Persepolis

Persepolis
 by Marjane Satrapi

Bibliography

Satrapi, M. (2003).  Persepolis. New York, NY: Pantheon Books. ISBN 978-0375714573

Summary

Persepolis tells the story of the author from ages 10 to 14 as she grows up in a changing Iran.  Her parents are political radicals during the upheaval of the Islamic Revolution and 1980's.  This combined with her education eventually put her in danger and cause her parents to send her to Austria.

Critical Analysis

Persepolis may not catch the interest of a young adult reader at first glance.  The cover looks old and the drawings are all black and white.  But once inside, the story is strong and engaging and the graphic art is humorous and tells the story well.

This book can cross audiences well  as adults will be just as engaged by the behind the scenes memoir of a young girl growing up during this era.  It gives us a glimpse into a world we are unfamiliar with, yet that plays a part in many of our lives. For young adult readers, Marjane's youthful rebelliousness and idealism make her easy to identify with.

Review Excerpts

* Despite the grimness, Satrapi never lapses into sensationalism or sentimentality. Skillfully presenting a child's view of war and her own shifting ideals, she also shows quotidian life in Tehran and her family's pride and love for their country despite the tumultuous times. -- Publisher's Weekly

* This is a graphic novel of immense power and importance for Westerners of all ages. -- School Library Journal


Connections

* Here is information about Marjane Sartrapi and her work, including excerpts and historical context.

* Expert from Persepolis

Dark Sons

Dark Sons
 by Nikki Grimes

Bibliography

Grimes, N. (2005).  Dark sons. New York, NY: Hyperion Books for Children. ISBN 9781415627426

Summary

Isaac and Ishmael - an ancient story. Ishmael is driven from his father, yet manages to become a great nation. Divorce - a modern story.  Sam's father leaves home, re-marries, and has a child. Nikki Grimes parallels the biblical story of Ishmael to the modern story of Sam in a series of poems and shows how faith in God and sometimes even kisses from a pretty girl can help people through difficult times.

Critical Analysis

Like any good novel written for young adults, Dark Sons draws the reader into the narrative.  Readers can identify with Sam, and through him, they can identify with Ishmael.  The difference with this novel is that the narrative is written in the form of poetry and many typical literary elements do not play as strong a role as in prose novels.  Grimes' free verse poetry is both modern, edgy, and beautiful.  The poems clearly portray feelings such as betrayal, loneliness, and finally, hope.

Review Excerpts

* The cross-play is effective, though Sam's story is more vivid and engaging. References to God (not Jesus) layer another father into the mix. Religion is a key part of the healing, but even faith-challenged readers can admire and learn from these stories of struggle in vernacular verse. -- School Library Journal

* The simple words eloquently reveal what it's like to miss someone ("I've stopped expecting / his shadow in the hallway / his frame in the doorway"), but even more moving is the struggle to forgive and the affection each boy feels for the baby that displaces him. The elemental connections and the hope ("You made it / in the end / and so will I") will speak to a wide audience. -- Booklist


Connections

* This website has an audio except, teaching guide, more reviews, and an awards list for Dark Sons.  Well worth a look.

* Expert from Dark Sons

Three Tents (Ishmael)

"Three tents:
His, hers, ours,
goatskin fortresses
separated by severed promises,
cultural circumstances,
and yards of useless pride.
Even so,
we are joined together
by one invisible, thread:
Blood
red."

Two Houses (Sam)

"Trading spaces
makes me dizzy.
Two houses,
two beds,
two dressers,
two closets,
two sets of rooms
and rules,
two sets of parents
who split on
the shoulds and shouldn'ts.
Einstein would have trouble
keeping track.
I lack the finesse, myself,
and so sometimes
I throw my hands up,
go for a walk, and tell
the so-called grownups
to work it out."

Your Own, Sylvia

Your Own, Sylvia
 by Stephanie Hemphill

Bibliography

Hemphill, S (2007). Your own, Sylvia. New York, NY: Knopf Books for Young Readers. ISBN 9780329643362

Summary

Your Own, Sylvia is a book of poems that provides a glimpse into the life of Sylvia Plath.  Each poem is written from the perspective of someone who knew Sylvia or in the style of one of Sylvia's own poems. Sylvia Plath's vibrant personality, her struggle with mental illness, her personal relationships, and her suicide are all portrayed through the poems.

Critical Analysis

Your Own, Sylvia is accurately subtitled A Verse Portrait of Sylvia Plath.  After reading the novel, you will come away feeling you know Sylvia better, and you will probably want to explore more about her.

Hemphill has done a good job writing the free-verse poems.  Some are full of beautiful language, some sound like they are coming from the mouth of the person they are credited to, all blend into a pleasing narrative which will attract the young adult reader.

Review Excerpts

* While the book will prove an apt curriculum companion to Plath's literary works as touted on the jacket, it will also pull the next generation of readers into the myth of Sylvia Plath. -- School Library Journal

* The result is an intimate, comprehensive, imaginative view of a life that also probes the relationships between poetry and creativity, mental fragility, love, marriage, and betrayal.-- Booklist


Connections

*Other titles worth reading by Stephanie Hemphill

• Things Left Unsaid: A Novel in Poems (2005)
• Easy (2007) 
• Wicked Girls: A Novel of the Salem Witch Trials (2010)

* Expert from Your Own, Sylvia

Madness
Dr. Ruth Barnhouse Beuscher, Sylvia's therapist
Fall 1953

Repression cuts off
circulation like a tourniquet,
and Sylvia throbs with desire.

I advise Sylvia to experiment,
to stop fretting over a white
wedding dress. Does this shock
the patient? Not really.
Sylvia has been slicing at her arm,
waiting for someone
to grant her permission. A junior in college,
she may be ready for this.
'But what would Mother think?'
Sylvia snickers. She wraps a mink stole
of secrets around her shoulders,
luxuriates in playing foul
behind her mother's back.

Perhaps when she holds back
her desires, her mind
splinters into madness, into deadwood
that we must burn away by electric shock.
I encourage her to release her idea
of the bad girl, punishable for physical contact.

I ask her to think about herself, not her mother,
about how Sylvia represses Sylvia.
I want to tell her to do what she wants.
I need to help her to let go of her fears."


Dr. Ruth met with Sylvia for daily psychotherapy sessions, during which Ruth explained to Sylvia her methods and techniques and why she was using them. Sylvia responded well to this sort of inclusion and respect. Dr. Barnhouse Beuscher employed fairly orthodox Freudianism, which entailed leading analysis and discussion about Sylvia's childhood. At the time of the above poem, Sylvia and Dr. Ruth met at McLean Hospital for inpatient treatment, but later they would have sessions at Dr, Beuscher's private practice. They were in contact via phone, letters, or in person every week until Sylvia's death ten years later. 

A Northern Light
 by Jennifer Donnelly

Bibliography

Donnelly, J. (2003). A northern light. Orlando, FL: Harcourt Books. ISBN 9780152053109

Summary

Mattie loves words and books. Her father doesn't understand this passion, but her best friend, Weaver, and her teacher, Miss Wilcox, do.  A Northern Light tells Mattie's story as she struggles against conventions, expectations, and promises to fulfill her dreams.  Her story is told as flashbacks as she decides what to do with letters given to her by a young girl who has drowned under suspicious circumstances.

Critical Analysis

Jennifer Donnelly brings Mattie and the early 1900's in the North Woods to life for me.  The story is built around a real murder and, although I felt the connection to the murdered girl was a bit forced, both stories are intriguing and kept me up late at night to read to the end.  Donnelly clearly has experience (gained by listening to her own grandmother's stories) with this setting, as the time, place, and people all feel genuine.

Although a typical girl is not faced with the same circumstances as Mattie in the early 2000's, today's teens still face making life choices and growing-up and will be able to identify with her internal and external struggles.

Though purely coincidence, the three books I am reviewing all share the theme of the importance of literature and words.  Nowhere does this theme come through more than in A Northern Light, as words and books shape Mattie's hopes and dreams.

Review Excerpts

* Donnelly's first YA novel begins with high drama drawn straight from history. Many teens will connect with Mattie's deep yearning for independence and for stories, like her own, that are frank, messy, complicated, and inspiring. --Booklist

* Donnelly's characters ring true to life, and the meticulously described setting forms a vivid backdrop to this finely crafted story. An outstanding choice for historical-fiction fans. --School Library Journal


Connections

* Jennifer Donnelly's website has news, reviews, and a bibliography, among other bits of info!

*Recognition:

       Carnegie Medal Winner, United Kingdom

       Los Angeles Times Book Prize Winner

       Borders 2004 Original Voices Award Winner

       Named a Printz Honor Book by the ALA

       Awarded a De Gouden Zoen Honor, The Netherlands

       Named a Top Ten Best Book for Young Adults by the ALA

* Expert from A Northern Light
   
When summer comes to the North Woods, time slows down. And some days it stops altogether. The sky, gray and lowering for much of the year, becomes an ocean of blue, so vast and brilliant you can't help but stop what you're doing-pinning wet sheets to the line maybe, or shucking a bushel of corn on the back steps-to stare up at it. Locusts whir in the birches, coaxing you out of the sun and under the boughs, and the heat stills the air, heavy and sweet with the scent of balsam.

As I stand here on the porch of the Glenmore, the finest hotel on all of Big Moose Lake, I tell myself that today-Thursday, July 12, 1906-is such a day. Time has stopped, and the beauty and calm of this perfect afternoon will never end. The guests up from New York, all in their summer whites, will play croquet on the lawn forever. Old Mrs. Ellis will stay on the porch until the end of time, rapping her cane on the railing for more lemonade. The children of doctors and lawyers from Utica, Rome, and Syracuse will always run through the woods, laughing and shrieking, giddy from too much ice cream.

I believe these things. With all my heart. For I am good at telling myself lies.

Until Ada Bouchard comes out of the doorway and slips her hand into mine. And Mrs. Morrison, the manager's wife, walks right by us, pausing at the top of the steps. At any other time, she'd scorch our ears for standing idle; now she doesn't seem to even know we're here. Her arms cross over her chest. Her eyes, gray and troubled, fasten on the dock. And the steamer tied alongside it.

"That's the Zilpha, ain't it, Mattie?" Ada whispers. "They've been dragging the lake, ain't they?"

I squeeze her hand. "I don't think so. I think they were just looking along the shoreline. Cook says they probably got lost, that couple. Couldn't find their way back in the dark and spent the night under some pines, that's all."

"I'm scared, Mattie. Ain't you?"

I don't answer her. I'm not scared, not exactly, but I can't explain how I feel. Words fail me sometimes. I have read most every one in the Webster's International Dictionary of the English Language, but I still have trouble making them come when I want them to.

Right now I want a word that describes the feeling you get-a cold, sick feeling deep down inside-when you know something is happening that will change you, and you don't want it to, but you can't stop it. And you know, for the first time, for the very first time, that there will now be a before and an after, a was and a will be. And that you will never again be quite the same person you were.

I imagine it's the feeling Eve had as she bit into the apple. Or Hamlet when he saw his father's ghost. Or Jesus as a boy, right after someone sat him down and told him his pa wasn't a carpenter after all.

What is the word for that feeling? For knowledge and fear and loss all mixed together? Frisdom? Dreadnaciousness? Malbominance?

Standing on that porch, under that flawless sky, with bees buzzing lazily in the roses and a cardinal calling from the pines so sweet and clear, I tell myself that Ada is a nervous little hen, always worrying when there's no cause. Nothing bad can happen at the Glenmore, not on such a day as this.

And then I see Cook running up from the dock, ashen and breathless, her skirts in her hands, and I know that I am wrong.

"Mattie, open the parlor!" she shouts, heedless of the guests. "Quick, girl!"

I barely hear her. My eyes are on Mr. Crabb, the Zilpha's engineer. He is coming up the path carrying a young woman in his arms. Her head lolls against him like a broken flower. Water drips from her skirt.

"Oh, Mattie, look at her. Oh, jeezum, Mattie, look," Ada says, her hands twisting in her apron.

Sssh, Ada. She got soaked, that's all. They got lost on the lake and...and the boat tipped and they swam to shore and she...she must've fainted."

"Oh, dear Lord," Mrs. Morrison says, her hands coming up to her mouth.

"Mattie! Ada! Why are you standing there like a pair of jackasses?" Cook wheezes, heaving her bulky body up the steps. "Open the spare room, Mattie. The one off the parlor. Pull the shades and lay an old blanket on the bed. Ada, go fix a pot of coffee and some sandwiches. There's a ham and some chicken in the icebox. Shift yourselves!"

There are children in the parlor playing hide-and-seek. I chase them out and unlock the door to a small bedroom used by stage drivers or boat captains when the weather's too bad to travel. I realize I've forgotten the blanket and run back to the linen closet for it. I'm back in the room snapping it open over the bare ticking just as Mr. Crabb comes in. I've brought a pillow and a heavy quilt, too. She'll be chilled to the bone, having slept out all night in wet clothing.

Mr. Crabb lays her down on the bed. Cook stretches her legs out and tucks the pillow under her head. The Morrisons come in. Mr. Sperry, the Glenmore's owner, is right behind them. He stares at her, goes pale, and walks out again.

"I'll fetch a hot water bottle and some tea and...and brandy," I say, looking at Cook and then Mrs. Morrison and then a painting on the wall. Anywhere and everywhere but at the girl. "Should I do that? Should I get the brandy?"

"Hush, Mattie. It's too late for that," Cook says.

I make myself look at her then. Her eyes are dull and empty. Her skin has gone the yellow of muscatel wine. There is an ugly gash on her forehead and her lips are bruised. Yesterday she'd sat by herself on the porch, fretting the hem of her skirt. I'd brought her a glass of lemonade, because it was hot outside and she looked peaked. I hadn't charged her for it. She looked like she didn't have much money.

Behind me, Cook badgers Mr. Crabb. "What about the man she was with? Carl Grahm?"

"No sign of him," he says. "Not yet, leastways. We got the boat. They'd tipped it, all right. In South Bay."

"I'll have to get hold of the family," Mrs. Morrison says. "They're in Albany."

"No, that was only the man, Grahm," Cook says. "The girl lived in South Otselic. I looked in the register."

Mrs. Morrison nods. "I'll ring the operator. See if she can connect me with a store there, or a hotel. Or someone who can get a message to the family. What on earth will I say? Oh dear! Oh, her poor, poor mother!" She presses a handkerchief to her eyes and hurries from the room.

"She'll be making a second call before the day's out," Cook says. "Ask me, people who can't swim have no business on a lake."

"Too confident, that fellow," Mr. Morrison says. "I asked him could he handle a skiff and he told me yes. Only a darn fool from the city could tip a boat on a calm day..." He says more, but I don't hear him. It feels like there are iron bands around my chest. I close my eyes and try to breathe deeply, but it only makes things worse. Behind my eyes I see a packet of letters tied with a pale blue ribbon. Letters that are upstairs under my mattress. Letters that I promised to burn. I can see the address on the top one: Chester Gillette, 171_2 Main Street, Cortland, New York.

Cook fusses me away from the body. "Mattie, pull the shades like I told you to," she says. She folds Grace Brown's hands over her chest and closes her eyes. "There's coffee in the kitchen. And sandwiches," she tells the men. "Will you eat something?"

"We'll take something with us, Mrs. Hennessey, if that's all right," Mr. Morrison says. "We're going out again. Soon as Sperry gets the sheriff on the phone. He's calling Martin's, too. To tell 'em to keep an eye out. And Higby's and the other camps. Just in case Grahm made it to shore and got lost in the woods."

"His name's not Carl Grahm. It's Chester. Chester Gillette." The words burst out of me before I can stop them.

"How do you know that, Mattie?" Cook asks. They are all looking at me now-Cook, Mr. Morrison, and Mr. Crabb.

"I...I heard her call him that, I guess," I stammer, suddenly afraid.

Cook's eyes narrow. "Did you see something, Mattie? Do you know something you should tell us?"

What had I seen? Too much. What did I know? Only that knowledge carries a damned high price. Miss Wilcox, my teacher, had taught me so much. Why had she never taught me that?

frac o tious

My youngest sister, Beth, who is five, will surely grow up to be a riverman-standing upstream on the dam, calling out warnings to the men below that the logs are coming down. She has the lungs for it.

It was a spring morning. End of March. Not quite four months ago, though it seems much longer. We were late for school and there were still chores to do before we left, but Beth didn't care. She just sat there ignoring the cornmeal mush I'd made her, bellowing like some opera singer up from Utica to perform at one of the hotels. Only no opera singer ever sang "Hurry Up, Harry." Least not as far as I know.

So it's hurry up, Harry, and Tom or Dick or Joe,

And you may take the pail, boys, and for the water go.

In the middle of the splashing, the cook will dinner cry,

And you'd ought to see them hurry up for fear they'd lose their pie...

"Beth, hush now and eat your mush," I scolded, fumbling her hair into a braid. She didn't mind me, though, for she wasn't singing her song to me or to any of us. She was singing to the motionless rocker near the stove and the battered fishing creel hanging by the shed door. She was singing to fill all the empty places in our house, to chase away the silence. Most mornings I didn't mind her noise, but that morning I had to talk to Pa about something, something very important, and I was all nerves. I wanted it peaceful for once. I wanted Pa to find everything in order and everyone behaving when he came in, so he would be peaceable himself and well-disposed to what I had to say.

There's blackstrap molasses, squaw buns as hard as rock,

Tea that's boiled in an old tin pail and smells just like your sock.

The beans they are sour, and the porridge thick...

The Book Thief

The Book Thief
 by Markus Zusak

Bibliography

Zusak, M. (2007). The book thief. Orlando, FL: Alfred A. Knopf. ISBN 0375842209

Summary

Death narrates a gripping tale set during the Nazi era in Germany.  He focuses on one girl (Liesel) to keep the monstrosities he is witnessing from overwhelming him.  Liesel begins her life as a book thief, and her involvement with death, when she picks up a gravedigger's handbook.  Over the next few years Death explains the circumstances involved as she steals several more books.  The theft of the books all mark significant life events for Liesel and those around her.  

Critical Analysis

A small part fantasy and a big part historical fiction.  That's a good balance for getting young adult readers to pick up a book!  Set in Nazi Germany, The Book Thief portrays an authentic life of a young German girl and the people around her as seen through the eyes of the narrator, Death.  Even though Liesel is younger than the typical reader of this book, there are many people to identify with throughout the story.  Rudy, a rough yet gentle friend, Max, a jew in hiding, and other believable characters pepper Liesel's young life as she just tries to get through every day and as she learns the value of words.  Historical fact makes its mark on this novel as the atrocities of Nazi Germany are a part of the characters lives and Zusak has certainly done his homework.  He leaves the reader feeling they know a bit more about how life was for common people when the Nazis were in power.

Review Excerpts

*“Brilliant and hugely ambitious…Some will argue that a book so difficult and sad may not be appropriate for teenage readers…Adults will probably like it (this one did), but it’s a great young-adult novel…It’s the kind of book that can be life-changing, because without ever denying the essential amorality and randomness of the natural order, The Book Thief offers us a believable hard-won hope…The hope we see in Liesel is unassailable, the kind you can hang on to in the midst of poverty and war and violence. Young readers need such alternatives to ideological rigidity, and such explorations of how stories matter. And so, come to think of it, do adults.” --New York Times 

* Zusak has created a work that deserves the attention of sophisticated teen and adult readers. Zusak not only creates a mesmerizing and original story but also writes with poetic syntax, causing readers to deliberate over phrases and lines, even as the action impels them forward. Death is not a sentimental storyteller, but he does attend to an array of satisfying details, giving Liesels story all the nuances of chance, folly, and fulfilled expectation that it deserves. An extraordinary narrative. --School Library Journal


Connections

* This website has an interesting video interview with Markus Zusak in which he discusses The Book Thief.  There is also a bibliography, forums, and book discussions!

* Awards:

• 2006 - Commonwealth Writers Prize for Best Book (South East Asia & South Pacific)
• 2006 - Horn Book Fanfare
• 2006 - Kirkus Reviews Editor Choice Award
• 2006 - School Library Journal Best Book of the Year
• 2006 - Daniel Elliott Peace Award
• 2006 - Publishers Weekly Best Children Book of the Year
• 2006 - Booklist Children Editors' Choice
• 2006 - Bulletin Blue Ribbon Book
• 2007 - Boeke Prize
• 2007 - ALA Best Books for Young Adults
• 2007 - Michael L. Printz Honor Book
• 2007 - Book Sense Book of the Year
• 2009 - Pacific Northwest Young Readers Choice Master List

     

* Expert from The Book Thief (read more here)

Part 1: DEATH AND CHOCOLATE

First the colors.
Then the humans.
That's usually how I see things.
Or at least, how I try.

***HERE IS A SMALL FACT ***
You are going to die.

I am in all truthfulness attempting to be cheerful about this whole topic, though most people find themselves hindered in believing me, no matter my protestations. Please, trust me. I most definitely can be cheerful. I can be amiable. Agreeable. Affable. And that's only the A's. Just don't ask me to be nice. Nice has nothing to do with me.

***Reaction to the ***
AFOREMENTIONED fact
Does this worry you?
I urge you--don't be afraid.
I'm nothing if not fair.

--Of course, an introduction.

A beginning.

Where are my manners?

I could introduce myself properly, but it's not really necessary. You will know me well enough and soon enough, depending on a diverse range of variables. It suffices to say that at some point in time, I will be standing over you, as genially as possible. Your soul will be in my arms. A color will be perched on my shoulder. I will carry you gently away.

At that moment, you will be lying there (I rarely find people standing up). You will be caked in your own body. There might be a discovery; a scream will dribble down the air. The only sound I'll hear after that will be my own breathing, and the sound of the smell, of my footsteps.

The question is, what color will everything be at that moment when I come for you? What will the sky be saying?

Personally, I like a chocolate-colored sky. Dark, dark chocolate. People say it suits me. I do, however, try to enjoy every color I see--the whole spectrum. A billion or so flavors, none of them quite the same, and a sky to slowly suck on. It takes the edge off the stress. It helps me relax.

***A SMALL THEORY ***
People observe the colors of a day only at its beginnings and ends, but to me it's quite clear that a day merges through a multitude of shades and intonations, with each passing moment.
A single hour can consist of thousands of different colors.

Waxy yellows, cloud-spat blues. Murky darknesses.
In my line of work, I make it a point to notice them.

As I've been alluding to, my one saving grace is distraction. It keeps me sane. It helps me cope, considering the length of time I've been performing this job. The trouble is, who could ever replace me? Who could step in while I take a break in your stock-standard resort-style vacation destination, whether it be tropical or of the ski trip variety? The answer, of course, is nobody, which has prompted me to make a conscious, deliberate decision--to make distraction my vacation. Needless to say, I vacation in increments. In colors.

Still, it's possible that you might be asking, why does he even need a vacation? What does he need distraction from?

Which brings me to my next point.
It's the leftover humans.
The survivors.

They're the ones I can't stand to look at, although on many occasions I still fail. I deliberately seek out the colors to keep my mind off them, but now and then, I witness the ones who are left behind, crumbling among the jigsaw puzzle of realization, despair, and surprise. They have punctured hearts. They have beaten lungs.

Which in turn brings me to the subject I am telling you about tonight, or today, or whatever the hour and color. It's the story of one of those perpetual survivors--an expert at being left behind.

It's just a small story really, about, among other things:
* A girl
* Some words
* An accordionist
* Some fanatical Germans
* A Jewish fist fighter
* And quite a lot of thievery

I saw the book thief three times.

The Wednesday Wars

The Wednesday Wars

 by Gary D. Schmidt

Bibliography

Schmidt, G. D. (2007). The Wednesday wars. Boston, MA: Clarion Books. ISBN 054723760X

Summary

As the only Presbyterian in his class, Holling Hoodhood has to spend every Wednesday afternoon alone with his teacher when all the other children go for religious training.  Let the war begin, or not really.  There is already a war going on in 1967 - and it is in Vietnam.  A lot of growing up occurs in The Wednesday Wars, all set against the backdrop of Vietnam Era suburbia, with a lot of Shakespeare, a little romance, and fun for everyone who reads.

Critical Analysis

The Wednesday Wars is excellent historical fiction for middle school aged readers.  It portrays the true flavor of Vietnam Era suburban America without all the grit of an actual war story.  The main character, Holling, speaks in the first person through out the novel in the mostly true voice of a seventh grader, though he does have a beautiful grasp of language for his age.  Schmidt makes good use of references to historical figures such as Bobby Kennedy, Martin Luther King, Jr., and The Beatles.  Even though Holling is from a different era than today's readers, current middle schoolers will certainly identify with the universal themes examined in the book, such as growing up and war in far away places.

Review Excerpts

*Schmidt makes the implausible believable and the everyday momentous. Seamlessly, he knits together the story's themes: the cultural uproar of the '60s, the internal uproar of early adolescence, and the timeless wisdom of Shakespeare's words. Holling's unwavering, distinctive voice offers a gentle, hopeful, moving story of a boy who, with the right help, learns to stretch beyond the limitations of his family, his violent times, and his fear, as he leaps into his future with his eyes and his heart wide open. --Booklist

*Schmidt rises above the novel's conventions to create memorable and believable characters. --The Horn Book


Connections

*Available in Kindle edition and on audio.  I listened to the audio as I read the book.  I liked the way the narrator portrayed the children's voices, but some of the adult voices were "meaner" on the audio than I would have read them in my head.

     

* Expert from The Wednesday Wars

September Of all the kids in the seventh grade at Camillo Junior High, there was one kid that Mrs. Baker hated with heat whiter than the sun. Me. And let me tell you, it wasn't for anything I'd done. If it had been Doug Swieteck that Mrs. Baker hated, it would have made sense.

Doug Swieteck once made up a list of 410 ways to get a teacher to hate you. It began with "Spray deodorant in all her desk drawers" and got worse as it went along. A whole lot worse. I think that things became illegal around Number 167. You don't want to know what Number 400 was, and you really don't want to know what Number 410 was. But Ill tell you this much: They were the kinds of things that sent kids to juvenile detention homes in upstate New York, so far away that you never saw them again.

Doug Swieteck tried Number 6 on Mrs. Sidman last year. It was something about Wrigley gum and the teachers water fountain (which was just outside the teachers lounge) and the Polynesian Fruit Blend hair coloring that Mrs. Sidman used. It worked, and streams of juice the color of mangoes stained her face for the rest of the day, and the next day, and the next day-until, I suppose, those skin cells wore off. Doug Swieteck was suspended for two whole weeks. Just before he left, he said that next year he was going to try Number 166 to see how much time that would get him.

The day before Doug Swieteck came back, our principal reported during Morning Announcements that Mrs. Sidman had accepted "voluntary reassignment to the Main Administrative Office." We were all supposed to congratulate her on the new post. But it was hard to congratulate her because she almost never peeked out of the Main Administrative Office. Even when she had to be the playground monitor during recess, she mostly kept away from us. If you did get close, shed whip out a plastic rain hat and pull it on. Its hard to congratulate someone who's holding a plastic rain hat over her Polynesian Fruit Blend-colored hair.

See?

That's the kind of stuff that gets teachers to hate you. But the thing was, I never did any of that stuff. Never. I even stayed as far away from Doug Swieteck as I could, so if he did decide to try Number 166 on anyone, I wouldn't get blamed for standing nearby.

But it didn't matter. Mrs. Baker hated me. She hated me a whole lot worse than Mrs. Sidman hated Doug Swieteck. I knew it on Monday, the first day of seventh grade, when she called the class roll-which told you not only who was in the class but also where everyone lived. If your last name ended in "berg" or "zog" or "stein," you lived on the north side. If your last name ended in "elli" or "ini" or "o," you lived on the south side.

Lee Avenue cut right between them, and if you walked out of Camillo Junior High and followed Lee Avenue across Main Street, past MacCleans Drug Store, Goldmans Best Bakery, and the Five and Dime, you come to my house-which my father had figured out was right smack in the middle of town.

Among the Hidden

Among the Hidden
 by Margaret Peterson Haddix

Bibliography

Haddix, M. P. (1998). Among the hidden. New York, NY: Simon & Schuster. ISBN0689824750

Summary

A supposed food shortage and government intervention lead to population control measures in Among the Hidden.  No more than two children are allowed per family, but what happens when there is a third child, a shadow child who must remain hidden at all costs?  What happens when one of these children longs for more and goes to find it when he spots another third child through a window?  In Among the Hidden, Luke ventures out of his safe hiding place to find company, but gets more than he bargains for when his new friend wants him to join a public protest against the government.  His entire world is at risk...will he go?

Critical Analysis

Among the Hidden is a convincing and weighty dystopic novel.  The world we read about is closely related to ours and feels like something that could happen if all conditions were right - or wrong in this case.  Haddix setting is easy to believe and she creates a covetously simple yet intriguing plot that draws the reader into the story and makes it impossible not to care about the main character, Luke, and his engaging friend, Jen.

Typical of dystopic novels, Among the Hidden carries a warning as a main theme, beware a government that controls the people and not the other way around - retain your freewill!  Psychological drama and not the events carry the story, but enough happens to keep the reader interested.  And the story is extremely well written.  Among the Hidden is targeted toward a rather young audience (ages 8-12) so while very intense, the sociological and psychological aspects are kept at a level appropriate for the age group.

Review Excerpts

* The plot development is sometimes implausible and the characterizations a bit brittle, but the unsettling, thought-provoking premise should suffice to keep readers hooked. --Publishers Weekly

* the loss of free will is the fundamental theme of an exciting and compelling story of one young person defying authority and the odds to make a difference. Readers will be captivated by Luke's predicament and his reactions to it. --School Library Journal


Connections

* Expert from Among the Hidden
   

He had never disobeyed the order to hide. Even as a toddler, barely able to walk in the backyard’s tall grass, he had somehow understood the fear in his mother’s voice. But on this day, the day they began taking the woods away, he hesitated. He took one extra breath of the fresh air, scented with clover and honeysuckle and -- coming from far away -- pine smoke. He laid his hoe down gently, and savored one last moment of feeling warm soil beneath his bare feet. He reminded himself, “I will never be allowed outside again. Maybe never again as long as I live.”

He turned and walked into the house, as silently as a shadow.

* You can listen to a sample from the audio version here.  Look under the blue cover picture.

*There are seven books in the Shadow Children Series.

• Among the Hidden
• Among the Imposters
• Among the Betrayed
• Among the Barons
• Among the Brave
• Among the Enemy
• Among the Free

Twilight

Twilight
 by Stephanie Meyer

Bibliography

Meyer, S. (2005). Twilight. London, UK: Little, Brown, & Co. ISBN 0316160172

Summary
Bella Swan leaves the warmth and sunshine of Phoenix for the grayest place in the United States, so her mother can travel with her new husband.  In Forks, WA, Bella meets Edward, a very unique boy:  Unique because he's a vampire.  Twilight chronicles the first part of Bella and Edwards story as they meet, fall in love, and fight for Bella's life in more ways than one.

Critical Analysis

Twilight is sort of like a train wreck for me.  I want to look away, yet am compelled to continue reading.  Stephanie Meyer has a knack for getting the reader to suspend disbelief, but for me it only lasts as long as I am absorbed in the story.  Once I put it down, I start to pick it apart.  I just don't see the same skill as J.K. Rowling or Philip Pullman.  I think people will continue to enjoy the story, but time will tell if it has the staying power of some others.

Meyer does draw her main characters extremely well, yet they are either too admirable or too hard to admire.  Edward is too perfect, Bella is too flawed.  She is not a bad person, but her willingness to die for anything to do with Edward is off-putting.  There is also little development in the characters personalities through the story.

Twilight does have strengths, and is a mesmerizing story.  Meyer couldn't have picked a better setting, and she crafted it very well into the storyline.  Her villains are scary and also believable.  The plot carries this story:  It is one of those books that is hard to put down.  But Twilight is essentially a love story/romance that just happens to be set in a fantasy world, rather than a true fantasy novel with all its conventions and elements.


Review Excerpts

* Their love is palpable, heightened by their touches, and teens will respond viscerally. There are some flaws here--a plot that could have been tightened, an overreliance on adjectives and adverbs to bolster dialogue--but this dark romance seeps into the soul. --Ilene Cooper

* This is far from perfect: Edward's portrayal as monstrous tragic hero is overly Byronic, and Bella's appeal is based on magic rather than character. Nonetheless, the portrayal of dangerous lovers hits the spot; fans of dark romance will find it hard to resist. --Kirkus Reviews 

* Realistic, subtle, succinct, and easy to follow, Twilight will have readers dying to sink their teeth into it.-- Hillias J. Martin, New York Public Library

Connections

* You can listen to a seven minute sample from the audio version here.

* The entire Twilight Saga includes:
Twilight
New Moon
Eclipse
Breaking Dawn


* Expert from Twilight
 
    
I'd never given much thought to how I would die -- though I'd had reason enough in the last few months -- but even if I had, I would not have imagined it like this.
I stared without breathing across the long room, into the dark eyes of the hunter, and he looked pleasantly back at me.
Surely it was a good way to die, in the place of someone else, someone I loved. Noble, even. That ought to count for something.
I knew that if I'd never gone to Forks, I wouldn't be facing death now. But, terrified as I was, I couldn't bring myself to regret the decision. When life offers you a dream so far beyond any of your expectations, it's not reasonable to grieve when it comes to an end.
The hunter smiled in a friendly way as he sauntered forward to kill me



    MY MOTHER DROVE ME TO THE AIRPORT WITH THE windows rolled down. It was seventy-five degrees in Phoenix, the sky a perfect, cloudless blue. I was wearing my favorite shirt —sleeveless, white eyelet lace; I was wearing it as a farewell gesture. My carry-on item was a parka.
In the Olympic Peninsula of northwest Washington State, a small town named Forks exists under a near-constant cover of clouds. It rains on this inconsequential town more than any other place in the United States of America. It was from this town and its gloomy, omnipresent shade that my mother escaped with me when I was only a few months old. It was in this town that I'd been compelled to spend a month every summer until I was fourteen. That was the year I finally put my foot down; these past three summers, my dad, Charlie, vacationed with me in California for two weeks instead.
It was to Forks that I now exiled myself —an action that I took with great horror. I detested Forks.
I loved Phoenix. I loved the sun and the blistering heat. I loved the vigorous, sprawling city.
"Bella," my mom said to me —the last of a thousand times —before I got on the plane. "You don't have to do this."

My mom looks like me, except with short hair and laugh lines. I felt a spasm of panic as I stared at her wide, childlike eyes. How could I leave my loving, erratic, harebrained mother to fend for herself? Of course she had Phil now, so the bills would probably get paid, there would be food in the refrigerator, gas in her car, and someone to call when she got lost, but still . . .

"I want to go," I lied. I'd always been a bad liar, but I'd been saying this lie so frequently lately that it sounded almost convincing now.

"Tell Charlie I said hi."

"I will."

"I'll see you soon," she insisted. "You can come home whenever you want —I'll come right back as soon as you need me."

But I could see the sacrifice in her eyes behind the promise.

"Don't worry about me," I urged. "It'll be great. I love you, Mom."

She hugged me tightly for a minute, and then I got on the plane, and she was gone.
It's a four-hour flight from Phoenix to Seattle, another hour in a small plane up to Port Angeles, and then an hour drive back down to Forks. Flying doesn't bother me; the hour in the car with Charlie, though, I was a little worried about.

Charlie had really been fairly nice about the whole thing. He seemed genuinely pleased that I was coming to live with him for the first time with any degree of permanence. He'd already gotten me registered for high school and was going to help me get a car.

But it was sure to be awkward with Charlie. Neither of us was what anyone would call verbose, and I didn't know what there was to say regardless. I knew he was more than a little confused by my decision —like my mother before me, I hadn't made a secret of my distaste for Forks.

When I landed in Port Angeles, it was raining. I didn't see it as an omen —just unavoidable. I'd already said my goodbyes to the sun.

Charlie was waiting for me with the cruiser. This I was expecting, too. Charlie is Police Chief Swan to the good people of Forks. My primary motivation behind buying a car, despite the scarcity of my funds, was that I refused to be driven around town in a car with red and blue lights on top. Nothing slows down traffic like a cop.

Charlie gave me an awkward, one-armed hug when I stumbled my way off the plane.

"It's good to see you, Bells," he said, smiling as he automatically caught and steadied me. "You haven't changed much. How's Renée?"

"Mom's fine. It's good to see you, too, Dad." I wasn't allowed to call him Charlie to his face.
I had only a few bags. Most of my Arizona clothes were too permeable for Washington. My mom and I had pooled our resources to supplement my winter wardrobe, but it was still scanty. It all fit easily into the trunk of the cruiser.

"I found a good car for you, really cheap," he announced when we were strapped in.

"What kind of car?" I was suspicious of the way he said "good car for you" as opposed to just "good car."

"Well, it's a truck actually, a Chevy."

"Where did you find it?"

"Do you remember Billy Black down at La Push?" La Push is the tiny Indian reservation on the coast.

"No."

"He used to go fishing with us during the summer," Charlie prompted.

That would explain why I didn't remember him. I do a good job of blocking painful, unnecessary things from my memory.

"He's in a wheelchair now," Charlie continued when I didn't respond, "so he can't drive anymore, and he offered to sell me his truck cheap."

"What year is it?" I could see from his change of expression that this was the question he was hoping I wouldn't ask.

"Well, Billy's done a lot of work on the engine —it's only a few years old, really."

I hoped he didn't think so little of me as to believe I would give up that easily. "When did he buy it?"

"He bought it in 1984, I think."

"Did he buy it new?"

"Well, no. I think it was new in the early sixties —or late fifties at the earliest," he admitted sheepishly.

"Ch —Dad, I don't really know anything about cars. I wouldn't be able to fix it if anything went wrong, and I couldn't afford a mechanic. . . ."

"Really, Bella, the thing runs great. They don't build them like that anymore."

The thing, I thought to myself . . . it had possibilities —as a nickname, at the very least.

"How cheap is cheap?" After all, that was the part I couldn't compromise on.

"Well, honey, I kind of already bought it for you. As a homecoming gift." Charlie peeked sideways at me with a hopeful expression.

Wow. Free.

The Golden Compass

The Golden Compass
 by Philip Pullman

Bibliography

Pullman, P. (1995, 2005). The golden compass: His dark materials, book 1 (Deluxe 10th anniversary edition). New York, NY: Alfred A. Knopf. ISBN 0375838309

Summary

The Golden compass is the first of a three part epic tale and tells of Lyra's extra-ordinary adventures in a world so nearly our own but with fantastical differences!  Lyra must leave her beloved, cozy, if not exactly perfect, life to travel with her daemon, gypsies, an aeronaut, witches, and a very special bear to save children, make a delivery, and unbeknownst to her, commit a great betrayal.  Along the way she learns to use the golden compass.

Critical Analysis

Philip Pullman's greatest talent in this book is getting the reader to suspend disbelief.  He does this by creating a world believable because it is so nearly true, yet fantastic because of the parts that are clearly a world of fancy.  No small part of this great achievement is the creation of his heroine, Lyra, and other characters we grow to cherish.  Lyra is every child, yet no one's child.   She is lovable and mischievous, but by the end of the story, she is strong and righteous. She is special because she has the power to understand the compass.   Other characters are also developed with truly human strengths and weaknesses, even if they are not human.

Universal themes common to fantasy novels abound in The Golden Compass.  There is the traditional quest, good versus evil, and the heroine certainly gains self-knowledge through the adventure.  Philip Pullman manages to combine all of this into a readable, sometimes exciting novel where horrific evil must be conquered and life and death battles occur.  The ending, however, should be called "The Beginning," and characters the reader believes are villains exchange places several times through the story and may change several more times in the next books.


Review Excerpts

* In The Golden Compass, Philip Pullman has written a masterpiece that transcends genre. It is a children's book that will appeal to adults, a fantasy novel that will charm even the most hardened realist. Best of all, the author doesn't speak down to his audience, nor does he pull his punches; there is genuine terror in this book, and heartbreak, betrayal, and loss. There is also love, loyalty, and an abiding morality that infuses the story but never overwhelms it. This is one of those rare novels that one wishes would never end. --Alix Wilber

* This is a captivating fantasy, filled with excitement, suspense, and unusual characters.... There is some fine descriptive writing, filled with the kind of details that encourage suspension of disbelief. The story line moves along at a rapid clip, but flags when it delves into philosophical matters. The ending is less than satisfying, but serves as a lead-in to part two of the series. --School Library Journal


Connections

* Expert from The Golden Compass
 
     After darkness had fallen, and when the stores and equipment had all been safely unloaded and stood in waiting on the quay, Farder Coram and Lyra walked along the waterfront and looked for Einarsson's Bar. They found it easily enough: a crude concrete shed with a red neon sign flashing irregularly over the door and the sound of loud voices through the condensation-frosted windows.
     A pitted alley beside it led to a sheet-metal gate into a rear yard, where a lean-to shed stood crazily over a floor of frozen mud. Dim light through the rear window of the bar showed a vast pale form crouching upright and gnawing at a haunch of meat which it held in both hands. Lyra had an impression of blood-stained muzzle and face, small malevolent black eyes, and an immensity of dirty matted yellowish fur. As it gnawed, hideous growling, crunching, sucking noises came from it.
Farder Coram stood by the gate and called:
     "Iorek Bymison!"
     The bear stopped eating. As far as they could tell, he was looking at them directly, but it was impossible to read any expression on his face.
     "Iorek Byrnison," said Farder Coram again. "May I speak to you?"
     Lyra's heart was thumping hard, because something in the bear's presence made her feel close to coldness, danger, brutal power, but a power controlled by intelligence; and not a human intelligence, nothing like a human, because of course bears had no daemons. This strange hulking presence gnawing its meat was like nothing she had ever imagined, and she felt a profound admiration and pity for the lonely creature.
      He dropped the reindeer leg in the dirt and slumped on all fours to the gate. Then he reared up massively, ten feet or more high, as if to show how mighty he was, to remind them how useless the gate would be as a barrier, and he spoke to them from that height.
     'Well? Who are you?'

* You can listen to a sample from the audio version on Philip Pullmans website.  There are also other things to explore on the site.  Check it out here.

* His Dark Materials Trilogy includes:
The Golden Compass
The Subtle Knife
The Amber Spyglass

Curse of the Blue Tattoo

Curse of the Blue Tattoo
 by L. A. Meyer

Bibliography

Meyer, L. A. (2004). Curse of the blue tattoo. Orlando, FL: Harcourt Books. ISBN 9781415545881

Summary

Discovered!  Jack is really Jacky and so must leave the ship she loves and become a fine lady.  This doesn't work out and the adventures really begin for Jacky Faber.  Experience penny-whistle playing, colonial boarding school drama, a nefarious preacher, and lots of excitement in this Bloody Jack adventure.

Critical Analysis

Who doesn't love a good historical yarn, especially one as well written as this one?  Meyer deftly creates well-rounded characters both heroine, minor characters, and villains.  Of course Jacky has her flaws, don't we all, but you can't help but root for her with her resourceful ways and cleverness.  Set in colonial days in America, Curse of the Blue Tattoo, takes the reader back in time and allows us to glimpse the past, but not at the expense of the strongly plotted story.  Everything feels of-a-piece - the setting, the characters, and the plot - and blends into a fantastic adventure tale with a little mystery mixed in.  Really enjoyable to read and will keep teen readers up late to find out what happens next.

Review Excerpts

*Utterly engaging and incredibly well-paced, Curse of the Blue Tattoo is the very best kind of historical fiction: the kind that won’t leave teens snoring. Meyer effortlessly maintains Jacky’s sassy voice and conflicted conscience in what is shaping up to be a great series. While many readers will groan with despair as Jacky sets off yet again at the end of the book, they will also sigh with relief that they will most likely be meeting her again! --Jennifer Hubert

* Meyer does an excellent job of conveying life in Boston in 1803, particularly the rights, or lack thereof, of women. Jacky's headstrong certainty that she's in control and her cocky first-person account make her a memorable heroine. The narrative is full of lecherous men, and Jacky herself is free in her ways. This fact and the sometimes-strong language make this book more appropriate for older readers. Sure to please fans of the first title, this adventure-packed historical novel also stands on its own. --School Library Journal


Connections

* Expert from Curse of the Bloody Tattoo

It was a hard comin' I had of it, that's for sure. It was hard enough comin' up from the brig, the cell down below where they had me kept these past few weeks, squintin' into the light to see all of the dear Dolphin's sailors lined up along the spars of the great masts and in other parts of the riggin', all four hundred of 'em, bless 'em, my mates for the past year and a half, all cheerin' and hallooin' and wavin' me off. 

It was hard, too, walkin' across to the quarterdeck, where the officers were all pulled up in their fancy uniforms and where the midshipmen and side boys made two rows for me to walk between on my way off the ship, and there's Jaimy all straight and all beautiful in his new midshipman's uniform, and there's Davy and Tink and Willy, the boys of the Brotherhood to which I so lately belonged, and there's my dear sea-dad Liam lookin' as proud as any father. The Bo'sun's Mate puts his pipe to his lips and starts the warble to pipe me off the Dolphin, my sweet and only home, and I start down between their ranks, but I stop in front of Jaimy and I look at the Captain and I pleads with my teary eyes. The Captain smiles and nods and I fling my arms around Jaimy's neck and kiss him one last time, oh yes I do, and the men cheer all the louder for it, but it was short, oh so short, for too soon my arm is taken and I have to let go of Jaimy, but before I do I feel him press something into my hand and I look down and see that it's a letter. 

Then I'm led away down the gangway, but I keep my eyes on Jaimy's eyes and my hand clutched around his letter as the Professor hands me up into the carriage that's waitin' at the foot of the gangway. I keeps my eyes on Jaimy as the horses are started and we clatter away, and I rutch around in my seat and stick my head out the window to keep my blurry eyes on him but it's too far away now for me to see his eyes, just him standin' there at the rail lookin' after me, and then the coach goes around a corner and that's all. He's there, and then he's not.That was the hardest of all. I put my fingertips to my lips where his have just been and I wonder when they will again touch me in that place. If ever...Oh, Jaimy, I worry about you so much 'cause the war's on again with Napolon and all it takes is one angry cannonball, and oh, God, please.

I leave off what has up to now been fairly gentle weeping and turn to full scale, chest heavin', eyes squeezed shut, open mouth bawlin'."Well," says Professor Tilden, sittin' across from me, "you certainly have made a spectacle of yourself today, I must say."

...don't care don't care don't care don't care...

"You should compose yourself now, Miss. The school is not a far ride from the harbor. Here," he says, handing me a handkerchief, "dry your eyes."The Professor is taking me to the Lawson Peabody School for Young Girls, which is where they decided to dump me after that day on the beach when my grand Deception was blown out of the water for good and ever...


* Lots of fun on this Bloody Jack website, even some out-takes!

* Of course you want to read the whole series.

Bloody Jack Adventures
1. Bloody Jack: Being an Account of the Curious Adventures of Mary 'Jacky' Faber, Ship's Boy (2002)
2. Curse of the Blue Tatoo: Being an Account of the Misadventures of Jacky Faber, Midshipman And Fine Lady (2004)
3. Under the Jolly Roger: Being an Account of the Further Nautical Adventures of Jacky Faber (2005)
4. In the Belly of the Bloodhound: Being an Account of a Particularly Peculiar Adventure in the Life of Jacky Faber (2006)
5. Mississippi Jack: Being an Account of the Further Waterborne Adventures of Jacky Faber, Midshipman, Fine Lady, And Lily of the West (2007)
6. My Bonny Light Horseman (2008)
7. Rapture of the Deep (2009)
8. The Wake of the Lorelei Lee (2010)

Harris and Me

Harris and Me
 by Gary Paulsen

Bibliography

Paulsen, G. (1993). Harris and me. Orlando, FL: Harcourt Books. ISBN 9780152058807

Summary

Harris and Me is the hilarious remembrance of one boy's summer spent with Harris and his family because his parents are unfit to care for him.  The boys spend the summer playing and working outdoors, getting into mischief, and loving life.  Two of the crazy things the boys try are playing war with pigs and putting a motor on a bicycle, but no one can tell these adventures like Gary Paulsen!

Critical Analysis

Oh, I wish I knew these boys from the early 1900's!  Gary Paulsen creates a whole believable family, but the boys are perfectly crafted into real people.  Maybe that's because this book is partially autobiographical, but Paulsen brings such a fullness with his writing that I bet the story is better than the memories.  Paulsen makes a harsh reality, drunken parents, palatable for his young hero and readers.  Most will long for days when such a summer, spent on farm full of love, work, and craziness, was possible.  Rich characterization, the perfect setting, and fantastically funny writing come together in Harris and Me to make a modern classic in young adult literature

Review Excerpts

* Readers will experience hearts as large as farmers' appetites, humor as broad as the county landscape and adventures as wild as boyhood imaginagtions... A hearty helping of old-fashioned, rip-roaring entertainment.  -- Publishers Weekly

* Includes laugh-out-loud passages as well as heaps of nostalgia. --The Horn Book


Connections

* Video interview with Gary Paulsen - worth a watch, certainly - and other Paulsen stuff!

* Here is an excellent author interview with Paulsen from the New York Public Library.

* Comment from Harrison, age 13:  "I like it because it has an old-fashioned air and plenty of humor."

* Expert from Harris and Me

    All this time Harris had been standing, watching, his hands behind him.  I hadn't really looked at him, but when I moved to take the box from Glennis the grown-ups fell in together and started walking toward the house and Harris came up alongside me just as I grabbed the box.
     Physically he was of a set piece with Glennis.  Blond - hair bleached white by  sun -  face perpetually sunburned and red with a peeling nose, freckles sprinkled like brown pepper over everything, and even, white teeth, except that when Harris smiled there were two gone from the front.  He was wearing a set of patched bib overalls.  No shirt, no shoes - just freckles and the bibs, which were so large he seemed to move inside them.
    "Hi."
    He walked beside me, his hands still to his rear.  I would subsequently find that this posture could be dangerous, meant he was hiding something, but I didn't know this soon so I nodded.  "Hi."
     "We heard your folks was puke drunks, is that right?"
     "Harris!"  Glennis was was walking on the other side of me and her voiced snapped.  "That's not polite, to talk that way."
     "Well you can just blow it out your butt, you old cow...."

I'd Tell You I Love You, But Then I'd Have to Kill You

I'd Tell You I Love You, But Then I'd Have to Kill You
by Ally Carter

Bibliography

Carter, A. (2006). I'd tell you I love you, but then I'd have to kill you. New York, NY: Hperion Books for Children. ISBN 1423100034

Summary

Gallagher Academy is not a typical girls' boarding school; and Cammie is not a typical girl!  I'd Tell You I Love You, But Then I'd Have to Kill You is written as Cammie's first Covert Operations Report and details her adventures of spying and flirting during her sophomore year at Gallagher, a school for genius future spies.

Critical Analysis

Ally Carter makes a good effort with I'd Tell You I Love You, But Then I'd Have to Kill You and there are lots of good things about it.  The idea behind the plot of the story feels fresh and original.  The characters are likable and very well crafted - not too perfect and accurately complex. Several themes of the story - love may be worth it, be true to yourself, smart girls are great, bad things happen to good people - come through loud and clear, but without leaving the reader feeling like they sat through a lecture.  The setting is fun.  An all-girl spy school with secret passages, cute teachers, great friends is a combination that just sings of adventurous things to come.  All of these are good things.

Unfortunately, Carter's style in this books leaves something to be desired. The constant attempts and speaking in the teen voice left me disappointed and tired.  Her repetitive reminders of the spy nature of the book seemed to take the place of any real adventure, other than sneaking out of school and into a boy's home. Overall, I say the book is worth reading, because Carter seems to find her voice later in the series, and I like to start at the beginning!



Review Excerpts

* Despite any shortcomings, aficionados of this burgeoning fiction genre will be tempted to give this title a go. -- Publisher's Weekly

* The teen's double life leads to some amusing one-liners, and the invented history of the Gallagher Girls is also entertaining, but the story is short on suspense. The stakes never seem very high since there are no real villains, and the cutesy dialogue quickly becomes grating. --School Library Journal

Connections

* There are many Gallagher Girls books to enjoy!  Look for Cross My Heart and Hope to Spy, Don't Judge a Girl by her Cover, and Only the Good Spy Young

* Here is the official Ally Carter website where you can buy a T-shirt, read Ally's blog, and get all the news!

* Excerpt from I'd Tell You I Love You, But Then I'd Have to Kill You.

17:55 hours (that's 5:35 P.M.): The Operative moved into position.
18:00 hours:  The Operative was wishing she'd brought something to eat because she couldn't leave her post to go buy a candy bar, much less use the bathroom.
18:30 hours:  The Operative realized it's almost impossible to look pretty and/or seductive if you SERIOUSLY have to go pee.


     Back in my room, I had fifty pages of The Art of War left to translate into Arabic, a credit-card-slash-fingerprint modifier to perfect for Dr. Fibs, and Madame Dabney had been dropping big pop-quiz hints at the end of C&A.  Yet there I was, rubbing my swelling ankle and thinking that I really should be getting CoveOps extra credit for this.
     I looked at my watch again: seven forty-five.  Okay, I though, I'll give him until eight and then...
     "Hi," I heard from behind me...
     I could have said hi back in fourteen different languages (and that's not including pig Latin). And yet  I was speechless as he came to stand in front of me.

Speak

Speak
 by Laurie Halse Anderson

Bibliography

Anderson, L. H. (1999). Speak. New York, NY: Farrar, Straus, Giroux. ISBN 0374371520

Summary

Melinda Sordino was raped over the summer, but no one knows that is why she called the police to a wild party.  All they know is that she got a lot of people in trouble and she no longer has any friends.  Speak is the first person account of Melinda's struggle to find her voice after remaining silent about the rape.  She barely manages high school as she hopes that by not speaking, the pain will go away. She finds that speaking out is the only way to help herself and others.

Critical Analysis

The setting takes a back seat in this story, which is driven by rich characterization of Melinda Sordino and an engaging problem.   In Speak, which takes place primarily in Melinda's home and high school, Laurie Halse Anderson makes the point that internalizing traumatic experiences doesn't make them go away.  She does this without being preachy or exaggerating the problem.  In fact, many teenagers who have a guilty secret will be able to identify with Melinda, even if they have not experienced pain at the same level.  My only qualm with story is the coincidental timing of the volleyball team coming by when Melinda is trapped in "her" closet by Andy at the end of the book. Even with this quirk, the plot is well-built and authentic; the main and supporting characters are genuine and believable; and Anderson's writing suits the novel with seeming effortlessness.

Review Excerpts

* In a stunning first novel, Anderson uses keen observations and vivid imagery to pull readers into the head of an isolated teenager.  -- Publishers Weekly

* Anderson perfectly captures the harsh conformity of high-school cliques and one teen's struggle to find acceptance from her peers. --Booklist


Connections

* Speak has been made into a movie starring Kristen Stewart.

* Here Laurie Halse Anderson reads a poems she wrote in response to teen letters about Speak on it's 10th anniversary.

* Expert from Speak

      I am Outcast.
      There is no point looking for my ex-friends. Our clan, the Plain Janes, has splintered and the pieces are being absorbed by rival factions. Nicole lounges with the Jocks, comparing scars from summer league sports. Ivy floats between the Suffering Artists on one side of the aisle and the Thespians on the other. She has enough personality to travel with two packs. Jessica has moved to Nevada. No real loss. She was mostly Ivy's friend, anyway.
      The kids behind me laugh so loud I know they're laughing about me. I can't help myself. I turn around. It's Rachel, surrounded by a bunch of kids wearing clothes that most definitely did not come from the EastSide Mall. Rachel Bruin, my ex-best friend. She stares at something above my left ear. Words climb up my throat. This was the girl who suffered through Brownies with me, who taught me how to swim, who understood about my parents, who didn't make fun of my bedroom. If there is anyone in the entire galaxy I am dying to tell what really happened, it's Rachel. My throat burns.
      Her eyes meet mine for a second. "I hate you," she mouths silently. She turns her back to me and laughs with her friends. I bite my lip. I am not going to think about it. It was ugly, but it's over, and I'm not going to think about it. My lip bleeds a little. It tastes like metal. I need to sit down.
      I stand in the center aisle of the auditorium, a wounded zebra in a National Geographic special, looking for someone, anyone, to sit next to. A predator approaches: gray jock buzz cut, whistle around a neck thicker than his head. Probably a social studies teacher, hired to coach a blood sport.
Mr. Neck: "Sit."
      I grab a seat. Another wounded zebra turns and smiles at me. She's packing at least five grand worth of orthodontia, but has great shoes. "I'm Heather from Ohio," she says. "I'm new here. Are you?" I don't have time to answer. The lights dim and the indoctrination begins.


    THE FIRST TEN LIES THEY TELL YOU IN HIGH SCHOOL

1. We are here to help you.

2. You will have enough time to get to your class before] the bell rings.]

3. The dress code will be enforced.

4. No smoking is allowed on school grounds.

5. Our football team will win the championship this year.

6. We expect more of you here.

7. Guidance counselors are always available to listen.

8. Your schedule was created with your needs in mind.

9. Your locker combination is private.

10. These will be the years you look back on fondly.

Angus, Thongs and Full-frontal Snogging
by Louise Rennison

Bibliography

Rennison, L. (1999). Angus, thongs and full-frontal snogging. New York, NY: Harper Collins Children's Books. ISBN0060288140

Summary

Written as a diary from August 23 to July 17, Angus, Thongs and Full-frontal Snogging hilariously captures Georgia Nicolson's thoughts on her cat, boys, family, and friends.  A mirthful "glossary" at the end helps American readers with all the British-isms scattered through the book.  

Critical Analysis

What makes this book funny?  First, Georgia Nicolson is portrayed as such a typical, unintentionally witty, and sincere teenager that all the things girls laugh at about themselves and each other are just waiting to make you snicker.  Second, Louise Rennison's style and approach keep the tone light, even when the subjects turn serious, while moving the believable plot along at an attention-keeping pace.  She helps girls laugh at those miserable, embarrassing spots on their noses, the horrible feeling of bras riding up to necks, and the mysterious creatures called boys!
 
Set in England, the story rings true.  Watch any term time morning and you will see children going to school in uniforms similar to Georgia's, all tugging at this bit or that. Rennison leaves the reader wanting more Georgia, not only because she's funny and we want to know if she moves to New Zealand, but because it is inspiring and even moving to see how she handles life's daily (minutely?) ups-and-downs.

Review Excerpts

* This "fabbity, fab, fab" novel will leave readers cheering, "Long live the teen!" -- Booklist

* It will take a sophisticated reader to enjoy the wit and wisdom of this charming British import, but those who relish humor will be satisfied. Fresh, lively, and engaging. --School Library Journal

Connections

* There are many Georgia Nicolson books to enjoy!  Here they are along with other books by Louise Rennison. And here is the movie version.

* And here is the official Georgia Nicolson website!

* Excerpt from Angus, Thongs and Full-frontal Snogging:


Sunday August 23 rd
my bedroom
raining
10.00 am
Dad had Uncle Eddie round so naturally they had to come and nose around and see what I was up to. If Uncle Eddie (who is bald as a coot -- two coots, in fact) says to me one more time, "Should bald heads be buttered?" I may kill myself. He doesn't seem to realize that I no longer wear romper-suits. I feel like yelling at him, "I am fourteen years old, Uncle Eddie! I am bursting with womanhood, I wear a bra! OK, it's a bit on the loose side and does ride up round my neck I if run for the bus "but the womanly potential is there, you bald coot!"
Talking of breasts, I'm worried that I may end up like the rest of the women in my family, with just the one bust, like a sort of shelf affair. Mum can balance things on hers when her hands are full--at parties, and so on, she can have a sandwich and drink and save a snack for later by putting it on her shelf. It's very unattractive. I would like a proper amount of breastiness but not go too far with it, like Melanie Andrews, for instance. I got the most awful shock in the showers after hockey last term. Her bra looks like two shopping bags. I suspect she is a bit unbalanced hormonally. She certainly is when she tries to run for the ball. I thought she'd run right through the fence with the momentum of her bosoomers' as Jas so amusingly calls them.

still in my room
still raining
still Sunday
 11.30 am
I don't see why I can't have a lock on my bedroom door. I have no privacy; it's like Noel's House Party' in my room. Every time I suggest anything around this place people start shaking their heads and tutting. It's like living in a house full of chickens dressed in frocks and trousers. Or a house full of those nodding dogs, anyway I can't have a lock on my door is the short and short of it.
"Why not?" I asked Mum reasonably (catching her in one of the rare minutes when she's not at Italian evening class or at another party).
"Because you might have an accident and we couldn't get in," she said.
"An accident like what?" I persisted.
"Well you might faint," she said.
Then Dad joined in, "You might set fire to your bed and be overcome with fumes."
What is the matter with people? I know why they don't want me to have a lock on my door, it's because it would be a first sign of my path to adulthood and they can't bear the idea of that because it would mean they might have to get on with their own lives and leave me alone.