Greenglass House by Kate Milford

You might remember that I put this book on my October reading list.

And then I took it off.

And put it on my December reading list instead.

Within the first few pages, I discovered that the story took place during winter break, immediately before Christmas, and that the inn was covered in a blanket of snow. Definitely December fare.

As it turned out, the last 130 pages actually happen on Christmas Eve, and I just happened to read a big chunk of those 130 pages on Christmas Eve. I didn't purposely plan it that way, but my weird obsession with reading the right book at the right time was very satisfied.

When Mike asked me what this book was about, I said, "Oh, it's a mystery. Middle-grade. Takes place during the holidays." And then after such a gripping description, I wondered why he didn't seem all that interested in hearing more about it.

Hmmm, maybe it's because I didn't tell him that Greenglass House is an inn that usually boards smugglers (most of them smuggle really harmless things like house plants or ballpoint pens--the notorious Deacon and Morvengarde hold the market on just about everything, and so if anyone wants to buy anything at a decent price, it has to come from the smugglers).

Maybe it's because I didn't tell him that Milo and his family own the inn, but it used to be the home of Doc Holystone (one of the more famous smugglers). When the story begins, Milo is just finishing up the last of his homework so he can enjoy the entire stretch of winter break worry free. The holidays are a slow time at Greenglass House, so he and his parents are looking forward to some quiet family time.

But then (and maybe this would have helped pique Mike's interest), the bell rings, indicating that a guest is at the base of the mountain and waiting to ride the Whilforber Whirlwind (a single rail car that is one of the only ways to get to Greenglass House--unless you like to climb hundreds of stairs) up to Greenglass House. Milo is more than a little disgruntled about the imposition on his holiday, but things only get worse when the bell rings again . . . and again . . . and before he knows it, the inn is full of a strange mix of guests who all seem surprised and displeased to find more guests than just themselves there.

It soon becomes apparent that all of the guests have an unexplainable interest in the house, and so Milo and his friend, Meddy, invent a role-playing game to try to uncover the host of mysteries that exist in Greenglass House--things Milo would have never dreamed were a part of the home he had lived in his whole life.

If that wouldn't have been enough to spark Mike's curiosity, then I hope it at least sparked yours because really, this a middle-grade novel worth reading. It's been getting some Newbery attention, and I'm really thrilled about that. The writing is fantastic, and it's a complex story with a myriad of little pieces that all (rather amazingly) fit together in the end.

Towards the end, there's a pretty big reveal that I wasn't expecting at all. At first I didn't know how I felt about it, but it had been led up to really well (there were so many clues I should have seen but didn't), and it actually fit the mood and plot of the story really well. So in the end, I liked it, and now I won't say anything more about it because I would hate to spoil the discovery for anyone else.

Another thing I didn't know if I was going to like was the role-playing angle of the story. When Milo and Meddy start discussing it and inventing their characters, it seemed like it was about to go in a direction that was a little too dangerously close to Dungeons & Dragons (something I know just enough of to know I don't want to know anymore).

But besides all of the mystery, there's another side of the story. Milo is adopted from China, and he's at an age where he's incredibly curious about his heritage. Because of the type of adoption, it's not really possible for him to learn anything about his birth family, but he can't help thinking and wondering about them sometimes. This sometimes brings on feelings of guilt because he really loves his mom and dad, and so he worries he's somehow being disloyal to them if he thinks about the family he'll never know. Even though it doesn't start out that way, the role-playing actually helps Milo explore some of his feelings and figure out who he is. As part of the game, he becomes Negret, the blackjack; Meddy becomes Sirin, the scholiast. Through the role-playing, they have moments like this one:

"Milo knew, of course, that no antique bric-a-brac in Greenglass House was even remotely likely to be connected to his own ancestry, even if it did have Chinese writing on it. Negret, on the other hand--Negret knew no such thing. Negret, he thought with a little thrill, could perhaps know the exact opposite.

Through the game, Milo not only explores his feelings about being adopted, he begins to confront some of his fears and insecurities. Negret isn't shaken by unexpected circumstances. Negret is stealthy and observant. And pretty soon, Milo is all of those things too.

However, I also loved a point in the story when Milo realizes that, as Negret, "he could call upon the exploit that would allow him to tell a perfect lie, but Milo discovered he didn't want to try the Fabulist out on his parents." It was nice to see him recognize his potential but also realize that, morally, there are just some things not worth doing and a trust worth building and maintaining.

I've spent a lot of time in this review talking about Milo and his self-discovery, but the mystery is probably the bigger story (or at least takes up more time to tell), and it wouldn't be possible without a cast of truly fantastic characters who each have their own history and agenda. There's Mr. Vinge and Georgie and Dr. Gowervine and Mrs. Hereward and Clem and Owen. There are Milo's parents and Mrs. Caraway and Meddy. There's Fenster and Brandon and Doc Holystone. Each one made a contribution, without which the story would have been lacking a certain degree of suspense and intrigue.

And then of course the house--I don't know what it was about the descriptions but I felt like I was literally walking through Greenglass Inn. Even now, as I'm writing it, I can see the green glass knob that led into the Emporium. I can see the poinsettia at the end of the hallway and the stained glass windows on each landing. I can feel the cold wind on the fire escape and hear the creak of the stairs. It was all so vivid and memorable--to the point that if I was all of a sudden dropped down on the front door, I think I'd know my way around it pretty well.

This really was a perfect way to spend the holiday break. It's a book you can cozy up with and get lost in, and I'm excited to share it with my kids in a few years.

Content note: there's a very little bit of mild language that you might want to be aware of if you're going to let a young child read it.

Brown Girl Dreaming by Jacqueline Woodson

There was a time in my life when I was afraid of verse novels. You might even say I avoided them. But then I read Out of the Dust by Karen Hesse, and I was completely won over by this format of novel-writing. I wish I could remember what inspired me to read it in the first place because whatever (or whoever) it was deserves a lot of credit.

So when I saw all the attention Brown Girl Dreaming was getting on Newbery 2015 lists and found out it was also a verse novel, I ran to get my hands on a copy (which is fairly difficult to do when you're #78 on a library wait list).

For years, I have counted Out of the Dust among my very favorite books, but Brown Girl Dreaming is threatening its position. I definitely enjoyed it, and some of the poems moved past just being enjoyable and truly touched me.

Jacqueline Woodson grew up in the 1960's (yes, it's a memoir in verse). Since part of that growing up takes place in South Carolina, you can imagine that the Civil Rights movement is an important component of the story. But it's also just about the happenings, both tragic and heartwarming, that make up this thing we call life. At its heart, however, it's about Jacqueline's journey to becoming a writer, which after reading her beautifully flowing verse, you'll be surprised there was ever a time when it didn't come easily to her.

Okay, maybe I'm just so new to verse novels that I'm ignorant to any and all flaws, but I was completely blown away by this book. I found myself wanting to dogear every single page, which kind of defeats the purpose of dogearing. Some of the poems left me breathless, like this one entitled, "Ghosts":

In downtown Greenville,

they painted over the WHITE ONLY signs,

except on the bathroom doors,

they didn't use a lot of paint

so you can still see the words, right there

like a ghost standing in front

still keeping you out.

I've read my share of books (fiction and nonfiction) that explore Civil Rights issues, but that poem hit me hard and fast in a new way. In a mere seven lines, it shows how stamping out the sins of the past isn't as quick and easy as painting over a sign. The prejudices linger and hearts continue to hurt. I think it's partly the genre itself (the line breaks, the formatting on the page, the words that are said and unsaid) that is able to nudge those familiar emotions and feelings in a new way, but I was continually impressed with Jacqueline Woodson's imagery and voice, which seemed completely her own (but, like I said, I definitely need to explore this genre further to see if I'm just a sucker for anything written in verse).

The thing I love about a book like this is that, when taken as a whole, it creates a beautifully complete story, but I can also open the book at random and read a poem here, turn a few pages and read another poem there, and each one is enjoyable and complete in and of itself. It's one of the books that's going on my Christmas list this year, in part because I know that it will give something new to me every time I pick it up, whether I have time for just one or two pages or the entire thing.

One of my very favorite individual poems was called "Other People's Memory," which talks about how everyone in the family remembers Jacqueline's birth as happening at a different time of day. Grandma Georgiana swears it happened in the morning, but Jacqueline's mother says it took place in the afternoon, and Jacqueline's father says she was born when it was almost night. I wanted to share an excerpt here, but I couldn't narrow it down to one stanza. It just didn't have the same impact when separated from the rest.

I read most of this book on the 14-hour plane ride to Australia. By the end, in my nearly delirious state, my own thoughts were coming in short, clipped phrases, so I thought, Hey, I'm going to write a poem about what it's like to be on this jet for fourteen hours--a gripping subject to be sure, but one that (luckily for you) I won't be sharing here.

The book ends with a poem called "Believe," which includes these two lines:

I believe in one day and someday and this

     perfect moment called Now.

I think that's really what Jacqueline Woodson set out to do with all the poems preceding this one--capture and share the "one day"s and the "someday"s, but most of all those "perfect moment"s that makes up the present.

West of the Moon by Margi Preus

Several years ago I read East by Edith Pattou. Last year I read Sun and Moon, Ice and Snow by Jessica Day George. Both were retellings of the Nordic legend, "East of the Sun, West of the Moon."

You might think, given its title, that this book would be another retelling of the same tale, but it's not. However, it is beautifully woven into the plot.

Astri's life is hard. Her mother died several years before, and then her father left for America, leaving Astri and her younger sister, Greta, with an aunt and uncle. He promises to send for them when he has earned enough money, but quite some time has gone by without any word from him. Then the aunt decides to sell Astri to the goat man (she's not what you would call kind and nurturing), and that is when life becomes truly unbearable. Gathering all her courage, Astri and Greta set off on a dangerous journey to find America that is "west of the moon."

This is an insanely clever book. It's part folk tale (at the back of the book, Margi Preus lists 14 folk tales that come into play at one point or another), part historical fiction (the diseases and journey by ship are all accurate to the time period), and even (very slightly) part biographical (the story was inspired by Preus' great-great-grandmother). The melding of these various genres was absolutely beautiful.

First, the folk tales. I know I didn't pick up on all the references, but the ones to "East of the Sun, West of the Moon" are pretty obvious, mainly because throughout the story, Astri recounts bits and pieces of the legend and then relates them to her own life. For example, this, in Astri's own words: "When the youngest daughter arrived at the bear's house, it was a castle she found, with many rooms all lit up, rooms gleaming with gold and silver, a table already laid, everything as grand as grand could be . . . Not so for me, for when I come to the lair of Mr. Goat, it is a hovel, and filthy inside." The story wouldn't have been even half as good without the framework of all those old tales holding it up and tying it to the past.

The story is set around 1850. It begins in Norway and ends in America. Astri is an uneducated farm girl and is highly superstitious, but all of her unfounded beliefs actually have logical explanations. For example, there is a girl in the story whose joints and back seem to be curved. Astri is convinced she must be the daughter of a troll, but more likely, she probably is suffering from the long-lasting effects of rickets.

Astri was such a wonderful main character: headstrong and brave and loyal, but she continually doubts herself and is disappointed by her failings. At one point, she steals the goat man's Black Book (among other things). She is convinced the Black Book contains powerful secrets that might help her, but she also worries that it is evil and she belongs to the devil because of it. At one point she says, "It's said that it can be dangerous even just to listen to words from this book . . . But I only want to use it for good! Is it all right to use a bad thing for a good cause?" Her struggle is so real and so admirable.

Although this is a middle-grade novel, I would put it in the upper-age bracket of that category. There were a few intense moments (the goat man forces himself (very briefly) on Astri and then promises that once he marries her there will be no escape; later on, Astri cuts off his fingers when he tries to steal her mother's brooch, and the resulting blood and tetanus are not pretty to behold) that I think warrant a more mature reader.

The book itself (I'm talking about the physical, hardcover, paper pages book) is gorgeous. I want to own it someday just so I can flip through its stunning pages. The first few pages are black with white printing and surrounded by a frame of leaves. I also love the choice of fonts.

Three of my favorite themes from the book can be summed up in these three quotes:

• "There are more things in heaven and earth than can be dreamed."
• "It makes me dizzy to consider it, but I feel suddenly how all things are woven together, all things seen and unseen, all things alive now and that once were, for generations back and generations to come, woven of a kind of golden thread . . . "
• "Oh, it's just a trifle. A trifle here and a trifle there. But as we well know, a trifle can be enough when luck is on your side."

All around it was just a really great book, one that I would definitely recommend to 12-year-old girls, although I think there's definitely enough action (and blood) to keep boys interested as well. And as far as the 2015 Newbery? I guess it's probably obvious I wouldn't be one bit disappointed (or surprised) if this one won.

P.S. I've said before that I don't like to read reviews before writing down my own thoughts, but after I finished writing this, I went over to For Those About to Mock and read Rachael's thoughts. We expressed many of the same sentiments (which must mean it really is a good book), but she did it infinitely better. 

A Snicker of Magic by Natalie Lloyd

I usually don't like books with an abundance of quirky characters.

I usually don't like books set in quaint and cutesy small towns.

I usually don't like books narrated in first person by wordy 11-year-olds.

But in spite of all of that (or maybe, just maybe, because of it), I loved A Snicker of Magic.

The moon is full the night Felicity Pickle and her mother and sister arrive in Midnight Gulch, Tennessee. Felicity is so tired of new beginnings (and it seems like her mother is addicted to them), but she is hoping that Midnight Gulch will finally be the place they can call home. It has a few things going for it: it's the town where her mother grew up (and where her Aunt Cleo still lives); it used to be full of magic (and still seems to have "a snicker of magic" flowing through it); and it's the home of the Beedle (who soon becomes Felicity's best friend).

As for Felicity, she is a girl who loves words. And she sees them everywhere she looks: suspended in the air, slithering across the floor, popping out of nowhere. They take on shapes and colors and give her glimpses into the mind and heart of those around her. In a fit of desperation to keep her mother still for a couple more weeks, Felicity signs up to share her words with the whole town at the Duel (a talent show of sorts). She is scared out of her mind, but as she learns more about the history of the town, she thinks this might be the way to free her family of the century-old curse they seem to be prisoners to.

In the weeks since I finished this book, I've pondered why I liked it so much. It was kind of a cross between The Center of Everything (which features a donut-obsessed town and Ruby's fear of reading her essay in front of a bunch of people) and Savvy (where Mibs and her family have certain magical gifts). In this case, the town is ice cream--not donut--obsessed; similar to Ruby, Felicity is afraid to share her words; and instead of a family with supernatural powers, there are a number of characters with certain unusual gifts or talents. But where it definitely didn't work for me in The Center of Everything or Savvy, something clicked here. And I can't figure out why.

Maybe I felt a certain connection with some of those quirky characters. Or maybe it was because I found their quirkiness absolutely endearing (Jewell Pickett's Lube & Dye; Rosie Walker's cowboy boots;  Day Grissom's gnarly beard; Boone Harness's banjo).

Maybe the wide assortment of ice cream flavors (Blackberry Sunrise, Chocolate Orange Switcheroo, Chocolate Chip Pork Rind) were just more novel to me than donuts.

Maybe it was the element of mystery that threaded its way through the entire story. Or maybe I liked the link to history and the past.

Maybe it had to do with the fact that Felicity wasn't just trying to help herself but also her mother and Florentine and everyone else who'd been affected by the events of the past.

Maybe it was because the writing painted a distinct and vivid picture. (For example, this: "The base of the sky was turning orange and pale pink. I figure that was the sun's way of yawning and stretching before it puts its hands on the hills and pushes on up into the sky.")

Maybe it was because even though the ending was very satisfying, it wasn't perfect.

Or maybe something about me is different. Maybe I've changed. Maybe I'm less cynical. Maybe I'm more willing to believe in "a snicker of magic."

For whatever the reason, I was completely smitten with Felicity's story. It has received some early Newbery attention (Betsy Bird of A Fuse #8 Production predicted it to be "the most divisive book of 2014"), and I personally would not be one bit disappointed to see it receive a little Newbery love. That said, I can understand why everyone might not love it. Quite frankly, I'm still surprised by how much I enjoyed it, and a part of me wants to read it again to see if it was just some weird sort of fluke.

But love it, I did. And admit it, I will.

The Real Boy by Anne Ursu

I follow several book blogs that regularly review advance copies of books. I like seeing what books I have to look forward to, but it can also be agonizing to read an intriguing review and not be able to read the book immediately but instead have to wait weeks (or even months) for it to come out.

Such was the case with this book.

As early as this summer, it was already receiving a fair bit of Newbery attention, but it wasn't officially released until the end of September. And then, of course, it wasn't like the library had it on its shelves the day afterward. So it felt like I had to wait an eternity before I finally got a copy (really, it was just a few months).

Although I would have preferred not waiting, I'm glad I did because this is some pretty good middle-grade fiction.

Oscar lives in the Barrow, just east of Asteri (aka, the "Shining City"). He is the hand of the great magician, Caleb, which basically means he does all of the menial tasks: gathering, drying, chopping, and storing herbs, as well as dusting and cleaning the shop. He is not an apprentice (which, in the hierarchy of the village, is definitely more respectable than a lowly hand) and probably never will be, for in spite of his affinity for plants, he is socially awkward and inept.

But then, strange things begin happening in the Barrow: businesses and the forest are destroyed overnight by an unseen, monstrous hand; the Shining children (from Asteri) are getting sick (which is NOT supposed to happen); Caleb and the magic smiths are leaving the Barrow for days and weeks at a time without explanation. Oscar would rather stay in his cellar surrounded by plants and cats and wait for the troubles to go away on their own, but Callie (the healer's apprentice) pushes Oscar to reach outside himself and do what no one else will to save the village and the city.

This was my first experience with Anne Ursu's writing, and I was absolutely enchanted.  Her prose is simple but sparkling. For example, "[Caleb] smiled his cloaking smile, and Oscar folded himself up into it." When an author can find a way to make a smile more than just a smile but an experience, something that I can feel and remember, I could keep reading forever. Here's another one:  "'And what?' She hit the t so hard it felt like a slap." And also this one: "'And,' Callie said, words tiptoeing up to him, 'what do you think?'" Some people think there is no place for fiction, but how can there not be when words like this have the power to make me think about thoughts and emotions and actions in new and vibrant ways? The story may be made up, but the new ways I feel connected to people are most definitely real. (Incidentally, I've been meaning to read Ursu's Breadcrumbs for awhile, and you can bet it's now going to the top of my list for January.)

Besides just the beautiful writing, this is an intricate story that explores the complex web of good vs. evil: What is really good? Who is really evil?, etc. So many of the characters (Caleb, Mister Malcolm, the Shining people) exhibit conflicting motives, desires, and ambitions--not with each other per se, but with themselves. For example, Mister Malcolm is a baker who used to be a magician. He is kind and generous (good). He abandoned magic because he felt like it was being used unwisely and selfishly (good).  He decides to leave the Barrow because its problems seem overwhelming (maybe not  exactly bad but also not noble), and he feels like the magic-crazed citizens are getting their due (kind of sad). Mister Malcolm has the potential of being a wise mentor, but he takes the cowardly route instead. He's definitely not the most complex character in the story, but I used him as an example because he demonstrates what I mean about the personal struggle between good and evil without giving away any major plot points.

I also loved the setting for this story: the country of Aletheia with its rich and mysterious history (wizard trees, the Plaguelands, unblemished children). There was an element of mystery mixed in with the magic and problems, and everything came together in a really stunning piece of writing.

And the good news? This book is available at your local library right now. No waiting required!

The Year of Billy Miller by Kevin Henkes

The Year of Billy Miller was first brought to my attention in a review on A Fuse #8 Production. When Betsy Bird compared Billy Miller to Ramona (and Beverly Cleary's books in general), I was instantly intrigued. Then a few weeks later, I read Henry Huggins to my boys, and we all loved it so much, I became almost desperate to get my hands on a copy Billy Miller. Unfortunately, it hadn't been released yet, and in spite of the immense popularity of this blog, Harper Collins didn't ask me for a review. So I waited and periodically verified that  the release date was still September 17th. I checked my hold list at the library more times than I care to admit to see if the book was being processed yet. (Yes, maybe I should have just bought it. I just have such a hard time buying books I haven't read yet.)

And then came the blessed day when my inbox contained the words: The following item(s) are being held for you: The Year of Billy Miller. The boys and I had been reading Homer Price, but I asked them if we could just try out the first chapter of Billy Miller, and after that we couldn't stop. Sorry, Homer.

Billy Miller is seven years old and starting the second grade. As he walks to school on that very first day, he is consumed with worry that he won't be smart enough for second grade.The worry began a few weeks before when he fell on his head during a family vacation. Afterwards, he heard his mom expressing her own worry that even though the doctors said he was fine, he might have retained some damage that wouldn't show up until later.

With a beginning like that, you might think the story's going to be about head injuries and learning disabilities and fitting in, but it isn't. It's just about Billy, an average kid with a blessedly simple set of average problems: when he stops worrying about being smart enough for second grade, then he starts worrying about how to say he's sorry to his teacher, Ms. Silver and how to help his dad not feel so discouraged and how to write a meaningful poem for his mom. With so many of today's books tackling big issues and giant problems, I can't tell you how refreshing it was to read about a little boy with just some everyday worries.

Of course, since I'd already read Betsy Bird's review, I couldn't help but compare Billy Miller to Henry Huggins. Even so, the similarities are striking enough, I like to think I would have made the connection on my own.

For one thing, Kevin Henkes writes in that same simple but perceptive style that is so pronounced in Beverly Cleary's works. He knows just the right things to highlight without making an overly big deal about them. For example, this note that Billy writes to his three-year-old sister: "Dear Sal, Will make it to morning next time. Your ok. Your brother, Billy." The misspellings are realistic. In spite of what he thinks about himself, he's a bright kid. He isn't going to misspell "morning" or "time," but he probably isn't going to remember when he should use "your" and when it should be "you're" instead. Ironically, these are mistakes that a seven-year-old who is reading this book probably won't even pick up on.

(There was only one place where I felt like Henkes broke the seven-year-old mold and inserted adult-thoughts-masking-as-children-thoughts, and it came when Billy said this, "The poem can be about a parent or a brother or a sister or a grandma or an uncle or someone who helps your family like a good friend, because all families are different." It wasn't the list of relatives and friends; it was that little explanation at the end: "because all families are different." The seven-year-old boys I know wouldn't have added that. They would have just assumed that you knew that all families are different and that is why you could write about any of those people.)

Another similarity to Cleary's writing was just in the way the story was organized. It was divided into four parts ("Teacher," "Father," "Sister," "Mother"). Each part was like a little snapshot of an incident from Billy Miller's second grade year. We get a glimpse during the first week of school, the second when it's fall, another when it is cold enough to snow, and the final one when spring is in the trees and summer break is on the horizon. In between, there are gaping holes where we don't really know what's happening in Billy's life (but we can assume it isn't tragic or life-changing).

For example, at school Billy sits by a girl named Emma who is stuck up and condescending. Towards the end of the book, Emma looks over at a picture Billy is drawing on an invitation and makes a rude comment. Then comes this: "Billy moved his drawing closer to his chest and tightened his grip on his marker. After months of sitting by her, Billy had learned that the best way to deal with Emma was to ignore her." Because the book only focuses on a few select experiences (with a lot of the "action" happening at home), we don't really see this learning taking place; we simply see the end result.

I think the point of a story like Billy's is not so much about what happens but about how it affects and changes him. This is exactly like Henry Huggins: there's the chapter about him digging up night crawlers to fix a mistake, and then we fast forward to the Christmas play. In both Billy and Henry's case, the result is the same: as the reader, we get some excellent, self-contained stories that contribute to the overall character development of both boys.

One last similarity between Henkes' and Cleary's writing is that each chapter has some sort of special, poignant moment. It's not overly gushy or sentimental, but it's there to twist the reader's heart just a little. Like this one when Billy apologizes to Ms. Silver (for something he didn't intentionally do but which he is perceptive enough to know hurt her a little nonetheless): he brings her a half dozen silver objects (to go along with her name), and then he whispers, "'I'm really a nice person.' He couldn't look at her, but he could feel her eyes upon him like a net. His heart was thrumming. 'I can tell you're a nice person,' she said. Billy sighed. 'A very nice person.'"

Aaron and Maxwell loved this book, which kind of surprised me since it contains very few pictures, and all of them are small and only of a single object (a hat, a bird, a bowl, etc.). I guess all of our other chapter book reading paid off and paved the way for this one. In fact, even days after finishing it, Max was still asking, "Can we read Billy Miller now?" and then I had to sadly remind him that we had already finished it.

Overall, we probably liked Henry Huggins slightly  more than Billy Miller but only because Henry dealt more with bugs than poetry. The feeling we got from both books was the same, and I certainly hope Billy Miller has many more stories in his future.

P.S. Can anyone tell me where I can find a babysitter like Gabby (the teenager who stayed overnight with Billy and Sal)? Before Billy's parents come back, she says, "Let's get your rooms in shape before they get here" and "I can make you something to eat right away, or we can make a big brunch and wait for your parents to get here." Do babysitters like this really exist?!?!

The Water Castle by Megan Frazer Blakemore

I hate to admit I'm so shallow a person that I judge a book by its cover . . . but I do.

The cover of The Water Castle reminded me too much of a Choose Your Own Adventure paperback. I just could not imagine that I would find anything of much interest in it.

But then, as fate would have it, it just kept getting mentioned on all of the Newbery sites I read. And then, all the Newbery candidates I really want to read (The Real Boy, Flora & Ulysses, The Life of Billy Miller) have not been published yet. And since my goal is to read a handful of potential Newbery titles before the year is up, I decided to see if there was cause for my prejudice.

The story has three key players: Ephraim Appledore-Smith (his father recently suffered a debilitating stroke, so he and his family moved to the inherited family estate (i.e. "the water castle") in the hopes that the Crystal Springs water will have a healing effect on his father); Mallory Green (her family has been the caretakers of the water castle for generations, and she has grown up on the magical legends of the old estate; but lately, with her parents' divorce, she has taken a cynical look at everything she once knew and loved); and Will Wylie (the Wylies and the Appledores have been enemies for many years, but Will has an extreme passion for science which might help break down some barriers).

Ephraim immediately feels awkward in this small town (pop. 1716) where everyone seems to be a little smarter, a little stronger, and a little more talented than the average Joe. So he decides to bury himself in the mysticism which surrounds the water castle. His family has always been obsessed with finding the Fountain of Youth (that's why the estate was built in the first place), and Ephraim is convinced that if it does exist, then he needs to find it so that his father can be healed.

Mixed in with Ephraim, Mallory, and Will's story are flashbacks to 1908 when Orlando Appledore (Ephraim's great-great-great uncle) began earnestly looking for the Fountain of Youth and hired Nora Darling (supposedly Mallory's great-grandmother) as his apprentice.

I can't say I disliked The Water Castle (it definitely did not feel like a Choose Your Own Adventure story), but it never gripped me the way I think it was supposed to. There was quite a bit of mystery surrounding the search for the Fountain of Youth and the convergence of past and present, but the plot was fairly slow-moving.

Also, the language seemed a bit juvenile to me . . . and I don't just mean that the characters sounded young (although, at times, they did). Sometimes the dialogue sounded like it could have been written by a 10-year-old: a bit stilted and formulaic, developing the characters very methodically. I know I'm not doing a great job of explaining what I mean; it just seemed like the kids would meet up, have a civil conversation (with an occasional stereotypical argument thrown in here and there) full of lots of "sures" and "exactlys," and the plot would move the prescribed amount forward until the next conversation. If this ends up winning the Newbery, then I will have to go back and reread it (maybe listen to it then) to see if a second reading helps me be any more enamored with the writing.

The character spouting off the largest number of" annoying sentences was probably Ephraim's older brother, Price. For the life of me, I could not figure that kid out. At the beginning of the book, he tries really hard to be mature and kind to his siblings and fill their father's place, but pretty soon, that facade (because I think it really was a facade) is gone, and he is just a big jerk. Even though he was just a supporting character, his personality was so confusing and vague and changing that it really felt like the development of the story suffered because of it.

I have to admit, I did stay up late to finish it. By the end, I was very anxious to see how all the pieces fit together. Except . . . many of the pieces were left undone. I'm torn because I definitely like it when an author leaves part of the ending up to the reader's imagination (and doesn't feel like they have to tie everything up in a neat little package or extend the whole thing into a tiresome trilogy), but this . . . this . . . felt like there were still too many questions hovering around in my brain. I wanted a little more, and I went to sleep feeling annoyed that I'd stayed up late to find out nothing.

Now comes the part of the review where I retract everything I've just written, and say something like, "All that being said, it was still an enjoyable book." I've noticed I do that a lot at the end of my reviews.

But I find myself wanting to do that again. Because in this case, as much as I personally was dissatisfied with it, I feel like it will find a favorable place among its targeted audience. It's very gender-neutral, it explores some interesting scientific/historical evidence, and it does have some exciting moments (including a dash to the hospital by an underage, unlicensed driver). When my sons hit about nine or ten, I will definitely be giving them this book to read (but I probably won't be buying it).

The Center of Everything by Linda Urban

The Center of Everything has been getting some early Newbery attention, and while that is not in any way a reliable indicator of what will actually win the Newbery, or even what will be a favorite later in the year (remember the slow (and very unfortunate) demise of Wonder?), I wanted to get started on my goal of reading several potential-Newbery titles this year, and this looked like an enjoyable one.

Whew, nothing like beginning a review with a paragraph-sentence!

Ruby Pepperdine has had a bit of a rough year. First Gigi (her beloved grandmother) dies without Ruby having time to listen to her final advice. Then Ruby can't decide what to make of the attention from a nice boy in her class named Nero. And then to top it all off, Lucy, her best friend from forever, gets mad and abandons their friendship. Luckily, Ruby's birthday coin went sailing through Captain Cornelius Bunning's donut (long story...) AND she won the Bunning Day Essay Contest, so she takes both as a sign that her life's problems will soon be fixed.

I read Linda Urban's first book, A Crooked Kind of Perfect, a couple of years ago and thought it was okay. And I thought The Center of Everything was okay, too. Both novels are a little bit quirky (sorry, a donut-obsessed town is quirky in my opinion) while exploring typical middle-grade issues (friend-breakups, early romances, defining oneself, etc.). I enjoyed it, was even interested to see how it would end, but it's already fading from my memory.

And unfortunately as time goes by, the little annoyances I felt while reading it are the impressions that really seem to be sticking with me.

For example, for the life of me, I could not get used to this story being told in present tense. Lest you make a hasty judgement about me, let me point out that I am definitely not one of those readers that is highly distracted and irritated with present tense. Usually, I have no problem settling into it, and by the third page I've completely forgotten what tense I'm reading in. But this one was different. And I think it was because it kept falling out of present tense, but only briefly, so that when it went back to it, it felt like a jolt or a slap in the face. And this happened over and over again.

Here's one example: "And this year, for the first time in twelve years, Ruby had something really important to wish for. Not that her hair would turn curly or that she'd get a new bike or that she'd be better at soccer, but something really, truly important [all in past tense]. Something she hasn't stopped thinking about since she saw Nero's color wheel last week. And now she has missed her chance [back in present tense]."

I'm not saying that Linda Urban is wrong to be floating between tenses like that. Of course I'm not saying that. I'm also not saying that she doesn't have valid reasons to use both tenses in the same paragraph. What I am saying is that for me, as a reader, the use of both tenses in one paragraph was distracting. It made me stop thinking about the story and start thinking about sentence structure and grammar. I wish I could have just stayed lost in Ruby's dilemma instead of bothering with something as insignificant and boring as had and has.

Aside from the tense issue, I really loved the fact that the story was told from the point of view of an omniscient narrator. This is perhaps my favorite way to get a story; I love the way little details can be shared from the lives of multiple characters and how the reader is able to see connections the actual characters cannot. Linda Urban actually wrote a fascinating blog post on this topic recently where she shared examples from this book.

I did like all of the science and math that was mixed in with the story: circles and torus and homeomorphisms--concepts I've never even heard of before. One of my favorite analogies was when Nero asks their teacher what happens if you have only 359 degrees in a circle instead of 360, and Mr. Cipielewski says, "You do not have a circle." And Nero asks what you have then, and Mr. Cipielewski says, "Nothing." Then the reader gets this comparison: "A week ago [Nero] had been just another boy in her class. Then a few days later they were friends. Or about to be friends. Like 359 degrees of friendship. But that was before Ruby said what she said. Was it possible that now they really were nothing?" I thought the set-up to this analogy was perfect and that the analogy itself was also perfect.

I really liked Ruby, and I really liked Nero, but I really, really, really did not like Ruby's best friend, Lucy. Even after their friendship was patched back together, I still didn't like her. She was so selfish and self-centered, but even so, I don't think I was supposed to dislike her, which made me dislike her even more. I love it when friendships are real and best friends aren't perfect (one of the reasons I loved the friendship in Sharon Creech's Walk Two Moons), but I thought Ruby could do better than a best friend like Lucy.

One thing that caught me a little off guard at the beginning was the fact that Lucy has two dads. It was not explained or elaborated. It just was. (Which I appreciated since it was not a theme of the book.) I'm not going to get into a political or moral discussion here, but I will say that as a parent, this is a small detail that I would want to be aware of so that I would be able to discuss and explain and talk about it with my children. (Incidentally, and fyi, Lucy having two dads had nothing to do with me not liking her character. It was her utter selfishness I had a problem with).

I found The Center of Everything to be an enjoyable read, but I have to admit that I hope whatever ends up winning the Newbery is more of a standout than this one.

Palace of Stone by Shannon Hale

I fully anticipated reading this book as soon as it came out. I had anxiously awaited its publication, re-read Princess Academy in preparation, and even went to a signing with Shannon Hale. But then, other books crowded for my attention, and it kept getting pushed aside--until this week when I was visiting my family, and my mom's copy was ready and waiting, and I was very much available.

All my waiting was not in vain because Palace of Stone did not disappoint. Not one bit.

The story begins several months (maybe even a full year?) after Princess Academy ended. Miri has received letters from Katar and Britta in Asland, inviting her, as well as several of the other academy graduates, to come stay for a year. Miri has the opportunity to attend the Queen's Castle, the prestigious university where she can continue her studies. The other girls will help Britta prepare for her upcoming wedding. Peder gets to come, too, and apprentice a stone sculptor. But once Miri arrives in Asland, she encounters political unrest, traitorous plots, an intelligent, good-looking boy, and a wealth of knowledge--all things she was not expecting.

I didn't read too many reviews ahead of time, but from what I did read, the general feeling seemed to be one of satisfaction but not adoration. People said it was fine but not as good as Princess Academy.

This was not my feeling at all.

In fact, if I had to put one over the other (which I would hate to do since I loved them both), I would surely say that I liked Palace of Stone more.

First of all, it didn't take away any of the things I loved about Princess Academy. Miri is still her intelligent, kind, and strong-willed self. Linder and quarry-speaking still play a huge part in the story. Peder is still there, quiet and strong. Miri and her friends still pull together to solve many of the problems. (I was so glad there were a couple of instances in this book where they all told a story together, each taking up where the other one left off, just like in Princess Academy.) Doter's bits of wisdom are still sprinkled throughout. And it still has some exciting, nail-biting moments.

But then on top of all the things I already loved, it also added some depth and dimension that I didn't find in the first story.

For example, the threatened revolution provides a lot of parallels to actual historical events (such as the French Revolution) and also raises a lot of moral and ethical questions. As a smaller example, linder is explained in greater detail and Miri learns how quarry-speaking is possible and how the linder stone can affect even those who did not grow up cutting it out of the mountain. And then, even deeper than those two examples is Miri's own personal growth as she asks herself difficult questions and decides what she really wants in life. I also thought that life on Mount Eskel and life in Asland contrasted and intertwined and complemented each other in a beautiful way.

One of the big questions Miri asks herself is whether or not she should return to Mount Eskel and the life she left behind. At first, she thinks she should because Mount Eskel has always defined who she is and what she can do. But then a friend tells her, "You are not bound by your birth. You can be who you will." And then Miri thinks: "Is that true? I am not simply Laren's daughter or Marda's sister or the girl my mother held for a week before she died. I am not formed from the mountain alone. I am the girl who left the mountain. I am the face in the mirror, the thoughts in my head. I am not made of them. I am me." I thought this really captured so well the essence of Miri's growing maturity throughout the story.

I didn't know if I was going to like a book about revolution, but I did, and I think the main reason it worked for me was because Shannon Hale took this large event that was affecting thousands of people and brought it down to the level of one. There is a moment in the story where Miri is thinking about how some things can never be replaced. She thinks of an ancient king's diary and the history of Mount Eskel (tying the two places together and also contrasting one person to many over the generations). And then she thinks of her mother and Esa's fat-cheeked baby brother, who both died, and I think at that moment she really begins to realize that you can't measure the value or worth of something based solely on how far their influence reaches. Not all authors can pull a story together so neatly and perfectly. But Shannon Hale did in this one.

I also liked Peder's more active role in this story. I liked having him in the same city as Miri where she could stop by and visit him and watch him in his work. I liked watching their sweet friendship and romance. And I liked adding Timon, another Queen's Castle scholar, into the picture and creating a little love triangle, at least for a short time.

And of course, as always, I loved Shannon Hale's beautiful language. Here is one of my favorite descriptions: "And the strange spring snow fell only in that golden moment of dawn, the turning of the page between night and day." Beautiful.

From the reviews I read, it seems like some readers don't think this has any Newbery potential, and I don't understand that. It seems like an exceptional contribution to children's literature. It is not only beautifully written but really shows how different cultures and people and classes can come together.

I don't want to spoil the ending for anyone (so stop reading now if you haven't read the book), but I loved the way the book ended. After Miri decides her life does not have to be comprised of constantly choosing between two different things she loves, she realizes she can choose both. She takes Peder's hand and the book says they "walked toward home." Since she is walking in the direction of Asland, and if she kept going she would also reach Mount Eskel, the word "home" can literally mean both of those places. What a perfect way to end a perfect story.

Wonder by R.J. Palacio

Wonder was my next choice for my goal to read three potential-Newbery titles. From what I can tell, it has been getting the most hype and attention overall...and with good reason. It was fantastic.

August Pullman was born with severe facial deformities. By the time he is ten, he has been through countless surgeries, everything from changing the structure of his jaw so he can eat to implanting a piece of his hip bone to create his chin. He has been homeschooled his whole life, but when he reaches fifth grade, his parents think it might be a good time for him to adjust to the real world. (And I'm thinking, Really? Because middle school is so accommodating with its students all going through puberty, identity crises, and social insecurities?) Auggie agrees to try it, with the understanding that he can quit at any time. The book follows him through all of fifth grade, told from not only his own perspective but that of his sister, two of her friends, and two of his friends.

Overall, I loved the changing points of view. When the story is told through the eyes of six different people, you always run the risk of it either sounding like all the same person or losing its continuity. And to be perfectly honest, the voices did all run together to a certain extent (but then, they were all middle-schoolers and high-schoolers, so you know, if the voices had been too different, it wouldn't have been authentic). In some cases, I felt like Palacio was purposely changing something just so it would be different and distinct. For example, when it is Justin's turn (he's August's sister's boyfriend), all capital letters and quotation marks are dropped. This felt like kind of a cheap shot to me...like Palacio couldn't figure out how to make him sound different so just made his section look different instead.

That said, I'm still really glad the story was told by six different people. It broadened the story and made the whole thing feel more well-rounded and complete. If it had just been told from Auggie's perspective, it would have still been good and enlightening, but I think sometimes when talking about handicaps, we forget that everyone is affected by it, even random strangers in a small way. As a reader, I thought it was so thought-provoking to hear not only Auggie's thoughts (how he perceives and is hurt by people's reactions and behaviors) but also his sister, Via's (who for once just wants to be identified for who she is herself and not that she has a brother with a deformed face) and also his best friend, Jack's (who likes being Auggie's friend but sometimes cracks under the social pressure).

This book made me reflect on my own behavior towards those with physical handicaps. I'm always worried about hurting or offending someone, and so I know I've been the kind of person described by Auggie who immediately looks away and avoids eye contact with someone who is handicapped. I don't want to stare and so I go to the other extreme, which is just as glaring and noticeable. August's story not only helped me recognize my own actions but identify some ways to change them. For that reason, I think this is one of those books that will stay with me and that I will re-read at some future point.

One of the things that I really appreciated about this particular story was that August's handicap was only physical, not mental in any way. So often I think we assume that physical and mental handicaps go together, but that is not always the case. One of my favorite scenes was when August's friend, Jack, asked him, "Are you always going to look this way, August? I mean, can't you get plastic surgery or something?" August smiled, pointed to his face and said, "Hello? This is after plastic surgery!" Jack started laughing and said, "Dude, you should sue your doctor!" August and Jack both cracked up. I think I liked this scene so much because it showed the kind of friendship that is possible when pretenses are dropped and insecurities are left behind. You can only joke like that when you truly know the other person.

There were also some really good one-liners that made me think. For example, the first time Jack saw August was when they were little boys. He was caught so off-guard by August's face that he and his brother and his babysitter immediately walked away. His babysitter realized how this had looked to August and his mom and sister. She felt so bad about it. Jack was confused because they hadn't done anything intentionally mean, and his babysitter answered, "Jack, sometimes you don't have to mean to hurt someone to hurt someone. You understand?" So, so true.

I felt like Palacio took a very sensitive subject and handled it in a beautiful way. So often, it seems like stories like these are emotionally draining, but this one was uplifting and hopeful in every way. It wasn't like Auggie didn't have struggles in school: some kids were mean to him in awful ways. But he had a great home life with really supportive and loving parents, he made a couple of friends who after a time stuck up for him in big ways, and August's confidence steadily grew throughout the book. I loved the positive undertone throughout.

As an adult, I am curious if this is a book kids would like. Where it was hard for me to put down, I'm not sure it would hold their interest. However, even if it's not an exciting story per se, I think it would be such a good book for middle schoolers to read; so much of it could be applied to real life.


When I started reading this book, I was in the midst of reading another book (The Shoemaker's Wife), which was due at the library. Because I hate library fines, I returned it but put it on hold at our other library so I could keep reading. There was only a day or so without it, so I just thought I would start Wonder while I waited for the other copy of The Shoemaker's Wife to come in. But once I started, I couldn't stop. August's story captured my interest completely, and I had to see it through without going back to the other book first.

I would actually love to see this win the Newbery. It was published in early 2012, so it has probably gotten too much attention for its own good, but even if it doesn't win anything, it is a story worth reading once...and then again.

P.S. Just in case I didn't convince you to read this, check out the trailer. I think it really captures the general feel of the book.

Liar & Spy by Rebecca Stead

Last year, I caught Newbery-fever and followed a lot of the Newbery news leading up to Dead End in Norvelt grabbing the coveted medal. I anticipated the announcement of the winners almost as much as I had looked forward to Christmas. Nerdy? Yes. In line with that, the last three years, I have read the Newbery winners soon after the medal was awarded.

But with all my Newbery-nerdiness, one thing has been seriously lacking: I've never read any of the Newbery candidates ahead of time. This year, I decided that was going to change. After all, isn't part of the fun being able to cheer for your favorite (even if your cheering doesn't do a bit of good)? And how can you cheer for a favorite if you haven't become acquainted with any of the potentials? I may not pay attention to politics, but when it comes to books, by golly, I'm going to have an opinion!!

So I made a goal that before the awards are announced in January, I would read at least three Newbery nominees. I know, three whole books! If you work hard, you might be able to become an over-achiever like me. Ha! 

But then, I had to choose which three to start with, and seriously, that was one tough choice since there are some very fine books this year. I could have sat down and analyzed all the titles, but I didn't. I took the easy road. The Newbery medalist in 2010 was When You Reach Me by Rebecca Stead. It was phenomenal, and a book that I still think about to this day. Earlier this year, before I even made my goal of reading three potential Newberys, I saw that Stead had a new book coming out, and I knew I would read it at some point no matter what, so I might as well do it before the end of the year.

In my pre-reading of reviews, Liar & Spy wasn't getting a lot of glowing attention. Everyone was comparing it to When You Reach Me, and it just wasn't measuring up. I think these reviews actually helped me clear my head and go in with a completely open mind. And because of that, I thoroughly enjoyed this book. A solid four stars for me.

When the book begins, Georges (that's not a typo...the "s" is silent) and his family have just moved to an apartment in Brooklyn. Georges' dad lost his job and started his own business, and so they sold their beautiful home and down-sized. While exploring the basement of the apartment building, Georges and his dad see an old and faded sign announcing a meeting of the spy club. As a joke, Georges' dad writes, "What time?" But when Georges goes back down to the basement awhile later, someone has penciled in "1:00?". When Georges returns to the basement at the appointed hour, he meets Safer, a kid his age who never leaves the building and has a bit of a chip on his shoulder. Together they begin tracking the mysterious Mr. X. Through this all, Georges is enduring bullying at school as well as never seeing his mom, a nurse working extra shifts at the hospital. Questions come and go unanswered until finally the pieces all snap perfectly into place.

While the ending is not as magical as it was in When You Reach Me, it is just as well executed. Things I thought were real were not and vice versa, but in the end, everything made sense, so much so that I was wondering how I didn't see it coming.

I really liked Georges' character: he is kind of a deep thinker. Throughout the book, the reader occasionally gets a glimpse into his thoughts. For example, What if his dad was the same age as him? Would he be friends with his dad? Or would his dad bully him like some of the other boys at school? It seriously made me wonder what it would have been like if my parents had been my peers instead of my parents...would we have gotten along, had the same interests, hung out with the same people? It was little thought-provoking scenarios like that that made me wonder where Rebecca Stead gets her material? At some point in her life, did she wonder if her dad would be a friend or an enemy? Or did she hear another child wondering about it? Or did it come to her in a stroke of genius while she was writing away?

But as much as I liked Georges, I might have liked Safer (or Safer's sister, Candy) (or Georges' friend, Bob English Who Draws) even more. It's that kind of book...where the characters are rich and varied and intricate and mysterious.

I listened to the audio of this one, but I'm rather impassive about it. Nothing overly remarkable or overly annoying. I don't think it made the book for me, but it didn't destroy it either.

Now, because I read this so I could offer a Newbery Opinion, let me offer a Newbery Opinion. I would highly recommend this book to adults and kids alike (and when I say "highly," I really do mean "highly"), but I don't think it will win the medal or even an honor. I don't know if I think this because Stead recently won or because it isn't issue-y or historical or obscure enough, but my gut feeling says no. I wouldn't be disappointed if it won, but I would be surprised.

And if you'd like to follow the Newbery-hype along with me (did you even know there was Newbery-hype?), here are three of my favorite blogs for all the latest news and analysis: Heavy Medal: A Mock Newbery Blog, A Fuse #8 Production, and For Those About to Mock.