What I Read in January

So, like I said in my previous post, my plan this year is to write monthly recap posts of the books I've finished rather than long, single reviews. I have to admit though, it's rather embarrassing to have it be so blatantly obvious that I only read three books this month. I can do better than that, but here they are nonetheless.

1. Ordinary Grace by William Kent Krueger
This was our first book club pick for 2018 (I mentioned in my last post that my book club votes between three books for each month, so in case you're wondering, the other recommendations for January were When Crickets Cry by Charles Martin and Winter Garden by Kristin Hannah).

I listened to this on our recent road trip to Arizona, and it was nice to be able to devote a chunk of time to it because I couldn't stop listening. The story is told by Frank Drum, and it's his recounting of what happened during the summer of 1961 forty years before when he was thirteen years old. He begins by saying that the summer brought with it many deaths (there was some debate at book club about how many he said and which ones counted in that tally), but one of the deaths is particularly personal and tragic, and the rest of the novel is crafted a bit like a mystery, trying to put the events leading up to it in chronological order and identify possible suspects.

But it's also just about Frankie himself because that summer changed him and made him grow up in a hurry. I mentioned at book club that my favorite relationship in the book was the one between Frankie and his younger brother, Jake. One of my friends said, "Oh, so you like mean older brothers?" And it's true that Frankie does and says a lot of stupid things to Jake, but I guess it felt realistic to me, and underneath it all, I could see that their friendship and love for one another ran deep.

I will caution that the content on this one is a bit dark (it involves a murder), and there is some language as well as immorality (although not explicit). But overall, I found the story to be redemptive, and it made for an easy and thought-provoking discussion at book club.

2. Brighty of the Grand Canyon by Marguerite Henry
It gives me a strange kind of rush to find the perfect book for a trip or holiday or even just a time of life. So you can imagine how happy I was when my sister-in-law, upon hearing that we would be making a stop at the Grand Canyon on our way to see friends in Phoenix, said that we should read Brighty of the Grand Canyon before we went.

It couldn't have been more perfect. I had never been to the Grand Canyon, but as we read, I felt like I could see the warm colors of the canyon and sense the rocky trail beneath my feet and feel the cold wind whipping around the rim. And then, we were there, and it was exactly as I pictured it--so much so that I half expected to see a little gray burro making his way up the canyon wall (and then, by lucky chance, we actually did see a mule caravan crest the top of the rim and parade past us, which was pretty amazing). It was absolutely magical for me, and I think it was for my kids as well.

But even if we hadn't been able to go from the pages in a book to real life natural wonder, we would have still enjoyed this story immensely. It begins with a murder, which made me nervous (I was reading it to my kids, after all!), but it was not graphic, and it was very fulfilling to see the murderer get his due at the end.

Most impressive to me was the way Marguerite Henry cast Brighty as the main character and kept the story interesting while still maintaining Brighty's authenticity as a donkey (in other words, not giving him a lot of human characteristics to help keep up the pace). Everyone, even three-year-old Clark, fell in love with Brighty, and we were all sad for the book to come to an end.

3. Echo by Pam Munoz Ryan
I decided to listen to this one, rather than read it, because the audio version had garnered such high praise from listeners and critics alike (including an Odyssey Honor, which is given to outstanding audio productions).

The story is multi-layered, beginning with Otto Messenger, who accidentally stumbles into three sisters who are trapped in this world because of a curse. They claim that his harmonica is the key to freeing them to return home. The story (and the harmonica) then travel to Friedrich in Germany in 1933, Mike in Pennsylvania in 1935, and Ivy in California in 1942. Each time, it brings light and hope when things feel desperately dismal and scary. And eventually, it ends up in just the right place, at just the right time, and, click, a door is opened.

For the most part, this is a historical fiction novel, but it has just one teeny tiny magical element, and that made me feel a little off balance but in the most delightful way. Friedrich, Mike, and Ivy are talented and courageous and unique. I found myself feeling sad as each story ended only to be excited as I became immersed in the new story. And then the ending tied everything together in a really beautiful way.

Oh, and the audio was definitely the way to go on this one: different narrators for each story and lots of music throughout, which, for a book all about the magic of one harmonica, seemed absolutely perfect.

Did you read anything good this month? Tell me!

Review x 2: The Hundred Dresses and The Moffats

I've had two of our readalouds from the summer patiently waiting to be reviewed, and since they both happen to be by Eleanor Estes, it makes sense to review them together.

The first one is The Hundred Dresses. Sometimes I choose books for our readalouds that I feel like I should have read as a child but didn't. This was one of those.

But even though I had seen it listed on a handful of lists and heard it mentioned by various friends, I must have never actually read a synopsis of it because it was completely different from what I was expecting.

It's about a little girl, Wanda Petronski, who moves to a new town and school. Almost immediately, the other children tease her because of her different last name and the fact that she wears the same dress day after day after day (in spite of her claims that she has one hundred dresses).

But the story is told more from the perspective of Maddie, who doesn't instigate the bullying but doesn't stop it either. Afraid that if she speaks up, the tables will turn and she will be the one who is picked on, she quietly stands by and lets it happen to Wanda. Her conscience is forever pricked when Wanda eventually moves away, and she never gets to reconcile what she didn't do with what she should have done.

This story touched a tender spot in my memory because I have been Maddie. I was in second grade, and I can still remember the boy's name, although I won't mention it here. His clothes and hair and general appearance were always unkempt and his glasses were taped together. Most of my classmates were not nice to him. And although I don't remember ever saying anything mean to him, I never stood up for or defended him either. I have regretted it for twenty-five years.

One of the mottos at my kids' elementary school is: "Be an ally. Don't stand by." I think this is so important because the majority of kids aren't the bullies; they're the Maddies. And if the Maddies would call out the bullies and befriend the tormented, it would reverse so many of the problems.

Written in 1945, this short story (I wish it had been longer!) was ahead of its time and contains a poignant message that is extremely relevant today.

The second book we read by Eleanor Estes over the summer was The Moffats.

Even though this was our first time reading this story, it immediately felt familiar because we've read so many books with a similar structure and feeling: Starring a happy, loving family (in this case, the Moffats, made up of Sylvie, Joe, Janey, Rufus, and, of course, Mama) with each chapter a self-contained adventure. (The Saturdays, The Railway Children, All-of-a-Kind Family, and Meet the Austins would all fall into this same category.)

It has all of the charm of an old story while losing nothing in terms of adventure and escapades. We loved the chapter where Janey marches behind the chief of police, copying his every move, until the neighbor boy tells her she could be arrested for that, and so she spends the rest of the day hiding in a bread box.

Another favorite was when Rufus accidentally plays hooky on the first day of kindergarten. It wasn't his intent to skip class (he's been dreaming about going to school like his older siblings for years), but when another little boy sneaks out of the classroom, Rufus feels duty-bound to bring him back, and things escalate from there.

Some of the chapters were a little more serious, like when Joe is sent to buy coal with the last money they have until Mama finishes an order of sailor suits (she's a seamstress). (At one point, Janey asks, "Are we poverty stricken?" and Mama answers, "Not poverty stricken, just poor." They're always pinching to make ends meet.) When Joe arrives at the coal yard, he reaches into his pocket for the five-dollar bill and can't find it, and my boys and I spent the rest of the chapter in agony with Joe as he desperately searches for that money.

But even though the book is fairly episodic, there is a running thread throughout, which is the fear that their beloved yellow house on New Dollar Street is going to be sold.

There are three more books in this series, and I think we'll eventually read the rest (although Aaron already beat us to one of them and read Rufus M. on his own soon after we finished this one). They're the kind of books that could be spaced out and revisited whenever we feel like we need a cozy, comfortable read.

What I Read on Our Trip: Cinder, Lizzy & Jane, Inside Out and Back Again, Where'd You Go Bernadette?

As we planned and packed for our Europe trip, one of my highest priorities was making sure I had enough books to read and enough variety that if something didn't fit my mood, I had more to choose from. As you might remember, Mike got me a kindle for Mother's Day specifically because of the upcoming trip, and I spent the weeks prior filling it up with titles from my to-read list. Although I'd done a little bit of destination-specific reading before we left, during the trip itself I just wanted books that were light and fun and that would strike the right balance between "easy to get lost in" but not "hard to pull away from." So no dense nonfiction but no gripping thrillers either.

I fell in love with my kindle on this trip. This is the first e-reader I've ever owned, and I guess I'm admitting that I didn't know what I was missing before. I have much more to say about e-readers in a future post . . .

I have to admit that one of the best parts of our trip was just being able to read, uninterrupted, for hours at a time. I can't remember the last time that happened (probably on our Australia trip). When people heard how long the flight was from Salt Lake City to Amsterdam (nine hours), they gave exclamations of sympathy, but I countered with, "Oh, no, I loved it. That was quiet, peaceful, dedicated reading time." (That was the flight out there; the flight home was more brutal because I just wanted to be home.)

I've compiled all the books I read into one post and tried to consolidate my reviews a bit so that this isn't too long. I'd love to hear your thoughts about any of these that you've read (or want to read)!

Cinder by Marissa Meyer
As Mike and I were sitting on the plane at the very beginning of our trip, waiting for takeoff, Mike looked over at me and asked what my book was about. "Well," I started, "you're probably not going to believe it, but it's a Cinderella retelling" (insert indifferent nodding), "and Cinderella is actually a mechanic . . ." (insert raised eyebrows), " . . . and a cyborg" (insert a surprised guffaw, followed by my own hysterical laughter).

That was Mike's reaction. When I presented the plot to my mother-in-law later on in the trip, her reaction was one of disbelief, disappointment, and sympathy. I think she couldn't believe I would waste my time on anything so ridiculous. And frankly, neither could I. In fact, during the first couple of chapters, I thought I was going to have to abandon it. I mean, did you hear what I said? It was about a cyborg-mechanic-Cinderella!!! You have to admit, that's a bit much.

But I forged ahead, and after awhile, all the references to hovercrafts, technological interfaces, androids, and moon (Lunar) people (oh yeah, did I mention that?) didn't jolt me as much. I became wrapped up in the story: Cinder (the cyborg mechanic) lives in the city of New Beijing (this takes place years in the future after WWIV) with her stepmother and two stepsisters. A deadly plague has been slowly infiltrating earth and reaches New Beijing soon after the story begins. It shows no respect of persons: the little baker's son gets it, so does Cinder's youngest sister, and so does the king. Prince Kai is desperate to find a cure, but meanwhile, he is also trying to fend off attempts by Queen Levana, the Lunar queen, to build an alliance (through marriage) between Earth and Luna.

Strange as I found it, I couldn't deny that the whole thing was extremely clever. The underlying fairy tale was always there, but it blended into the new story perfectly. And the characters were fresh and new if, at times, just a little stereotypical. Most of all, I appreciated that it was a young adult novel that I would actually feel comfortable giving to young adults. I hope the rest of the series stays as clean.

It felt good to finally check this book off my list because it's been on there since it first came out in 2012. That was long before people were talking about it and the series became so popular. What grabbed my attention back then wasn't the synopsis (I don't think I even knew what the story was about), but that shiny red stiletto on the cover. In the years since then, I've heard other people, most notably Anne Bogel, remark on the ugliness of the cover and how it was a major turnoff for them, but for me, it was the thing that made me continue to come back to it, even though it didn't sound like anything I would like. It was just so different, and so is the story, so they actually go together perfectly.

Lizzie and Jane by Katherine Reay
Katherine Reay's books have been mentioned several times on Modern Mrs. Darcy. They sounded like cute, clean, light books, so when this one came up as a kindle deal, I snagged it.

It's about two sisters, Lizzie and Jane (yes, their mother had a deep love affair with Jane Austen and named them after the two oldest Bennett sisters) who were never close but became even more estranged after their mother died of breast cancer. Fifteen years later, Lizzie (or Elizabeth as she prefers to be called) has her own restaurant in New York City, but it is floundering. Elizabeth just seems to have lost some of her creativity and drive, especially after she finds out that Jane has also been diagnosed with breast cancer. Hoping a break will help rekindle her passion for cooking, she flies out to Seattle to spend some time with her sister and help her as she undergoes treatments. Of course, when you've kept your distance from your sister most of your life, being forced to spend time together when you're both emotionally vulnerable is probably not the best idea, but that's what makes it interesting.

For the first few chapters of this book, I thought I'd found a new favorite author: the story was interesting, the characters complex, and the writing better than average. But the longer I was in it, the less I enjoyed it. Elizabeth especially started to get on my nerves, mostly because she talked about food and cooking all the time. It was supposed to be endearing, like, Look how passionate she is! She can't even have a normal conversation with someone because she gets totally immersed in the subject of food and doesn't even realize who she's talking to. Luckily, handsome Nick thought it was adorable, but I was just thoroughly annoyed (although maybe that's how I am when it comes to books, so my apologies everyone!).

There were some sweet sentiments about dealing with trials and pursuing your dreams, but in the end, I just couldn't make myself believe this story could have actually happened . . . and it wasn't even that unbelievable of a story, it was more just that I didn't connect with it. Still, it definitely kept my interest and was a great book for reading while traveling. Like Suzanne said in our most recent Book Blab, it wasn't so good that I was tempted to read it instead of watch the views out the window, but it was good enough that I was happy to pick it up when we had down time. So take that for what it's worth.

Inside Out and Back Again by Thanhha Lai
I have yet to read a verse novel I didn't pretty much just swoon over. Whether that means I've been lucky enough to only read stellar ones so far or just that I actually don't what is good poetry and not, I don't know, but I'm adding this one to my ever-growing list of verse novels that I love.

Although technically a novel, it is based on the author's own memories of growing up in war-torn Vietnam and making the decision to come to America with her family. The Vietnam War is not one I've read a lot about. In fact, I paused in the middle of reading to ask Mike, "So . . . why did we lose the Vietnam War?" After so much WWII history on our trip, I think I was just baffled that America could lose anything. It was a completely different war though, fighting against a different kind of enemy, and it's no wonder that tensions were so high because of it.

Reading about Hà's experiences fleeing a country she truly loved and having to adjust to a totally new culture just made my heart ache. Refugees give up so much for the hope of a better life, and I am amazed by their bravery and tenacity.

Hà and her family basically had one chance to get out of the country after the fall of Saigon, and thousands of other people had the same idea. As everyone crammed onto the ship and it threatened to sink because of the weight of so many, Hà said,

But no one
is heartless enough
to say
stop
because what if
they had been
stopped
before their turn?

And it's true. How could you possibly refuse passage to someone when you know if they stay, their future will be doomed?

The poetry makes the raw emotion of the story stand out in a sharp and vivid way. Like when Hà's mother decides she must sell her amethyst ring their father gave her because she needs the money. That ring is their last tangible link to their home:

"Brother Quang says,
NO!
What's the point of
new shirts and sandals
if you lose the last
tangible remnant of love?

I don't understand
what he said
but I agree."

One of my favorite poems was called "Confessions" because it brought together so many elements of the story together. Hà says,

"It's time to tell Mother
why misery
keeps pouncing on me."

She confesses to buying less pork so she could have a little money left over for fried dough. She confesses to making a little girl cry at school. She confesses to being the first one to touch the floor on Tết (an honor reserved for the oldest son). These were all events that had been introduced earlier, but now being reminded about them, especially in light of the taunting and insecurities she was facing at her new American school, made them seem especially pitiful and forlorn. "My child," says her mother, "how you shoulder the world."

I think this ended up being my favorite book I read on the trip. The other books were fun to be in the middle of, but this one actually made a lasting impression on me. It was sweet and poignant and made me see things in a new way.

Where'd You Go, Bernadette? by Maria Semple
I didn't know what to expect from this book. When I first heard about it a couple of years ago, I thought it must be a funny book. Then, more recently, someone else was talking about it, and it sounded more like a serious book. But here's what I found: the plot line itself is rather heavy (Bee's mother, Bernadette, is psychologically unstable and something of a recluse; when things fall apart, she disappears), but the writing itself (witty, smart, funny) kept everything light. So depending on how you look at it, it could be either . . . or both.

When the novel opens, we know Bernadette is gone, but we don't know why. Told through 15-year-old Bee's eyes, as well as email exchanges, report cards, invoices, school notices, and doctor's bills, the evidence gradually stacks up and we're able to form a clearer picture of why Bernadette bolted, where she might have gone, and who she really is.

I don't know if I've ever shared the Goodreads plot summary in one of my reviews (I kind of pride myself on writing my own), but its description of Bernadette is just so perfect that I can't help myself: "Bernadette Fox is notorious. To her Microsoft-guru husband, she's a fearlessly opinionated partner; to fellow private-school mothers in Seattle, she's a disgrace; to design mavens, she's a revolutionary architect, and to 15-year-old Bee, she is a best friend and, simply, Mom."

Even though this didn't end up being my favorite book from the trip, it was definitely the one that captivated my interest the most. In fact, on the flight home, Mike asked me if I wanted to watch a movie with him, and I somewhat sheepishly admitted that I didn't know if I could pull myself away from my book.

This had to do, in large part, with the writing (as mentioned before, it's just so sharp and smart) and the way the book was set up (I love it when the story moves from the end back to the beginning, and I have to put the pieces together), but also, it was because of Bernadette. As you can probably tell from the above quote, she was just an absolutely fascinating character.

Unfortunately, the ending got just a bit melodramatic for me. I wasn't unhappy with the way it ended, but getting there felt a little crazy (but then, the whole book is actually a little on the crazy side, so I shouldn't have been surprised).

It would be remiss of me not to give you a little taste of Maria Semple's writing, so I'll leave you with one of my favorite passages, a description of icebergs (Antarctica plays a big part in the story): "White, yes, but blue, too, every blue on the color wheel, deep like a navy blazer, incandescent like a neon sign, royal like a Frenchman's shirt, powder like Peter Rabbit's cloth coat, these icy monsters roaming the forbidding black."

This book is one that really can't be replaced by a summary or a book review. It's very much about the journey, and the only way to get there is by reading it.

Content note: swearing, including the f-word, and a brief, non-descriptive affair

Have you read any of these books? I'd love to hear your opinion!

Roller Girl by Victoria Jamieson

I'm starting to not recognize myself any more. Last year, I read a verse novel about basketball, and it ended up being one of my favorite books of the year. A couple of weeks ago, I picked up this graphic novel about roller derby, and I couldn't put it down. Seriously? Roller derby? Is this really me? I used to be afraid of new genres. I used to shun topics I couldn't relate to. But as I've pushed myself out of my comfort zone, my world has only opened up and become richer. Reading has become even more of a treasure.

Astrid and Nicole are best friends and have been since the first grade. But as they approach sixth grade, their interests begin to diverge. Nicole loves to dance; she cares about clothes and the way she looks; she likes boys. Astrid though . . . Astrid doesn't really know what she likes until one night  when her mom surprises her with tickets to a roller derby bout. Astrid didn't even know something like this existed, and she is hooked from the minute the emcee announces the names of the Rose City Rollers.

She is so excited, in fact, that she doesn't even notice Nicole's lukewarm reaction to all the pushing and shoving and racing and falling. When Astrid sees an advertisement in the program for junior roller derby camp, she assumes they'll both sign up together.

But that's not how it goes at all, and Astrid finds herself staring down at six weeks of roller derby camp without her best friend by her side. The roller derby girls are completely different than Astrid is used to. They have crazy nicknames (Slamwich , Scream Soda, and Blondilocks); they dye their hair green and purple; and they're tough as nails. Astrid can barely make it home after the first day because she's so battered and bruised and worn out.

But she sticks with it--in part because she never told her mom that Nicole decided to go to dance camp instead, and her mom assumes she's getting a ride home with Nicole every day--and after a couple of weeks, she's hit a certain sort of stride and is excitedly anticipating competing in her first bout. But of course, there are some bumps in the road, and those teach her who she really is and also what it takes to be a good friend.

After Roller Girl won a Newbery Honor earlier this year, I was very interested in reading it. You might remember that a graphic novel, El Deafo, won an honor last year as well, and even though I liked it fine, I didn't personally feel like it fit the Newbery criteria. With a second win for a graphic novel this year, I was really interested to see how they compared and if more of a case could be made for this one.

And I will say that even though it still seems unfair to strip away the illustrations and consider the text alone because the two are meant to go together, the text itself was far superior to El Deafo. It was sassy and funny and added as much character to the story as the illustrations did.

One of my favorite scenes was when Astrid's new friend, Zoey, helps Astrid dye her hair blue. Because Astrid's hair is so dark, they have to dye it blonde first, and when Astrid sees herself, she freaks out. "Okay, relax," Zoey says. "It's OK. Breathe . . . But not too deeply on account of the fumes . . . You're experiencing some shock right now, but this is normal."

Although I've never had even the teeniest tiniest desire to play roller derby, I felt like the underlying message of this book (finding yourself, being comfortable with who you are, etc.) was very relatable. I know many twelve-year-olds who would feel a kinship with Astrid, rather than Nicole, and who would appreciate her personality and interests.

There is a part of me, however, who wonders how kids who relate to Astrid will react to this book. Will they see it as permission to rebel and be a little more edgy? Astrid and her mom have a couple of fights in the book (the one after her mom finds out that Astrid lied to her and has actually been walking home from camp by herself is especially intense), and those actually demonstrate really great conflict and resolution, so hopefully even kids who relate to Astrid will see how important it is to be honest and communicate with their parents.

The other thing that struck me as incredibly real is that Astrid and Nicole don't magically become best friends again. They go through a very rough patch where they basically hate each other, but even though they eventually mend things, their friendship never goes back to the way it was, and you don't get the impression that it ever will. I think that's pretty true to life. Friends often grow apart from each other, and that's okay.

One of my major complaints about El Deafo was the ending. I felt like it totally celebrated being dishonest in order to gain popularity. But I had no such problem with Roller Girl's ending. In fact, I wouldn't change a single thing about it. Astrid shows real selflessness and good sportsmanship, but some really great things happen to her as well with her roller derby idol, Rainbow Bite.

The most surprising part of the book for me though was just how much I loved reading about roller derby. I thought it was fascinating. Not something that I would ever want to try, mind you,  but fascinating.

So here's to reading more books about subjects I don't like! Okay, that didn't sound quite the way I meant it to, but you know what I mean.

Which books have surprised YOU?

Content note: A mean girl gives Astrid a crude nickname.

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.

El Deafo by Cece Bell

For several months leading up to ALA Midwinter, I'd been hearing about El Deafo. It seemed like there were many people rooting for it to win the Newbery. Even though one of my goals in 2014 was to read four Newbery contenders, this book didn't make the cut for me because, quite frankly, I didn't think it would win.

And then, last Monday, it did--an honor, at least, and when only two books are awarded Newbery honors, that seems like a (excuse the pun) high honor indeed.

I immediately reserved it at the library and read it in a day.

It was good. Very, very good. I enjoyed it immensely. But . . .

. . . I don't think it should have won an honor.

Difficult for me to say, but there it is.

I honestly haven't read very many reviews of it because I like to form my own opinion independent of anyone else's. But from the little bits I've seen, I think I'm definitely in the minority. And that's a scary place (for me) to be. But I pride myself on being honest on this blog, so I'm going to share my thoughts, and then you can share yours, and then we can all rejoice that reading is so personal and wonderful and that there's something for everyone.

El Deafo is the graphic novel memoir of Cece Bell. When she is four years old, she contracts meningitis and loses her hearing because of it. Through hearing aids and lip reading, Cece learns to navigate the hearing world, but she is very self-conscious about what makes her different from her peers.

The book chronicles her life from age four through fifth grade. Over the years, she has a variety of friends: Laura (who likes to be in charge and bossy), Ginny (who insists on using a loud, slow voice when talking to Cece), Martha (who is overcome with guilt following a minor accident), and Mike (the boy next door and Cece's first crush).

In many ways, the story could be about any fourth or fifth grader. There are the friendship dramas, the lazy summers, the sleepovers, and the school triumphs and failures. But Cece's hearing loss gives the story added depth and dimension. By the end of the memoir, she has really grown into a confident young woman--one who owns every part of herself, including the hearing loss she detested for so long.

My opinions of this book can really be broken into three categories: what I liked, what I didn't like, and why I don't think it should have won a Newbery Honor.

First, what I liked:

Really, there's a lot to like about this book. I loved the way Cece's secret identity (El Deafo) was worked into almost every situation. When confronted with a seemingly insurmountable problem, she would retreat into her mind and think about what El Deafo would do to come out conqueror. Her superhero-self is aptly named because she almost always uses some part of her disability to rectify the situation. Very clever and it gave a great unity to the book.

I also loved the way Cece's four main friendships provided a solid framework for the story. They showcased both her insecurities and her strengths, and I could see her changing and growing with each one.

And finally, I loved the format. A graphic novel was the perfect way to tell this story, and I was so impressed with Cece Bell's style. There were so many little details provided by the pictures and the size and shape of the words. One of my favorite sequences is at the beginning when Cece has many appointments with various doctors. Every time her mom comes to get her, she's in her red and white polka-dot swimming suit. You can tell she just loves that thing based on how often it appears in the first few pages. She also captured each age really well: you can see how she is growing up by the way she looks, but also in the way she talks and acts.

Now for what I didn't like:

The potty language. I don't feel like I need to go into this since I've talked about it many times before, including in this review and this review. But even if it's an accurate portrayal of 8-12 year-olds, it's an immediate turn-off for me and probably always will be.

There were also some little details that just didn't match up or resolve, and they just left me feeling a little unsettled. For example, when Mike's family moves into the neighborhood, there's a picture featuring a little portrait of each family member. In that, Mike's mom is clearly named "Kathy." But later on when Cece and her mother go over to Mike's house, they call her "Nancy." She also looks completely different. I can pretend that she just dyed her hair and got a haircut, but the name change? Maybe I just missed something from the pages in between.

Also, there's another moment where Cece catches her mom and Ginny's mom drinking and smoking in the kitchen. Cece thinks something like, "Mom? Smoking?" and the whole sequence has a very bizarre and uncomfortable feeling to it. As far as I could tell, it was an isolated incident, but I kept wondering if there was something hidden there or if I was just reading too much into it.

But aside from those little annoyances, the main thing I didn't like was the ending. Early in the story, the reader finds out that with her phonic ear, Cece can hear tiny little sounds at far range as long as they are coming through the microphone that is connected to her hearing aids. This means that when her teacher leaves the classroom, she can hear all of her conversations and activities through the entire school. This ability is, in part, how Cece's secret identity is born, and she keeps it hidden until the very end of the book. Then, she tells Mike and a handful of neighborhood kids, and he decides they can use it during school: when their teacher leaves during "quiet math time," they can goof off, and Cece can keep track of where she is and alert all of her classmates to it so they can all be quietly in their seats by the time she returns. They try their plan, and it works out beautifully. Cece is a hero! The end.

Okay, it's not as abrupt as all that. But that really is the climax of the story and really the turning point of Cece's opinion of herself, and I was really disappointed about it. Successfully deceiving a teacher hardly seems to be something worth getting excited about. If anything, it should have come earlier in the story so that more growth could have happened afterwards not connected with that moment.

And finally, apart from what I liked and didn't like, I don't think it should have received a Newbery Honor for the simple reason that it is not "distinguished" without the pictures.

The Newbery criteria states: "The committee is to make its decision primarily on the text. Other components of a book, such as illustrations, overall design of the book, etc., may be considered when they make the book less effective." Well, the illustrations definitely don't make it less effective (I think everyone can agree on that), so therefore, they shouldn't have been considered.

And if they're not considered, then I just can't see a case being made for it as distinguished literature (but obviously, a case was made--a conversation I would have loved to be a witness to).

Here are the things I thought about while reading it (as it pertains to this point):

• Can the text stand on its own?
• Yes. You can understand the story without the pictures.
• But does the story carry the same weight with just the text?
• No. The text provides the bare bones framework, and the illustrations add depth and color.
• Is the text distinguished on its own?
• No. It has its poignant moments, no question, but I honestly can't imagine it getting a second glance if it was published as a text-only memoir.

And this is where I just start getting riled up. Even if you can look at just the text and make sense of it and enjoy it and be moved by it, that was never Cece Bell's intention. She chose the graphic novel medium because she wanted to be able to tell her story through words and pictures. Taking away the pictures is literally taking away half of the story. Personally, if I were the author and had taken the time to tell my story in this way, I wouldn't want it to be torn in two like that.

Whether it is distinguished or not (and honestly, even if we could consider the story in its complete form, the aforementioned problem with the climax would make me question this award), it does not follow the Newbery criteria. The problem doesn't necessarily lie in the book itself, but in the award.

Now that I've said all that, do I really think I've said anything new? Do I really have the audacity to think that I thought of something the committee didn't think of (oh, pictures add depth and meaning? Why didn't we think of that?!)? No, of course not. I have the highest respect for them and this search for the most distinguished contribution to children's literature. I admire their creativity with interpreting this award in a new way, but I think it is my right as a reader not to agree with it.

Now go read the book. And then come back here and tell me your opinion.

Review x 2: By the Shores of Silver Lake and The Long Winter by Laura Ingalls Wilder

As we were packing up all of our belongings to move into our new home, I felt a little envious of the Ingalls family. Their moving (whether across the country or just into town for the winter) consisted of folding up the quilts, packing away the little china doll, and giving the home a good sweeping out. Our packing and unpacking has felt endless, and it's because we have way too much stuff (i.e., junk). As I filled up the boxes, I felt overwhelming irritation at the closets and shelves and cupboards that kept popping up out of nowhere and were literally brimming with things.

While I am grateful to be blessed with so much, reading these two books made me appreciate, and long for, the peace and contentment that comes by keeping your life simple and uncluttered.

In By the Shores of Silver Lake, Laura Ingalls and her family move to Dakota Territory. Pa works as a bookkeeper while the railroad is being built, and once the railroad has moved farther west, he files on a claim and the town of De Smet is settled.

The Long Winter begins in the early fall when the weather in De Smet, South Dakota is warm and beautiful. However, an early blizzard in October is a warning of what is to come. Laura and her family wisely move out of their claim shanty and into the sturdy walls of the store Pa built in town. The winter is endless: one blizzard after another. By early spring, the family is close to starvation. Thankfully, Almanzo Wilder and Cap Garland risk their lives to bring in wheat from a farm twenty miles away.

I decided to combine the reviews of these two books since they are both set in the same place and involve the same characters and spend a lot of time describing the harsh winters in Dakota Territory. After I finished By the Shores of Silver Lake, I immediately picked up The Long Winter because there was no way I was going to wait until warm and sunny June to read a book about dark and cold.

As it happened, we have had such a mild winter here in Utah (we've seen more rain in the last two months than snow) that I felt a little guilty while reading about the Ingalls family being shut up in their house for six months, filling their days with twisting hay into sticks and grinding wheat into flour in order to stay on top of survival.

Ma's attitude during the long months is truly remarkable. Every morning, she wakes up cheerfully and calls the girls to work. Even on days when the house is shaking because of the blizzard whipping around it, she encourages Laura to make her bed and clean up after breakfast so that they won't have to worry about those things later in the day. I'm afraid if there was a blizzard raging outside, I would probably stay curled up in bed for most of the morning. But I honestly think it was their consistent routine that saved them mentally and physically.

There are only a couple of moments where Ma cracks, and it is just enough to show what tremendous stress she is under and that it is taking all of her willpower to keep it all together. Even as they are on the brink of starving and Laura says, "I am so tired of brown bread with nothing on it," Ma is quick to say, "Don't complain, Laura. Never complain of what you have. Always remember you are fortunate to have it." I know these books are considered historical fiction rather than strictly autobiographical because Laura did take some artistic liberties while writing them, but I have to believe that her portrayal of Ma as a stalwart presence is representative of the way she truly was.

Laura's writing is stunning in its simple, but vivid, descriptions. I was especially impressed with The Long Winter because the story is about an endless blizzard, and how do you make an endless blizzard interesting? There is a fair amount of repetition to be sure (every time a new blizzard strikes, she describes the nails as being white with frost and talks about the neighbors' lights that surely must be burning but that they can't see), but I found this repetition to be a powerful literary tool; it captured the relentless, hopeless, monotonous feel of winter. Also, it is amazing how subtly she changes the tone of the story so that the whole situation gradually feels more dire and desperate.

I have been enjoying this series so much as an adult. As I've mentioned before, my mom read Little House in the Big Woods to me when I was a little girl, and then we never read any more of the books. We were recently talking about how strange it was that we never read more of them since she read so much to my siblings and me. But looking back, I think I know the reason why: Little House in the Big Woods is so boring. You can hate me for saying it, but I'll make no apology. That book is scaring people away from the series. Even as an adult, I had a hard time listening to the audio (although I see, looking back at my brief thoughts from 2009 on Goodreads, that I said I loved it . . . I think I had just set my expectations very low, and also, I had no idea how much better subsequent books would be). 

I can certainly appreciate that Little House in the Big Woods is about a four-year-old girl, and so of course the descriptions are going to be more basic and stark than when she is thirteen and describing the scenes for her blind sister, Mary. I can even admire that Laura Ingalls Wilder, writing about her experiences so many years later, is able to change the writing style to reflect the various ages of Laura as she grows up. But the fact remains, Little House in the Big Woods is boring.

I'm telling you all of this not to bash Little House in the Big Woods but just to encourage any hesitant Little House on the Prairie readers to maybe begin with a different book (Farmer Boy would be an excellent choice). I'm generally a stickler for reading a series in order, but in this case, I think it really hurts the reader's chance of wanting to read any more in the series.

Splendors and Glooms by Laura Amy Schlitz

Out of the four Newbery titles this year, Splendors and Glooms was the only one I was really kicking myself for not reading ahead of time. First of all, I had the book in my hands over Christmas break, but for whatever reason, it just wasn't grabbing me so I read other (far less notable) things instead. And also, from all the buzz I had been reading, I think I had an inkling that it was destined for greatness. Oh well, it's almost as much fun reading them after the fact as before. Then when you're saying, as I did while reading this one, "Oh my goodness! This is so good!" you feel like you're opinion is immediately justified because, oh yeah, it just won a Newbery Honor.

While in the midst of this book, Mike asked me what it was about, and I said, "It's unlike anything I've ever read" and proceeded to give a haphazard synopsis that just left Mike scratching his head and saying, "That is unlike anything I've ever read." I'll try to be somewhat more succinct here.

When the story begins, Clara Wintermute is excitedly anticipating the party for her 12th birthday. A few weeks before, she saw Gaspare Grisini's puppet show in the park and was delighted both by the show and also by his two young assistants, Parsefall and Lizzie Rose. Clara begs her father to hire the puppeteer for her birthday party, and although he is very distrustful of foreigners, he has a hard time denying Clara anything. (When she was but five years old, her four siblings contracted cholera and died, which means her parents are a bit overanxious and extravagant when it comes to Clara.) During the party, Clara succumbs to a fit of laughter, which embarrasses and distresses her mother and causes her to say some unkind things to Clara. The next day, Clara can't be found. At first, her parents are worried she ran away, but the more they think about it, the more convinced they become that Gaspare Grisini had something to do with it.

But that's only half of the story (which is why I was having such a difficult time describing it to Mike). There's also an ancient witch, Cassandra, who is desperate to be relieved of a fire opal, a powerful charm that is burning her alive. Many years ago, Grisini, knowing of the fire opal's power, tried to steal it from Cassandra. That attempt ended badly for Grisini, but now Cassandra wants him back. She is convinced if she can only tempt one of his young assistants to steal it from her, she can be freed from the curse which is torturing her.

The adjective "well-crafted" is often used to describe tight, interweaving plots with dense character development. And "well-crafted" is exactly how I would describe Splendors and Glooms. The plot is rich and mysterious and unfolds very slowly and meticulously. I have no idea what Laura Amy Schlitz's writing habits are like, but I imagine her shuffling around the scenes and rewriting them over and over again until they are exactly where and how they should be. Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe Schlitz can get all the details right the first time, but I think it's more likely that the details take time to come together, and that certain elements can only work themselves out by being written one way and then rewritten another way.

For example, there is one scene where Clara's father is waiting to give a large ransom to an unknown individual. When the scene ends, he is still waiting for the clock to strike midnight and the kidnapper to appear. Meanwhile, certain events transpire that make it impossible for anyone to come for the ransom money. For several chapters, the reader knows, in part, how the events of the evening played out, but what of Clara's father? What was that long, cold, horrible night like for him? In my imagining, I picture Schlitz originally including a description of Clara's father's night not long after the other details are given. But then she deletes that scene, choosing instead to save the details for later in the story when Clara's father shares them with Lizzie Rose. I had to wait a long time for that information, and when it finally came, I thought it was perfectly placed. There are many instances similar to that one where I really had to wait for little details and pieces of information. And the waiting made the finding out so much sweeter. Does anyone else picture the writing habits of authors? Or am I just weird like that? I love to learn about the journeys that authors go on with their stories until the final draft surfaces, uncluttered and clean and beautiful.

Along the same lines, many times as I was reading, I was sure I had figured out some element of the story only to be completely wrong. When Clara recognizes that Parsefall's life is in danger because of the fire opal, I was sure she was going to sacrifice herself and beat him to it. But that didn't happen (at least, not at that point), and I just think it is a delightful experience to always be guessing and supposing, even if half the time you end up completely wrong.

I will say three honest things about this story; these aren't necessarily criticisms, more just observations. First, this is a very slow-moving story. Beautiful, yes. Captivating, yes. Suspenseful, yes. But slow. There are many conversations that go on for pages and pages with very little transpiring in the end. I even found the epilogue, which takes place at a funeral, to be never-ending, even though it was, in fact, the end. So this is not a story you would read if you wanted a fast-paced page-turner. You would read this if you want to get lost in a really amazing story. One upside to slow plot development is that the characters have plenty of time to come alive. I loved them, especially Lizzie Rose and Parsefall. I wanted to adopt Parsefall.

Second, this story is dark. I was actually surprised with how mature some of the content was. If I was recommending it, I would give it to children ages 12 and up. The puppeteer, Grisini, is an evil man. He is physically and emotionally and verbally abusive to Lizzie Rose and Parsefall. He is motivated by frighteningly wicked motives and intentions. There is also quite a bit of violence: Grisini has a near-fatal fall down the stairs; Cassandra uses the fire opal to make him bleed profusely; and Grisini meets his end by drowning and then being frozen under the ice. There were definitely some gruesome moments. Plus, some of the subject matter is just hard to deal with: Parsefall and Lizzie Rose live in really deplorable conditions, and Parsefall's fear and anxiety are really heart-wrenching.

Third, for most of the book moving so slow, the actual climax (particularly the destruction of the fire opal) was a little fast for me. Just my opinion.

I listened to the audio, which was narrated by Devina Porter. She was fantastic. It was a treat to listen to her interpretation of the characters. I think my favorite voice was Parsefall's. She nailed him. He sounded every bit the street urchin I imagined him to be.

It occurred to me more than once that this is the kind of book you expect to receive Newbery recognition. The writing is brilliant. The story is fresh and original. The characters are people you would actually want to meet. And when you're done, it stays with you in a really good way.

Mr. Popper's Penguins by Richard and Florence Atwater

In a nutshell, Mr. Popper's Penguins was not as wildly funny and entertaining as I was hoping it would be. I'm wondering how it has managed to stand the test of time.

Mr. Popper is a husband and father who paints houses for a living and dreams of Antarctica for the rest of the time. One day, just after the painting season has ended, a package shows up on his doorstep, and wonder of wonders, it's a penguin! Mr. Popper couldn't be happier. He names his new pet Captain Cook and enjoys taking him on walks. Then Captain Cook grows lonely, and through a series of fortunate events, a female penguin (Greta) is also sent to Mr. Popper. Together, Captain Cook and Greta have ten baby penguins. Mr. Popper is in heaven and lives to be down in the freezing basement watching his beloved birds. But Mrs. Popper realizes that they will soon be out of money. And thus, Popper's Performing Penguins is born.

I remember my mom reading this book aloud when I was a child, and I don't remember disliking it. It seemed like a good choice for my next read-aloud to Aaron because he has quite the sense of humor, and what could be funnier than twelve penguins living in a house?

I guess you can already tell that the book did not live up to my expectations. First of all, it's terribly slow. A whole chapter was spent describing the nest Captain Cook (the penguin, remember?) built in the refrigerator. A walk around town took up another two chapters. There just wasn't anything very gripping about the plot to make us want to read another chapter. (But we plugged along anyway.)

Also, through no fault of its own, the language is outdated. Neither Aaron or Max had any idea what was happening when the "service man" came to fix the "ice box." Of course, this provided some great opportunities for learning new words, but it also made the slow pace of the story even slower since I had to stop and explain what had happened every few pages.

And then there's Mr. Popper himself. He's just not your normal children's book protagonist. In fact, I found him to be odd and quirky but not really in a funny or entertaining way. He's oblivious to the needs of his wife and children, and there's not anything endearing or redeeming about him.

To top it off, the ending was just so ridiculous, even Aaron and Max could tell I did not approve. At the last minute, Mr. Popper hops aboard a ship bound for the Arctic, and without asking a single question, his wife and children happily send him off for the next two or three years. What?! In a single paragraph, Mr. Popper went from odd and quirky to downright irresponsible.

So that's my honest opinion. Now as far as Aaron and Max are concerned, I think they liked it well enough. They were definitely bored at times, but there were scenes that captured their attentions and which they relived in the days afterward. Aaron is still talking about the snowstorm inside the house, and he keeps telling me he wishes he could jump off the chair into a big snow pile. Ahhh, dreams. And a few days ago, my sister-in-law was at our house, and she was acting out scripture stories with the boys. She asked Aaron what his favorite story was, and he said, "Mr. Popper's Penguins!" I'm consoling myself with the hope that he didn't realize she was talking about scripture stories. At any rate, I guess he liked the book well enough to list it as a "favorite," at least for a short time.

My final opinion is that even though this book received a Newbery Honor, it has worn out its popularity. It's not a bad book, but there are many far better books to choose from.

Do you have any good recommendations for a four-year-old? I'd love to hear them!

The Thief by Megan Whalen Turner

As a reader, I feel that I am relatively well-rounded. And by that I mean that I don't have a particular genre I stick to at the exclusion of all others. Sometimes, I'm in the mood for some interesting historical fiction; other times, I want a classic.  Sometimes I want a parenting book (yes, I'm weird, I read parenting books for fun and not out of any sense of obligation) and occasionally, I even decide to go for a little fantasy. And within all those genres, I like a healthy mix of children's, middle-grade, young adult and adult.

A few weeks ago, I had just finished a disappointing adult fiction novel, so I was in the mood for something for the younger crowd; something that would be exciting and teeter on the edge of reality just a bit.  The Thief had been on my list for over a year, and it seemed like it fit everything I was wanting at that moment.

When the story begins, Gen is in prison for theft. He wasn't in prison because he got caught, but rather because he was bragging about it after the fact. Turns out, he has an extraordinary talent for taking things which don't belong to him, and the king's magus releases him from prison with the assignment to steal Hamaithes' Gift, a precious stone with rare capabilities that the king wants. The journey is long and dangerous with an interesting mixture of trust and suspicion to go around. The ending is chock-full of surprises.

Greek mythology plays a key role in the story (several myths are told by Gen and the magus, and Gen must steal the stone from a temple which is protected by gods and goddesses), but I have had a distaste for myths since reading a book of them in the fourth grade, so to have them so prevalent throughout didn't really make the book immediately appealing to me.

The whole plot revolves around Gen, the magus and his two apprentices, and a soldier. I am not one to appreciate it when authors add a female or two in the hopes of appealing to a larger readership, BUT I will say that this story lacked some interest for me, and I think it was maybe because it was missing a girl (or that it was full of myths :-)).

I listened to this one (you know, all those hours of packing, cleaning, and unpacking), and the narrator was fine. But I did think that the way the voices were described in the book didn't always match with this narrator's particular interpretation. (For example, Turner describes Gen's voice as being on the rough and uneducated side, and I didn't feel like this was portrayed at all.)

The story itself was pretty slow-paced for me (especially with the ancient myth detour every other chapter), but the ending was fantastic. (And if there's anything that will instantly redeem a book for me, it's a great ending.) The whole time, I had the lurking feeling that there were some things that didn't quite make sense and that there was some secrecy among the characters. I don't want to give anything away, but let's just say that Gen is even more sly and cunning than I originally thought, and everything just plays out delightfully (except for the traitor...shhhh...).

So to sum it up, it wasn't my favorite book, but the ending was so good that I have no regrets reading it.

(Side note: everything I've looked at classifies this book as young adult, but it felt more middle-grade to me. I wonder if that's because the middle-grade category has matured in content in the last 16 years?)

The Evolution of Calpurnia Tate by Jacqueline Kelly

Thoroughly enjoyable. It provides a captivating glimpse of life at the turn of the century (that's the 20th century) for a 12-year-old girl...a girl who longs to be a naturalist when really the only "acceptable" careers for women (besides having a family and home) are teaching school or operating the telephone. Calpurnia's mentor comes in the form of her grandfather, who can't remember the names of any of her six brothers but loves taking Calpurnia with him on his explorations.

This book could have come off as being somewhat feminist (after all, Calpurnia doesn't really want a husband or family...she wants a life of her own), but it doesn't. Instead it just makes you recognize the blessings that have come to women in the last 100 years.

My only disappointment with the book was in the ending. I just felt like there wasn't really any change in the hope of Calpurnia's future, but I guess New Year's Day in a new century plus snow in Texas was supposed to provide the idea that Calpurnia's going to take the newness and run with it.

Overall, a book that I would highly recommend.

This review was written before the birth of this blog.