Eat, Read, and Be Mommy

On the one hand, this is the LAST TIME I’ll have to potty train.  On the other hand, I washed out this week’s fourth pair of stinky panties today.

We’ve come to the last published Baby-Sitters Club graphic novel, which means there would shortly be weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth from my older girls–except that I just saw on Amazon that a sixth book is due out this August.  (Insert chorus of relieved 8- and 11-year-old sighs.)  Dawn and the Impossible Three was written by Gale Galligan, by the way; from what I’ve read, she’s been an associate of Raina Telgemeier’s, and she did an excellent job picking up where she left off.  (True, I prefer Telgemeier’s art, but it didn’t take me long to get used to Galligan’s, and I didn’t feel any lack in the story.)  We see Dawn grappling with a babysitting dilemma that culminates in a missing child; it turns out to have been a non-custodial parent angry because of the custodial parent’s failure to keep to the agreed-on schedule, which makes it serious but not more traumatic than the target audience’s parents might want them handling in fiction.  Other changes are affecting some of the club members; overall, it’s a nice little story about growing up and learning to compromise and communicate concerns clearly.  If you were or are a fan, be assured that the change in authors is no reason to drop the series–it remains worthwhile fare for elementary and middle schoolers, as well as nostalgic fun for people like me.

Now to hand the one library copy off to both of my girls without generating conflict… 

I finished Jason Reynolds’ Long Way Down on the last day of February, just in time to count it for the Goodreads challenge my library system does; February’s challenge was to read a book by an African-American author, and since the Newberys were announced at the beginning of February, Long Way Down seemed like a perfect fit.  (I just had to finish my other book first.)  I was honestly impressed by it, especially the ending; I was expecting something a little more–fable-y?  Instead, well–let’s just say it packed a powerful punch, but in an unexpected way.

Still, I was conflicted (which is why I’ve been putting off this review).  The Newberys are awarded to the authors of the most distinguished contributions to American literature for children.  Not only is Long Way Down designated as YF at our library, it has a derivative of the f-word not 25 pages in.  (A lesser expletive shows up on page 65.)  And then there’s the plot–Will’s brother is shot, Will takes his brother’s gun to follow the neighborhood ‘rules’ and avenge his death, and then Will gets into his building’s elevator to head down towards his mission.  Only for each floor he passes, someone connected to him shows up.  Someone dead.

Someone killed by a gun.

It’s an impressive idea to begin with, and Reynolds executes it just about perfectly.  Will’s voice, his anguish, his turmoil–they all feel desperately real.  I was sucked in from the get-go and (metaphorically) holding my breath for the ending.  When I actually GOT there, I was in shock for a minute or two, but–how perfect!  The idealist in me wanted more resolution, but the writer in me recognized that Reynolds’ ending was better than anything I could have imagined.  All in all, it’s a pretty amazing book; it certainly deserves awards.

Those awards, however, are–again–why I’m conflicted.  Can a book truly be both a Printz Honor book AND a Newbery Honor book?  Or, since it appears that it can be, should it be?  I recognize that we live in a world where children have to deal with the realities of gun violence, where Long Way Down may feel more relevant than most of the books my own children read, but is that enough of a reason to consider it literature for children?  At least three different organizations honored it specifically as a YA title, and Amazon lists it as a book for teens.  Ultimately, I fail to see how anyone can argue that it was written for children, that children are its actual target audience.  Jason Reynolds wrote an amazing book, and I’m seriously glad it won most of the awards it did.  As for this past year’s Newbery Committee–really, folks?

Really?

If you were designing a 2,000 piece map-of-the-world jigsaw puzzle–complete with, you know, ALL THE OCEANS–wouldn’t you go with the ever-popular brownish-gray color for the back of the pieces, instead of an impressively watery shade of blue?

Just sayin’.

I just finished reading Zita the Spacegirl in order to see if my girls would like it; they both love graphic novels, but it remains to be seen whether it will be too easy for my oldest and too sci-fi for my 8-year-old.  It’s certainly simpler than anything by Raina Telgemeier or Victoria Jamieson, but it’s still a nice story;  Zita accidentally gets her friend kidnapped by aliens and follows him in order to find him and bring him home, attracting a motley group of friends on the way.  There are some very traditional plot points here–the con man who comes through at the end comes to mind most immediately–but it’s short, sweet, and solid in the ways that count the most.  (I would have preferred it to be longer with more character development, but then, I’m 38, not 8.)  If your elementary school-er likes sci-fi and/or graphic novels, give this one a try.

That’s what I spent the evening doing, and it’s a good thing, but my sciatic is now officially done for the day.  Which means no real post, because sitting on my bar stool for long enough to review anything is something I cannot face.  Signing off!

Okay, not any more, but my delightful niece, along with her boyfriend and his cousin/her good friend, came to dinner tonight and helped me turn the strawberries I bought at Ream’s on Saturday into freezer jam.  (Not that my freezer is currently working at the moment–I don’t want to talk about it.)  Which is why I didn’t get on the treadmill until after 10:30 and I’m only now sitting down to write this blog post.

At 11:39.

SO, here’s the Reader’s Digest condensed version of Sid Fleischman’s The 13th Floor:  A Ghost Story.  Imagine a mashup of the Goonies, Treasure Island, Back to the Future, and The Witch of Blackbird Pond.  Now imagine that the mashup is also first cousins with The True Confessions of Charlotte Doyle, and you’ve more or less got it; it’s a fast-moving, adventurous, and funny tale of pirates, time travel, and old New England.  If your elementary school-er likes any of those things, this ought to be a good fit; it should also be good for reluctant readers.  (I quite enjoyed it as well.)  Check it out!

Have I mentioned how badly I’ve slacked at reading last year’s Newberys?  I read the one that was basically a long picture book, but the other three were all close to (or over) 300 pages, and life just feels BUSY, you know?  I am, however, very pleased to report that I’ve managed to finish the second of last year’s four in the same month that–ahem–this year’s winners were announced.

No, I’m not being sarcastic.  I’m owning it.  Why not?

Anyway.

Adam Gidwitz’s The Inquisitor’s Tale:  Or, The Three Magical Children and Their Holy Dog was not at all what I expected.  I wasn’t particularly looking forward to reading it when it won (I tend to avoid the Middle Ages in my fiction, overall), and I started it when I did because I was hoping that the illustrations would make it a shorter choice than some of the others I was considering.  (They didn’t, not really.)  But once I’d started it…wowsers.  Gidwitz sucked me in and started blowing me away.

How does one review a book that packs so MUCH into 337 pages?  (Not counting the author’s notes at the end, which were long AND fascinating.)  It’s at once hilarious and heartbreaking.  It has quite the contemporary feel–the people feel like regular people–and yet the medieval setting is magnificently created.  It occasionally flirts with crude humor, but how many books for kids in the 21st century debate religion and the motivations of God?  The very essence of the plot is based in faith.  Possibly Gidwitz has a bit of Kate DiCamillo’s gift for blending the mundane with the cosmic (I’m thinking The Tale of Despereaux here); the concept of martyrdom is one of the book’s major themes, while a peculiarly potent French cheese is an ongoing metaphor for life (and a key plot device).

Blech.  I sound like I’m writing a paper on it, when what I want to say is that Gidwitz’s book wowed me.  Humor, fear, suspense, love, the reality and nature of God–it’s like a cup full to the very brim, and yet so well written and focused that not a drop spills over.  It’s the kind of good that needs to be read, especially now.  It’s strange and sad and funny and awe-inspiring and kind of amazing, and why are you still reading my late-night ramblings when you could be reading The Inquisitor’s Tale?  Go get it and get started.

I’m going to bed.

My dishwasher died this morning, folks, and I’m feeling it already.  My hubby’s consulting Consumer Reports and investigating the possibility of leftover President’s Day sales, you understand, but at this moment, my dishwasher is dead.

Have I mentioned how much I hate washing dishes by hand?

Anyway.  That being the case, I’m going to do a barely there review–I read the second Franny K. Stein book tonight (Attack of the 50-Ft. Cupid), and it was entertaining, fabulously illustrated, and oddly successful in its occasional moments of poignancy.  (I don’t prefer the word “butt” myself, but it is what it is; it’s used only a couple of times, and never really gratuitously.)  I’m setting it out for my kiddos to read, and I’m sort of looking forward to the next one, so if you need a short, easy chapter book series, this is continuing to be worth it.

My oldest checked Svetlana Chmakova’s Awkward out of her school library a couple of weeks ago, and when she finished it she assured me that I just HAD to read it before she returned it.  It’s a graphic novel (and it was on my list anyway!), so I told her I could make that happen–and I’m so glad I did, even though I was apprehensive at first.  The book starts with the main character–under stress–lashing out at an innocent bystander, which is bad enough, and then suffering agonies of remorse for weeks rather than apologizing in person.  Yes, I know facing up to the injured party is hard, but how can it be worse than feeling guilty about it nonstop?  Spit it out already!

I’ve always struggled with that sort of plot; it would have killed The Kite Runner for me if that book hadn’t been so ridiculously beautiful.  But I digress.

Thankfully, it doesn’t take Peppi the entire book to make amends, and the way in which that scene plays out is an unexpected pleasure.  As for the rest of the book, well–it’s a pleasure, too.  The characters are (mostly) likable and feel alive in a way that has everything to do with the author’s skill, and the conflict and resolution between the Art Club and the Science Club make for a lovely and entertaining fable about growth through making the effort to find common ground and build unity.  (And if THAT sounds stuffy and moralistic, there’s fighting and pranks and punishments by the principal until the two groups figure out a way to live with each other–mostly.)  It’s a book about friendship and compromise, and NOT a book about middle school love–in other words, a winner on both counts!  Don’t miss this one.