more recent winners in the last five years are not going to stand the test of time. In fifty years, our children and grandchildren are going to look back at some of them (I'm not pointing fingers) and wonder why on earth we thought that was "distinguished" literature.

I'm curious to hear what you thought about the winners or just your opinion on the Newbery and Caldecott awards in general.

The Graveyard Book by Neil Gaiman

This review was supposed to be in another group of three. But once I started writing, I couldn't condense what I wanted to say in 500 words, so here you go.

I've had this book on my October to-read list for at least three years, but I finally made it a priority this year (thanks to it being our book club read for the month). In many ways, it was exactly what I was expecting: spooky, creepy, with just a touch of the bizarre. But in other ways, I was in for a thrilling adventure, the creativity of which I was not expecting.

It is a retelling of Rudyard Kipling's The Jungle Book and opens with a chilling scene: "There was a hand in the darkness, and it held a knife." The man has already murdered the mother, father, and young daughter and is on his way up the stairs to find the final member of the family . . . a toddler boy. Seriously, if you can make it past that first scene, you'll be okay (although not incredibly descriptive, if you're a mom, it will give you have nightmares).

When the man reaches the baby's crib, he is surprised to find it empty. Completely unaware of the danger he was in, the little boy climbed out, scooted down the many flights of stairs, and toddled off up the street to the nearby graveyard. There he is rescued by Mistress and Master Owens, who have been dead for hundreds of years. They agree to raise the boy (who they name Nobody Owens, or Bod for short) as their own with Silas, a Friend of the Graveyard, volunteering to be the boy's guardian.

The reader watches Bod's unorthodox upbringing, all while knowing that there is someone out there who wants to kill him.

Before I say anything else, I want you to know that I enjoyed this book tremendously. It was clever and gripping and left my heart pounding. I loved Bod in his little winding sheet. He was quiet and curious and adventurous. Growing up in a graveyard gave him a unique perspective on death (in fact, when Silas warns him about the danger that lies outside the graveyard, Bod replies, "So? It's only death. I mean, all of my best friends are dead").

But sometimes, it's easier for me to articulate what I didn't like about a particular book more than what I did, and I feel like that's the case with this one. I was disappointed with three things, and I'll try to share those as concisely as possible. Also, I tried to write about it without spoilers, but I couldn't do it. So this is probably more for those of you have already read it than for those of you who haven't. Just consider yourself warned: SPOILERS AHEAD!

One of the things that bothered me the most was all of the secrecy surrounding Jack (the villain) and his motive for trying to kill Bod. There were little hints given infrequently throughout the book, but these did more to confuse than enlighten me. Usually I love this type of foreshadowing as I try to put the pieces together before the final reveal, but this time, I truly felt like I was grasping at something insubstantial.

And then, when I finally, finally learned the what and the why behind Jack, I was disappointed.
It was still vague, first of all, but also, just pretty lame. There was a lot going on behind the scenes (a pretty intense battle, as a matter of fact) that, although fairly significant, was merely alluded to. I guess I just felt like it would not have hurt the story at all if certain things had been revealed earlier in the story, and I think it would have actually helped everything else get fleshed out a little more, particularly in the area of the prophecy surrounding Bod (which I didn't understand at all).

That same disappointment also surfaced in regards to Scarlett, a little (very much alive) friend of Bod's when he's five years old. After several months, she moves away, but she moves back at the end of the book when they're both in their teens. I was so excited to have her back and thought she was going to help Bod with his transition into the real world. Instead, they reconnect, defeat the villainous Jacks of All Trade, and then her memory is erased. While I admit that everything she saw and did probably would have been very traumatic, I was so sad that after so many years, their friendship could not be preserved. There were just lots of little details about the ending that seemed poorly planned and poorly executed. When a story has set everything up so well, and it has so much potential, it makes a disappointing ending even more so.

But the very hardest thing for me to accept about the story was Silas' confession at the end (and again, I'm still in spoiler mode . . . ). Silas plays the part of Bod's mentor. He's not alive and he's not dead but seems to be somewhat trapped between the two. He is wise and kind and brave, and he was my favorite character. But at then end, he told Bod something that made me cringe. He said, "I have not always done the right thing. When I was younger . . . I did worse things than Jack. Worse than any of them. I was the monster, then, Bod, and worse than any monster." I think there was a part of me that suspected something like this about Silas since it seemed like his existence was a sort of punishment and that he would never feel the peace of death, but hearing him say those words really hurt. The man Jack is a terribly evil man, and it was hard to accept that Silas could have been worse than him. It's not that I didn't believe such a change was possible, but it was still sickening to know that the person I felt was the most noble could have also been the most despicable. Betrayals are always hard for me, and even though Silas didn't really betray Bod, I still felt like he wasn't quite as honorable as I had hoped.

But now that I have all those things off my brain, I feel like I'm free to say that this book was an incredibly enjoyable way to spend a few days in October. The setting was one of the things I loved about this book. It left a very vivid picture in my mind, and I can still easily transport myself right back to the tall, skinny home at the bottom of the hill or the mausoleum with its long flight of dark steps or the Potter's Field where Liza (my second favorite character) resided. This book had so many things going for it, and I've already been recommending it, flaws and all, to readers 12 and up.  

Ginger Pye by Eleanor Estes

I am well-acquainted with the cover of Ginger Pye. I must have seen it a hundred times when I was growing up. It seemed like one of my siblings was always reading it, and I would see it stacked on an end table or tented on the back of a couch or hiding under the bed.

And yet, with all that exposure, I never read it. I think this was because we didn't own a copy of it until I was a teenager, but I could be making that up. In any case, I'm going to maintain that as the reason for why all my brothers and sisters read it, but not me.

One of those siblings (my sister, Anna) was here visiting over the weekend. When she saw that I was reading this to the boys, she claimed she didn't remember much about it, but then proceeded to say, "Do the kids earn the money to buy Ginger by dusting the church? Oh, and is this the one where the father and mother met because the father tried to run up the down escalator and ran into the mother? And, I also remember that--what's the girl's name?--oh yeah, Rachel. Doesn't she say something like Boston was more important than New York because the two o's made it look more important?" Somehow she didn't convince me that she couldn't remember it. She also made me feel like I really missed out.

But not anymore. If Ginger Pye comes up in a conversation, I'll finally be able to hold my own with the rest of them.

The Speedy's dog had puppies, and 10-year-old Jerry Pye has his eye on one of them. If he can earn a dollar by Saturday, then Mrs. Speedy says it's his. Jerry and his sister, Rachel, wrack their brains, trying to come up with a way to make the money. Then, in a brilliant stroke of luck, Sam Doody comes by and asks Jerry if he wants to dust the church for him since he needs to go into town that afternoon and buy a new suit. He'll pay him a dollar. Of course Jerry says yes, and he and Rachel (and also Uncle Benny, who, although their uncle, is only three years old) dust all the pews in the church. It takes all afternoon, but they work fast and make it to the Speedy's before 6:00.

The puppy is theirs, and they are thrilled. They name him Ginger, and he turns out to be everything they wished for in a dog: playful, affectionate, loyal, and incredibly intelligent. But then, on Thanksgiving Day, Ginger goes missing. Jerry and Rachel can't imagine how he escaped from the yard, and they spend the evening searching everywhere for Ginger before finally coming to the conclusion that Ginger was stolen! And the only clues they have to go on are an old yellow hat and some mysterious footsteps.

Written in 1951, Ginger Pye felt very similar to another book we've read: Half Magic by Edward Eager, which was written in 1954. (Also, I always get Eleanor Estes' and Edward Eager's names all mixed up--too many E's or something.) We read Half Magic nearly two years ago, and at the time, it was just a little over my boys' heads. We still liked it, but I remember thinking the length of the chapters and scarcity of pictures made it hard for them to stay engaged. I think it took us about three months to read. Ginger Pye took us about three weeks, and reading it made me realize how far my kids' attention spans have come in two years. It might be time to read Half Magic again because I'm pretty sure it would be a completely different experience this time around.

We all really liked Ginger Pye. Bradley, who is three, usually has his own storytime with Mike while I read to the older boys, but even he got pulled into the story and sat and listened to many of the chapters. Aaron and Max liked it for its mystery and suspense and adventure, and I was surprised by some of the profound insights I gained from it. The boys' favorite character was Uncle Benny (they were so intrigued by an uncle who was younger than his niece and nephew), and my favorite character was Sam Doody (I told Aaron and Max I want them to be just like him when they're teenagers).

(Spoilers ahead! Read further at your own risk.)

Maybe I'm reading too much into it and pulling out meaning where there isn't any, but I was struck by how Jerry and Rachel's sadness over losing Ginger mimicked the pattern and cycle of grief. At first they were supported by many friends who helped them look for Ginger, "but after a while [those friends] grew tired of the same old search. Though they all promised to keep their eyes open for the man whose pictures they had examined at the Town Hall, and his hat which Jerry described, one by one they dropped off. Then, only Jerry and Rachel looked, either together or by themselves."

Ginger is gone for many months, and as the days pass by, normal life resumes for Jerry and Rachel (just as it moves forward for anyone who is grieving). In some ways, they are able to find joy and excitement even without Ginger (some of their best adventures (East Rock and West Rock, for example) happen during this time). But always, always, Ginger is at the back of their minds. Jerry keeps a continual lookout for him, both with eyes and ears. And sometimes, they are gripped with a sharp pain of sadness because they miss him so, so much. And some things do not go back to normal. For example, Jerry and Rachel have this long-standing tradition of making up stories about Martin Boombernickles when they go to bed at night, but when Ginger disappears, so do the stories. They just don't have it in them anymore.

I also kept thinking about this line after Jerry and Rachel realize that the thief is Wally Bullwinkle (a fellow classmate of Jerry's): "'We didn't know Wally was a thief and he didn't look like the picture we drew of the unsavory character. We didn't know an unsavory character could be just a boy in my class,' said Jerry." We didn't know an unsavory character could be just a boy in my class. Jerry says that line at least three times. He just can't believe that Ginger was so close all along, and he never guessed the thief could be someone he knew (although the reader can figure it out very early on). So often we make quick and hasty judgements that end up hindering us in the long run. If Jerry hadn't assumed that the "unsavory character" was some villainous looking man, he might have found Ginger much sooner (and you also have to wonder (at least, I have to wonder) if maybe a faster discovery would have helped Wally Bullwinkle out of a bad situation as well.

The ending made me want to cry. Having Ginger reunited with his family was touching and tender, yes, but there were some hard truths beneath the surface . . . such as that Ginger was most likely abused during those many months; such as that Wally Bullwinkle had a hard home life that he was not rescued from; such as that for all that time, Ginger was desperately trying to get back to his family. It kind of hurts my heart to think about him in the Bullwinkle's backyard, listening to Jerry and Rachel's calls, straining at his rope, but unable to get to them (I loved Mrs. Pye's surmise that hearing them "helped [Ginger] remember [them] and keep [them] in mind until the right moment came for his escape.'") 

This review turned a little deeper and darker than I was planning on, but I have to say that while all those elements were there, the overall tone of the book was light and happy and hopeful. I don't think my kids were too young to listen to it, and I think it's a book that will grow with them. They can reread it in four or five years and pick up on some of those things they were too young to understand this first time.

Did you read Ginger Pye when you were a child? Have you read it to your kids? What was the most memorable scene for you?

Too Many Opinions on the 2015 Geisel, Caldecott, and Newbery Awards

I spent two hours on Monday morning watching the announcements of the ALA Youth Media Awards (plus the PreGame and PostGame shows with Betsy Bird and Lori Prince). It was so much fun. For once, I was glad Aaron did not have to be to school until 9:00.

The awards surprised and delighted and irritated me. I haven't read enough to be an authority on any of the awards, but I have still have opinions about the Geisel, Caldecott, and Newbery, so I'll share my thoughts on those.

First, the Theodore Seuss Geisel award.

You are (Not) Small won the medal and Waiting is Not Easy and Mr. Putter and Tabby Turn the Page won honors. We've read (and loved) all three of them.

You are (Not) Small is clever and funny, and I love it when a picture book gets the easy reader award. Let this be a lesson (once again) that the easy reader section of the library is not always the best place to find easy readers.

I bought Waiting is Not Easy after getting fed up with waiting for my turn at the library (the irony did not escape me . . . ), and I'm glad we own it.

Since we are loyal Elephant & Piggie and Mr. Putter & Tabby fans, I was thrilled to see both of these books honored but also a little disappointed too. Year after year we see Mo Willems take away Geisel awards, and Cynthia Rylant is also a household name in the easy reader department (although I believe this is only her second Geisel). They deserve all the praise and attention they get, but there's a part of me that wonders, Where's the competition?

The beginning reader stage is such a critical point in a reader's development. We need strong books that will be both engaging and simple. I would love to see some other authors step it up for future years.

Next up, the Randolph Caldecott award.

The Adventures of Beekle: The Unimaginary Friend won the medal, and six books (six! SIX!) came away with honors: Nana in the City, The Noisy Paint Box, Sam & Dave Dig a Hole, Viva Frida, The Right Word, and This One Summer.

Out of all these, we'd read a whopping two (The Adventures of Beekle and The Noisy Paint Box). I'm feeling extremely annoyed and frustrated with our library right now. I wouldn't have expected to have read This One Summer (it's a teen graphic novel), but yes, the others I would have hoped I could have read earlier in the year. I'd definitely heard about all the others (except for Nana in the City, which our library doesn't even have in their system), but my turn just hasn't come up for them (I have literally been waiting for Sam & Dave for over three months (since October 25th), and I'm still #15 on the list). I know I shouldn't be annoyed since the library is free and all, but seriously? I really would have loved to have read these books before they won.

Out of the 2014 picture books that I did get to read, Beekle was not my favorite, but I have no real complaints about it. It was cute, and I'm looking forward to reading it again.

And as far as a teen graphic novel winning a Caldecott Honor? I have no doubt the illustrations probably are splendid, but I am still not okay with that.

Finally, the John Newbery award:

The Crossover won the medal and Brown Girl Dreaming and El Deafo won honors.

I'm a little scared to talk about this one since my irritation has only been mounting in the days since the awards were announced.

But before I get to that, let me say that I am ecstatic about Jacqueline Woodson's Honor for Brown Girl Dreaming (it also won the Coretta Scott King award, a Sibert Honor and, earlier, the National Book Award). It was one of my very favorite reads from last year, and I even bought my own copy soon after finishing it (and when it comes to buying books, I am rather stingy, so that's saying something). It was a gorgeous memoir, and I highly, highly recommend it.

In fact, my irritation actually has almost nothing to do with the winners themselves. Even though I haven't read The Crossover or El Deafo, I've heard high praise for both of them, and I'm anxious and excited to read them just as soon as I can. (I do have my doubts about a graphic novel (El Deafo) being able to stand on its own without the pictures, but I'll reserve any opinions on that until after I've read it.)

No, my irritation stems from two other areas.

First, that only two books received honors. For the record, I thought the Caldecott's six honors was a little over the top, but only two honors? With so many amazing books published last year, it just seemed rather skimpy. And, you may have noticed, the awards went to one graphic novel and two verse novels with nary a traditional novel in sight.

Which brings me to my second point of irritation:

Since Monday, I've read various opinions about the awards, and people have been throwing around words like, "game changing!" "groundbreaking!" "diverse!" They've been saying things like, "Wow, that committee really made a statement."

Seriously?! Is that what these awards have come down to? Making a statement?

Have we now gone from honoring the "most outstanding contributions in children's literature" to "making a statement"?

Don't get me wrong--I am happy to see authors of all races, religions, and opinions being recognized. I am happy to see books featuring diverse people and situations receiving medals. I am happy to see many different genres earning notice. But . . .

But . . .

I would sincerely hope that the award isn't purposely being jammed and twisted and forced onto a certain book that it doesn't fit simply in order to make it "groundbreaking."

Like I said before, I'm not saying that the books that were chosen weren't the most distinguished. I'm just scared by the words I'm hearing. It seems like everyone is focusing more on how much the envelope can be pushed and less about the actual literary merits of a particular work. I get that a committee is made up of individuals with their own personalities and interests, so it makes sense that some books are going to be favored more one year than another. But I'm scared because, since the committee went with one winner and only two honors, even I'm inclined to think they were trying to make a statement--to make it glaringly obvious that they were trying to create a nontraditional year.

I want to wish my heartiest congratulations to all the winners. They deserve all the praise and attention they're receiving.

But I also want to go on record as saying that I still believe a traditional novel can be distinguished.

I would absolutely love to hear your thoughts about the 2015 ALA Youth Media Awards. Mike cares very little about these awards, and I'm dying to talk to someone else about them!

Flora & Ulysses by Kate DiCamillo

I've already talked a lot about this book: first, when Aaron and I heard Kate DiCamillo speak last September and she signed our copy of this book; and then again a few weeks ago when it surprisingly won the Newbery.

My thoughts have run the gamut with this book and have become all mixed up as I have considered my own thoughts, my children's response, and whether or not I think it deserved the Newbery.

When I first heard about the Newbery, I was thrilled (and I said so right here), but the more I have thought about it, the more I wonder if my feelings of elation were more related to how much I love Kate DiCamillo and less about how much I loved this book.

This isn't to say I didn't like the book. I did. In fact, there are scenes and sentences that I could read again and again and never get tired of because of the sheer wittiness and hilarity of them. But I also think my original gushing has subsided a little bit, and overall, I am not quite as enchanted.

But before I get into that any further, let me tell you about Flora . . .

Flora is a self-proclaimed cynic. Diligent reading of issues of The Illuminated Adventures of the Amazing Incandesto! and TERRIBLE THINGS CAN HAPPEN TO YOU! and The Criminal Element is Among Us have made her pretty well prepared for practically anything (including her parents' divorce). Nothing can touch her. Nothing can surprise her. Until one day, she watches her neighbor, Tootie Tickham, vacuum up a squirrel in her front yard. That surprises her. (And this scene produced my very favorite lines in the entire book: "'Watch out!'" [Flora] shouted. 'You're going to vacuum up that squirrel!' She said the words, and then she had a strange moment of seeing them, hanging there over her head . . . There is just no predicting what kind of sentences you might say, thought Flora.")

Flora ends up reviving the squirrel by using a modified version of rescue breathing and CPR. It soon becomes obvious that she has saved no ordinary squirrel: he is incredibly strong, he types, he composes poetry, and he flies. (And his name is Ulysses.) But Flora's mother has no interest in her daughter keeping a super squirrel, and she becomes bent on getting rid of Ulysses by any number of foul means. This forces Flora to label her mother as "the arch nemesis." Before long, a hilarious cast of characters are involved (temporarily blind William Spiver, Mr. Claus (a psychotic cat), a much-beloved shepherdess lamp named Mary Ann, Flora's shy and socially awkward father, trusty neighbor Tootie, and slightly senile Dr. Meescham). And right at the center of everything are Flora and Ulysses.

My opinion of this book is far from objective. Since I read it aloud to my five-year-old and almost four-year-old, I looked at everything from their perspective. And this is what I saw: the beginning and ending were funny, exciting, and engaging. They begged for me to read more. They wanted to see what happened next. But they lost interest in the middle portion of the book. In fact, there were nights when Maxwell chose to go to bed and I just read to Aaron by himself.

The middle deals with a lot of issues: Flora's mother is selfish and unsympathetic (by the end, she's going a little crazy and doing a lot of smoking to help herself deal with the insanity around her); William Spiver (the temporarily blind boy) is confronting his own insecurities and frustrations over his mother's boyfriend; Flora's father is trying to figure out how to be a good dad when he's not around all the time; Flora is developing confidence in her own decisions (and also exploring her unusual feelings for William Spiver). In other words, it was a lot to either explain or ignore (as I saw fit), and if it hadn't been for the pictures and extremely short chapters, we may have given up completely in the middle. I think this would be a great book for 10-year-olds, but it was probably pushing it a bit for five-year-olds. (In my defense, I will say that I planned on reading it by myself, but since Aaron actually met Kate DiCamillo, he insisted we read it together.)

Since it won the Newbery during the time we were reading it, I think I became more critical while reading the last seventy pages. One of the main concerns critics raised about the eligibility of the book was the comic-strip illustrations throughout. Some thought the plot of the book was carried forward by the illustrations and that the story couldn't stand on its own without them. I didn't find this to be the case. The story always seemed to make perfect sense if I read the last sentence of the previous chapter, skipped over the comic strip, and read the first sentence of the next chapter.

. . . That is, it seemed to work until the very last one. In the sentences preceding the comic strip, Flora hears her mother scream and thinks she is worried about her precious shepherdess lamp. Then in the comic strip, Flora's mother says, "Please, George. Tell me that Flora is here!" which makes us (and Flora) realize that Flora is actually much more important to her mother than a silly old lamp. When the text picks back up, Flora is shocked by what her mother has revealed. But the whole thing makes absolutely no sense without the pictures in the middle. However, there is text included along with the pictures, so maybe a case could be made that it still works without the illustrations as long as you can consider the included text. I'd be interested to check out the audio and see how it handles the illustrated sections.

When I try to determine how I personally felt about the book (without considering my children's response or the Newbery criteria), I have to admit that I liked quite a lot of it.

I liked the humor, showcased so well in this paragraph:

 "It was certainly possible that Mrs. Tickham had a brain tumor. Flora knew from reading TERRIBLE THINGS CAN HAPPEN TO YOU! that a surprising number of people were walking around with tumors in their brains and didn't even know it. That was the thing about tragedy. It was just sitting there, keeping you company, waiting. And you had absolutely no idea. This was the kind of helpful information you could get from the comics if you paid attention."

I liked the way individuality was acknowledged and valued:

Was Flora strange? [Ulysses] supposed so. But what was wrong with that? She was strange in a good way. She was strange in a lovable way. Her heart was so big. It was capacious. Just like George Buckman's heart.

I liked seeing hope prevail over cynicism:

Do not hope, Flora thought. But she couldn't help it. She did hope. She was hoping. She had been hoping all along.

So while it's not my absolute favorite book by Kate DiCamillo (it would be very difficult to knock Edward Tulane down from his pedestal), I liked it very much.

And really, my kids liked it, too. The ending was so well-executed, so triumphant, so exciting, they couldn't help but bounce up and down on the bed. And I had to laugh when we read this line about Ulysses, "And maybe there would be a poem about a horsehair sofa. And one about a vacuum cleaner," and Aaron exclaimed, "What?! He remembers the vacuum cleaner?!" And Max replied in a very matter of fact way: "Of course he remembers it. He's a super hero. He's like me."

ALA Youth Media Awards 2014 (i.e., Christmas for Book Lovers)

In between teaching piano lessons, kindergarten drop-off and pick-up, and dentist appointments for all three boys, I managed to sneak quick peaks here and there at what was going on at ALA and which books were winning all the big awards.

And what I saw thrilled me.

In fact, in the ten minutes I had between dropping off Aaron at school and teaching one of my lessons, I had to call my mom to say, "Guess what just won the Caldecott?" It was a much more exciting year for me than last year since I was disappointed about many of the books chosen (especially in the Caldecott department).

But I was not disappointed this year.

Mind if I share a few thoughts with you?

Newbery 2014

(For the first time in my life, I had actually read one of the winners! Make that two!)

Medal: Flora & Ulysses: The Illuminated Adventures by Kate DiCamillo

I feel a strong attachment to this book. Aaron and I heard Kate DiCamillo speak several months ago. We bought a copy of this book and had it signed by Kate DiCamillo. And I am currently in the middle of reading it aloud to Aaron and Max.

We love this book. It is hysterical . . . very different from some of Kate DiCamillo's other works (Edward Tulane, The Magician's Elephant, etc.), which lean towards the more serious, sentimental side. This one is about a self-proclaimed cynic and a superhero squirrel. Oftentimes, when I'm reading to Aaron and Max, I have Mike take Bradley into another room to have their own reading time together. But sometimes Mike catches a paragraph or two before he leaves and wistfully says, "I wish I could stay and listen." Some of the content is a little mature for my boys (Flora's parents are divorced, and her mother has an, um, interesting personality) and some of the humor goes right over their heads, but on the whole, it's one of those books that bridges the generation gap quite nicely.

(Plus, did I mention that we already have our own signed copy?!?! Besides never having read an award winner before it became an award winner, I have also never owned an award winner before it an award winner.)

I have to say, for all my happiness over it winning, I honestly didn't think it would, in fact, win. (Although on Saturday, I did have the fleeting thought, Maybe the boys and I should try and finish the last 70 pages just in case . . . )

Honor: Doll Bones by Holly Black

This was one of the books I heard the most about over the course of last year, but it didn't really sound like my type of book. Still, I know a lot of people loved it, so maybe I'll have to give it a try.

Honor: The Year of Billy Miller by Kevin Henkes

You already know how much we loved this book (my review here). I am so, so pleased it was awarded an Honor.

Honor: One Came Home by Amy Timberlake

This was not a book that was on my radar at all. Maybe I didn't follow all the pre-Newbery news as much as last year, but I had to look it up to even see what the cover looked like and what it was about. Maybe it wasn't really a dark horse, but it definitely surprised me.

Honor: Paperboy by Vince Vawter

Yikes, another one I wasn't really familiar with. I really want to read this one though, even though it sounds like it deals with a hard subject (definitely not a flying squirrel who writes poetry on a typewriter).

Caldecott 2014

(a very wordy medal and three wordless honors)

Medal: Locomotive by Brian Floca

A couple of weeks ago, I called my mom and told her she had to check out Locomotive from the library. We had recently read it, and I was extremely impressed with how well it detailed the transcontinental railroad journey in 1869. It is difficult to find nonfiction picture books that don't get bogged down in details. This one is the perfect balance between information, gorgeous writing (seriously, I think it could have qualified for the Newbery), and breathtaking illustrations. 

So that is why I called my mom and told her she must check it out as soon as possible. And that is why I also called her this morning to excitedly squeal, "Locomotive just won the Caldecott Medal!!!!" I couldn't be more thrilled about this as the winner (in stark contrast to my feelings about This is Not My Hat from last year).

Honor: Journey by Aaron Becker

I am not at all surprised this won an Honor. It was a favorite for sure. Personally, we also loved it. I am surprised I haven't written about it here yet.

Honor: Flora and the Flamingo by Molly Idle

Bradley fell in love with this book just after it came out. I can't begin to count the number of times I "read" it to him. We always had to pause for a long time on the page where Flora falls down, and Bradley would sympathetically say, "Oh no! Hurt! Crying!" The story is kind of different, but the illustrations are quite captivating.

Honor: Mr. Wuffles by David Weisner

And . . . David Weisner does it again. Well, how can a committee help themselves? His stories are always unusual and creative, his illustrations mesmerizing. This one is no exception. We happened to really like it.

(Although I was happy about all of the Caldecott winners, I was sad to see a few of my favorites neglected, namely The Tiger Goes Wild, The Black Rabbit, and Chu's Day)

Geisel 2014

(a surprising medal, three not-so-surprising honors)

Medal: The Watermelon Seed by Greg Pizzoli

The Geisel isn't something I necessarily try to predict, but if I had, I never in a million years would have predicted The Watermelon Seed. For one thing, it's not even technically an easy reader (although it definitely can be read by that age group). But even though I was not expecting it, I was really excited to see it get some love. I already shared my thoughts about it in a KidPages post. It's a crowd-pleaser, no question.

Honor: Ball by Mary Sullivan
I'm almost positive we read this one, but for the life of me, I can't remember what it's about. 

Honor: A Big Guy Took My Ball! by Mo Willems
I can't say I blame Mo Willems for always winning something in the Geisel department, but it does kind of lessen the suspense and surprise.

Honor: Penny and Her Marble by Kevin Henkes
If anyone ever questions whether or not an easy reader can be a poignant, beautiful, memorable story, have them read this book. I love it so much.

Printz 2014

(I've never been so happy about an Honor in my entire life)

Last year, I didn't even mention the Printz. That's because I don't follow YA literature nearly as closely as juvenile titles. Usually I've never even heard of the winners so don't have any opinions on the books themselves.

But this year . . . this year . . .

Navigating Early by Clare Vanderpool won an Honor! You haven't forgotten how much I LOVE Navigating Early, have you? It was only in my top five books from last year and will probably remain one of my favorites for the rest of my life. Seeing it win the Printz Honor was a huge surprise. Not only is it geared toward a younger audience, but it doesn't touch on the same type of issues or maturity that Printz books normally do. 

All in all, I'm feeling a little giddy about the way the awards turned out.  I feel like it was an interesting year because many of the winning authors had won an award in past years (definitely not unusual, but it does make me wonder where all the new authors are). But I was so happy to see some of my favorites make the final cut. Congratulations!

Rabbit Hill by Robert Lawson

If you want to see how the Newbery award has changed over the last 91 years, look no farther than one of the old winners.

Aaron, Maxwell, and I recently finished Rabbit Hill, winner of the Newbery Medal in 1945, and, well, let's just say that times have changed (more on that in a minute).

The animals are all astir on Rabbit Hill. Finally, after a vacant period and unsatisfactory owners before that, new Folks are coming to live in the farmhouse! Father Rabbit, Little Georgie, Porkey the Woodchuck, Willie the Fieldmouse, and Phewie the Skunk are bursting with excitement and anticipation. There are worries, of course, and Mother Rabbit articulates many of them, but in the end, the New Folks prove to be as near to completely perfect as can be.

Rabbit Hill was cute (how could it not be with a young rabbit named Little Georgie and a skunk named Phewie?), but I'd be lying if I didn't admit that it was a slow, tedious read. For Maxwell. For Aaron. And for me. I know we were all a little grateful when we turned the last page and closed the book.

For Aaron and Max, I know one of the main obstacles to get past was the language. It was so hard for them to understand. I like to think that they have at least average vocabularies, but this was well outside their realm of comfort.

Father Rabbit was one of the main culprits, as he was given to long, wordy, and superfluous speeches. Here's an example (it was not difficult to find one):

"'In such an event,'" he said, "'we should merely be forced to change our place of residence. Our present location down here in the hollow, although made dear through long association, is, at certain seasons of the year, indubitably damp, not to say wet. I have noted of late a slight tendency toward gout (a family inheritance) which might be greatly benefited by a removal to a somewhat more elevated location.'"

I have no problem with explaining words or sentences to the boys. I've said before that one of the reasons I love reading to them is because it gives us a chance to talk about words and learn new things.

But honestly, having to explain every little thing was not only tedious, it also tragically disrupted the flow of the story. And really, when you have to take a paragraph like the one above and cut it down to "they might have to move to a drier, safer place," it somehow loses any of its original charm. So sometimes I explained, and sometimes I didn't. But when I didn't, their eyes glazed over, and I could tell their minds were definitely not on Rabbit Hill.

Now, of course I realize that cutting out all of Father Rabbit's monologues would have been akin to discrimination. He was perfectly cast as the well-bred and intelligent Southerner, and I certainly wouldn't want to change that. I, for one, thought his speeches were both witty and amusing. But for three- and four-year-old boys? They just didn't work.

Likewise, even when Father Rabbit wasn't speaking, the language was still difficult to understand. One of my favorite lines came after describing the summer rains when it said: "It was good weather for gardens but bad for dispositions." But I realized that even a simple sentence like that required a follow-up explanation.

My huge hangup was my absurd inability to keep the story in my head. Each time we picked it up, I absolutely could not remember what had just happened or who all the animals were. This happened regardless of whether we had a few days between chapters or just a few hours.

I realize this is sadly a reflection of my own inadequate ability to retain information. But, in my defense, I will say that the slow-moving (even at times, stagnant) plot must have contributed somewhat to my lack of retention. I can't tell you how many pages were spent anticipating the new Folks arrival; it went on and on, with plenty of words from Father Rabbit and crotchety old Uncle Analdas thrown in.

Even in the "exciting moments" (little Georgie leaping over an enormously wide river while being chased by a dog; or later on, being hit by a car), it felt aggravatingly uneventful, like a warm summer day with the occasional fly buzzing around. There was a climax of sorts, followed by a very happy ending, but we definitely took the scenic route getting there, and the scenery wasn't all that interesting.

Part of me feels disloyal making such statements since I usually vote in favor of rich character development and beautifully vivid descriptions, but I just never fell into the rhythm with this book.

Honestly, I think the best part of the book (for both the boys and me) was Little Georgie's song. Man, that catchy little tune and those repeating words got stuck in our heads like you wouldn't believe. But instead of being annoying, every time we started singing them, we could totally understand how that little song could have been passed from animal to animal to human back to animal all over the Hill.

When I said at the beginning of this post that times have changed, I meant it as a neutral statement. Rabbit Hill is very different from most children's books that are published today. That's not a bad thing, but it does mean that some stories just aren't as accessible now as they were then. I hope that doesn't mean that our children are dumber now than they were in 1945, but I can't help but think that in some ways, we do over-simplify things to a fault.

Now does this mean that I am not going to read older books to my kids? Are you kidding me? Goodness, no! Our favorite books so far (Winnie-the-Pooh, Charlotte's Web, The Cricket in Times Square, and The Enormous Egg) have all been older titles. What's more, just after finishing Rabbit Hill, we started reading Betsy-Tacy, and it was like a breath of fresh air: still describing an older time and place with some words they didn't know, but one hundred times more engaging. I wish I could put my finger on what the difference is. Maybe one of you can.

Don't get me wrong, this really is a sweet book, and I hope I haven't discouraged you from giving it a try. I think if I'd read it by myself, I would have enjoyed it more. It was just difficult for me to find it interesting when I could tell that it was going over my boys' heads. But obviously, we liked it at least a little bit or we wouldn't have kept reading.