Category: Middle Grade

Racism History with Ghosts and Mystery: OPHIE’S GHOSTS is a Must-Read Spring Release

“It filled her with a sense of ease, and as they approached, she spun around, taking in the small part of Pittsburgh where it seemed that being a Negro was no more unusual than wearing a hat.”

Justina Ireland, OPHIE’S GHOSTS

[Note: this review covers an advance reader’s copy provided by HarperCollins.]

I’m always on the lookout for middle grade titles that discuss America’s racist history and/or present in ways that 1) don’t talk down to their audience and 2) won’t make readers feel like they’re in school. Ophie’s Ghosts, Justina Ireland’s middle grade debut that’s scheduled to come out in May, just joined The Parker Inheritance at the top of my recommendation list.

This book pulls no punches when it comes to the way black people were treated by white people – and sometimes by fellow black people – during the 1920s. But it wraps those punches in an intriguing mystery full of haunted houses, ghosts, and complicated characters. Basically: go order this one right now!

THE STORY

Twelve-year-old Ophelia has an unusual talent: she can see and interact with ghosts. She learns about this talent one night when it saves her and her mother from death at the hands of the Ku Klux Klan. Fleeing Georgia with no money and little hope, they find refuge crashing with relatives in the rapidly growing industrial city of Pittsburgh. Soon Ophie’s mother, desperate to move out of their relatives’ house, pulls Ophie out of school to begin working with her as full time house staff for the white and wealthy Caruthers family.

Unfortunately for Ophie, her job at the Caruthers mansion turns out to be waiting on the elderly, bed-ridden, and abominably racist Caruthers matron. Also unfortunately for Ophie, the mansion turns out to be haunted by its past — literally haunted, as in haunted by ghosts. The other black staff members are terrified of Mrs. Caruthers, and everyone keeps making hushed references to the woman who used to have Ophie’s position. When Ophie befriends a young female ghost in the attic who can’t remember how she died, it’s up to Ophie to uncover the truth.

THE BABBLE

I love that Justina Ireland establishes a whole set of rules and mythology for the afterlife, while never becoming so busy focusing on the ghost story that she allows us to forget both the casual and aggressive racism that Ophie and her mother face every day.

The mystery is a slow burn–one that younger children in the middle grade range might find a little too slow, honestly, but for more patient readers it’s worth the wait. I found myself constantly amazed by the number of dimensions of white supremacy and racism that this middle grade ghost story winds up addressing: not just overt “bad guy” stuff from the KKK members and Mrs. Caruthers, but also colorism, microaggressions, passing, segregation in the south versus the north, and so on. The sequence when Ophie attends the movies with Clara, and she finds herself gaping at an entire functioning mini-society filled with people who look just like her, was heartwarming and devastating at the same time.

That sequence soon also became incredibly creepy, as do most of the ghostly moments in this novel. The ghosts in this world are genuinely spooky.

One last observation: it might just be an accident of timing, but this is the second occasion in the past year when I’ve read an #ownvoices novel starring a BIPOC character, shortly after reading a novel with a similar theme/plot written by a white author. The first time this happened, I read Tracy Deonn’s Legendborn shortly after reading Leigh Bardugo’s Ninth House, both of which follow a female black student on scholarship to an elite college, where she joins an ancient secret society of wealthy students that abuse magic in order to reinforce their privilege. This time, I read Ophie’s Ghosts after reading Cat Winters’ The Steep and Thorny Way, a loose YA adaptation of Hamlet in which a black teenager – also named Ophelia, interestingly enough – tries to avoid the rise of the KKK in 1920s Oregon after seeing the ghost of her dead father. Both cases serve as excellent examples for why #ownvoices publishing is so important, because in both cases, the BIPOC authors brought different levels of nuance and different areas of focus to similar stories, themes, and explorations. I enjoyed both Ninth House and The Steep and Thorny Way, and I’m not ready to say that only members of marginalized populations should be “allowed” to tell stories about those populations (Winters in particular did a ton of research and involved sensitivity readers in her writing process). HOWEVER. These two recent cases perfectly illustrate why from now on, for every Ninth House that’s published, there’d better a Legendborn published (preferably two Legendborns). For every The Steep and Thorny Way, there needs to be an Ophie’s Ghosts. It’s up to publishers to make that happen, but it’s also up to us as readers — and, more importantly, as buyers — to hold publishers to the fire to make sure it happens.

Anyway, soapbox aside, Ophie’s Ghosts is fantastic. I hope teachers read it and incorporate it into their lesson plans – I think it’s a worthy successor to Roll of Thunder, Hear My Cry. Ophie makes an engaging, opinionated, sympathetic heroine from the first page, and the characters around her are just as detailed. It’s a unique approach to this important and all-too-relevant subject, written in a modern style.

RATING

* * * *

RANDOM BABBLE

[From here there be mild spoilers. Ye have been warned.]

  • I know I said it above, but some of the ghost encounters are friggin’ creepy. Dining room lady? Creepy. That rose garden scene? SUPER creepy. Honestly, they might be a little scary for younger readers, but it will depend on the reader.
  • A testament to how well Ireland immediately establishes this world, and these characters, and the stakes that impact them: I had tears in my eyes by the end of the prologue.
  • The mystery about Clara is such a slow burn, yet I still didn’t see part of that final reveal coming. Props to Ireland for that.
  • Ophie’s dream to be back in school is gutting, and I appreciate that Ireland incorporates child labor into this story. A great way to discuss how school wasn’t mandatory for all children in the U.S. until 1930, and wasn’t strictly enforced for many years.
  • I thought Ireland did a skillful job of weaving the different ways that Ophie and her mother are processing, or failing to process, their grief about Ophie’s father throughout the story, without allowing that to overwhelm the story or their relationship.
  • Oh yeah, in case I haven’t made this abundantly clear elsewhere:

THE MIDNIGHT HOUR Review: Alternate Magical London for the Steampunk Tween

“Her eyes and heart and head were overfull; the waterfall of images was a wonder, not terrifying, or at least not *just* terrifying. It was a feast, and for all the awfulness of what was happening to her, she knew this was something special she’d take with her for the rest of her life. Which might not be very long if any of the crowd got peckish…”

The Midnight Hour, 2020

Anyone else out there love John Bellairs when they were growing up? I did. I read The House With a Clock in its Walls multiple times, then devoured every other Bellairs title my local library had: The Curse of the Blue Figurine, The Mummy, the Will, and the Crypt, The Trolley to Yesterday, and such. The illustrations in those books were also my introduction to Edward Gorey’s artwork, and I love them for that.

I don’t see Bellairs novels in bookstores or libraries all that often anymore, and that’s too bad, because I haven’t found many newer middle grade books that can match Bellairs’ unique brand of lighthearted gothic mystery. Kate Middleton’s fantastic Greenglass House series comes close, and now The Midnight Hour. In a middle grade market awash in various versions of hidden magical Londons, let’s dive into this new addition, shall we?

the story

The story kicks off just before the stroke of midnight, as Emily Featherhaugh stews upstairs in her bedroom following a heated fight with her mother. Her mother doesn’t fit in with regular society much, and Emily finds her embarrassing. Emily watches a shadowy figure drop off a strange-looking envelope at her house, and soon her mother sets off into the night. When her mother doesn’t return, Emily’s father goes searching for her. When her father doesn’t return, either, Emily goes searching for them both.

[FROM HERE THERE BE SPOILERS. YE HAVE BEEN WARNED.]

Chased by a terrifying and inhuman pursuer, Emily finds her way to the office of the Night Post, which leads her to the Midnight Hour: an alternate realm where London (or a steampunk vision thereof) has been frozen at midnight in the year 1859. Also, it’s populated entirely by magical and mythical creatures, known as the Night Folk, who live in this time pocket as a sanctuary from the Muggles Day Folk. Her father has disappeared into the Night World and her mother has been captured by The Nocturne, one of the three Older Powers who predate all other Night Folk. The Nocturne wants to end the Midnight Hour sanctuary and return to the human world. Emily teams up with a rookie Night World cop (a ghul) named Tarkus to rescue her mom, learning along the way that her mother (1) is a pooka (pucka), (2) was instrumental in creating the Midnight Hour sanctuary and fought The Nocture in the past, and (3) left the Night World to marry a badass member of the Night Post (Emily’s dad) and gave birth to a pooka daughter (Emily herself). Emily must dodge all sorts of dangerous creatures to save her family and the Midnight Hour, and shenanigans ensue.

THE BABBLE

This book is FUN, you guys. And genuinely spooky in places. I opened by talking about John Bellairs because reading the first chapter of The Midnight Hour brought me back to reading his books: an intriguing mystery discovered in the dead of night, suspicion of the supernatural, and adolescent worries. In fact, the first few chapters of this novel are pretty airtight. Great suspense, great action, not to mention the Bear’s manifestation in the Day World is creepy (to the point where I was slightly disappointed to learn that he’s ultimately just a big supernatural bear). I also enjoy the rocky friendship between Emily and Tarkus.

And the Bear isn’t the only terrifying creature here. Many of the Night Folk in the Night World are just ordinary creatures trying to get by, but many of the dark creatures in this world are genuinely dark, which I think plenty of middle grade readers might find refreshing. The whole thing has a very Neil Gaiman vibe –not only did this remind me of his middle grade work like The Graveyard Book (one of my all-time favorites) but it particularly felt like a kid-friendly Neverwhere. A Neverwhere primer, if you will. And that’s fine by me.

If I have an objection to this novel, it’s related to tone. Midnight Hour has two authors, Benjamin Read and Laura Trinder, and as with all writing duos I’m curious to hear how they divided writing labor. I’m especially curious this time because the book blends gothic fantasy writing with, shall we say, Kid Lit Snark Voice. That’s a tricky balance to strike, and the novel doesn’t always blend those two tones seamlessly. Take this paragraph, for instance:

“In the shock of the rhino, she’d missed the building behind them. It loomed, a mix between a tomb and a mansion. It had high arched church windows, a statue-lined path leading up to it, and a giant front door. There was no doubt this was her destination. Great. Not even slightly ominous.”

The Midnight Hour, 2020

See what I mean? Contrast this with the first chapter, which opens with Emily meditating on typical preteen angst about her mother’s inability to understand her and how unfair life is — only to be rudely interrupted by a gothic adventure shortly before midnight. There are places in the novel where smashing these two tones together brilliantly captures the feeling of throwing a modern preteen into a magical version of 1859 London, but to me it occasionally feels a bit jarring or forced.

Lastly, I want to talk about Emily’s “gob,” or her temper. I kinda love that this particular heroine’s quest rides on her having a quick temper. (The Librarian says she has been singled out because she is “difficult,” as is her mother. Ha.) How far we’ve come from girl protagonists in books like The Secret Garden, where the heroine’s entire arc involved our lead learning to control her temper and act more ladylike/civil. Here, it’s not only acceptable, but necessary for Emily to be “difficult.” I’m here for it.

All in all, this is a promising middle grade read. A fun Harry Potter alternative for readers who might find The Bookwanderers too cozy.

RATING

*** out of 4

RANDOM BABBLE

  • I love that the three Older Powers are, eldest to youngest: Music, Art, Language. That detail made my heart sing.
  • It has to be said: I’m not Irish or of (much) Irish descent, but if I was, I might be a little offended by the Irish stereotypes that appear in this novel.
  • Gotta love any final battle sequence that takes place inside the workings of a magical Big Ben. (Not sarcasm, I truly loved it.)
  • As someone fascinated with Puck from A Midsummer Night’s Dream, I geek squealed when the novel casually dropped the detail that pookas generally manifest as a horse, a hound, or a hare. Also, I love that the glass artwork on Emily’s bedroom wall with the three black glass hares comes into play later on with her own shapeshifting form.
  • Is it me, or could Hot Topic just release an entire Midnight Hour-branded line with very little effort?

THE WATER BEARS Review: Whimsy with a Dollop of Trauma

“People always ask if I’m okay,” I said. “But I don’t think I have the same kind of okay as them anymore. They just want me to say I’m good so they feel better.”

THE WATER BEARS, Kim Baker, 2020

The newer middle grade novels I read often fall into two broad categories: whimsical books about fantasy and magic and maybe a dash of sci fi, and realistic novels about the trials of middle/elementary school or processing family issues/racial issues/sexual issues/other trauma issues and so on. I love both categories, of course, but I’ve rarely seen them overlap as charmingly or uniquely as they do in The Water Bears.

Folks, is it just me, or are we living in a new golden age of middle grade fiction? I can’t believe how many newer novels I’ve picked up in recent months that manage to both honor the feel of the “classics” and also address relevant social questions in a fun, engaging, literary way. There’s just so much good writing out there. It almost makes me wish I were still a kid…but I’m glad my job gives me an excuse to read lots of children’s literature, which is the next best thing.

the story

Newt lives with his family on [sadly fictional] Murphy Island, a quirky artist colony that feels like an Island of Misfit Toys for families. Newt hates standing out, and unfortunately he stands out for two reasons: one, he belongs to the only Latinx family on the island, and two, last summer he survived a bear attack and still struggles with a leg injury and mobility issues. He would love nothing more than to escape the island altogether to live with the rest of his extended Latinx family on the mainland, where he thinks he can start fresh and won’t always be known as That Poor Kid Who Got Attacked by a Bear. Plus, he’s still dealing with nightmares and other PTSD symptoms from the attack.

Sounds like a good Realism Novel for this age group, yeah? Only that doesn’t factor in a mythical lake beast, a bear statue carved from driftwood that may or may not grant wishes, a thirteen-year-old allowed to drive a retired food truck while all the adults look the other way, an annual circus talent show that provides catharsis for Newt and his guilt-stricken mother, a mysterious truck-napping stranger, goats in the house, an island full of wild parrots and monkeys and abandoned resort trappings, and much more. Throughout the novel Newt navigates his friendship with Ethan, a fellow island resident who adores living on the island in all its whimsical glory, and a new island arrival named Izzy.

THE BABBLE

[From here there be spoilers. Ye have been warned.]

It used to be said that children had no sense of irony, that what distinguished children from adults was their sincerity, their acceptance, their openness. Not for the child was the jaded weariness of grown-up life, the disappointments in friends, family, and leadership. But children have been coming into their ironic own for decades…They learn that people lie. They learn, too, that their own beliefs may not be shared by others.

CHILDREN’S LITERATURE: A READER’S HISTORY FROM AESOP TO HARRY POTTER, Seth Lerer, 2008

The Water Bears is so full of whimsy it should have no room to sensitively explore residual trauma, yet it does so. It shouldn’t work. It does work, beautifully, and I loved it.

The island setting is richly painted through imaginative details based on an abandoned resort that once provided a long-ago tourist attraction and now provides crumbling infrastructure: for instance, the parrots once used in an entertainment show that have now formed the island’s own native wild flock; the small alternate school for island families where kids eat their lunch in the resort’s drained swimming pool; the bell that can be heard throughout the island to signal for tourists when whales have been sighted–or when a terrible storm is coming.

I also loved the way that the book handles trauma processing, not only in how Newt gradually processes his attack but in the way his whole family deals with it. His mother clearly still struggles with the incident and her (largely blameless) role in it — the guilt has cost her a friendship, and one of her primary sources of joy. Newt’s veteran brother connects to him by recommending a PTSD therapist. I love that his little sister even gets a chance to talk about how his injury and recovery has impacted her life. And Newt? The novel paints a beautiful portrait of an adolescent boy who suffered a highly unusual attack, and has allowed injury and self-consciousness to define who he is. Something undeniably weird has happened to him, at precisely the time in life when no one wants to be associated with anything weird.

Newt’s weariness at playacting “okay,” his desire to just escape the claustrophobic island community and start over, his illogical fear of places and people associated with the time of the attack…it’s all so relatable and so genuine. As a former survivor of a traumatic accident (that had everyone asking how I’m doing for years and, honestly, 16 years later people in my hometown are still asking me that question when they see me), I related to Newt’s struggle. As an actress, I love that an anonymous reconnection with the joy of live performance helped him down the road to recovery.

My only small question relates to the eponymous water bears themselves, microscopic organisms that Newt discovers and researches for a school report. I get that the little creatures’ name keeps in line with the whimsical recurrence of bears in Newt’s life, and that their ability to survive in even the most difficult environments is symbolic of Newt’s resilience. But still, something about their repeated appearance felt a little shoehorned in to me — almost as if Baker initially featured them in one chapter, and the publisher/editor made her come back to them multiple times because of the manuscript title? But it’s not a major issue or anything.

Another observation – and this isn’t a complaint, just something that caught my eye – deals with Izzy. She reminded me very much of Jolene in Here in the Real World by Sara Pennypacker (also an amazing 2020 novel), which makes Izzy the second iteration I’ve encountered this year of an emerging female character type in middle grade novels featuring boy lead characters: the fascinating girl with a tragic home life who becomes a new friend to the shy protagonist. She coaxes him out of his awkward preteen turtle shell by broadening his worldview and awakening both his compassion and his protective instincts. What should we call this type? Not the Manic Pixie Dream Girl, since it’s middle grade so these are (largely) friendly relationships rather than romantic ones. Maybe the MPDG’s spunky little sister, the Tragic Pixie Friend Girl? Anyway, it’s an interesting trend. I don’t necessarily feel one way or the other about it yet, just wanted to note it here.

Also, I’ve included the Seth Lerer quote above from another book I recently finished (I don’t 100% agree with all of Lerer’s frameworks, but it’s still a great read if you love children’s literature) because I think it pairs well with the quote from Water Bears at the top. Sometimes a child narrator’s disillusionment comes across as smartass. Other times it breaks your heart. The Water Bears will break your heart and make you smile…and make you extremely sad that Murphy Island isn’t a real place open to visitors. I hope it gets serious consideration for this year’s Newberry Medal.

RATING

*** 1/2 out of 4

RANDOM BABBLE

  • I’m generally not a fan of goats in real life (one tried to eat my hair when I was little and I’ve been in a fight with goats ever since), but I’m a fan of the goats in this book, which just shows how delightfully Baker portrays the goat members of the Gomez family.
  • I appreciate that Baker resisted the urge to have Newt see Marvelo at the end of the book. A more cliched book would have done that, but it feels more appropriate for Ethan to see the mythical beast.
  • I died laughing during every sequence that involved driving The Rooster. Whimsical comedy to the max.
  • Sweet Ethan. What a good kid. It’s so friggin’ hard to be abandoned by a best friend, and my heart broke for him when Newt told him he was moving to the mainland.
  • I also love that the very scenario of Newt’s trauma – a bear attack while berry picking in the brambles – sounds like something whimsical out of a children’s book. But for Newt, it’s anything but.

PAGES AND CO.: THE LOST FAIRY TALES: Not as Strong as the First Outing, but Still Plenty to Love

“And what she read came to be all around them, until the bed was like a boat in a river of flowers. They were surrounded by plants of all kinds and colors, both those described in the book and many more besides them.”

The Lost Fairy Tales, Anna James, 2020

Tilly, Oskar, and the Pages family continue their bookwandering adventures in this second installment from Anna James. Like many second books in a series, The Lost Fairy Tales feels like a setup for a proper series, with ongoing animosities and unresolved mysteries and what have you, whereas last year’s The Bookwanderers felt more like a delicious slice of bibliophilic bliss. (Guess it’s probably easier to take chances once your publisher knows that enough people already love your book to keep buying beyond a one-off.) I didn’t feel quite as enamored with this one as I did with the first, but considering just how enamored I felt about the first, that’s not too strong a complaint.

the story

Lost Fairy Tales starts off pretty much where Bookwanderers ended: Tilly’s mother, Bea, is back in the real world after years trapped in a book, while Enoch Chalk has disappeared and the Underlibrary remains in an uproar. Friend of the family and Head Librarian Amelia is forced to resign over the Enoch Chalk scandal, only to be replaced by a man named Melville Underwood. Underwood seems nice, which means he’s probably sinister – as proven shortly thereafter when he bans the Pages from the Underlibrary and attempts (unsuccessfully) to place tracers on Tilly and Oskar.

[FROM HERE THERE BE SPOILERS. YE HAVE BEEN WARNED.]

Back at home, Tilly begins showing signs of rebellious teenagerdom, and Bea continues to struggle with readjusting to her new life. The Pages agree that Tilly should accompany Oskar to spend a few days in Paris with his family over the Christmas holiday. While in Paris, our intrepid heroes break their promise not to bookwander by wandering into books of fairy tales (a notoriously dangerous thing to do) with Oskar’s cool bookwandering grandmother and her mysterious bookwanderer friend, Gretchen. Gretchen happens to have been former partners with Tilly’s grandmother doing research on fairy tales for the British Underlibrary, before they had a mysterious falling out.

Through a series of adventures in fairy tales, Tilly and Oksar discover that someone has begun to collapse fairy tales from the inside, making them even more unstable and dangerous places to wander than before. They also meet a devious set of twins who may be in league with Enoch Chalk. Once again, its up to our favorite young book wanderers to bring the truth to light.

the babble

Just like in the first book, there’s so much to love here. Hats off to James for bringing some political overtones into a book geared toward the middle grade age: maybe it’s just me, but I thought I caught a whiff of Brexit-style nationalism in Underwood’s “British Underlibrary for British bookwanderers” election speech. Not to mention that Underwood clearly rises to power in the Underlibrary by taking advantage of a time filled with panic and promising to crack down on scary outside forces. That’s heavier stuff for the 8-12 age set, and James sprinkles it in without lecturing to her readers or dumbing anything down. (That said, the younger end of the middle grade age range might find the first few chapters, focused on the election and Underlibrary bureaucracy, a bit more boring compared to the last novel? Your mileage may vary.)

There are also plenty of book wandering adventures to savor here – and I might be slightly biased, because this novel involves travel to my two favorite children’s classics growing up, The Secret Garden and The Wind in the Willows. I wasn’t that crazy about The Little Princess or Anne of Green Gables as a kid, so while I delighted in Tilly’s journeys to those books in the first novel, those trips didn’t make me gasp with happiness the way these did. I particularly love the way that Lost Fairy Tales uses The Secret Garden as a way to delicately explore Bea’s depression, just like the garden works for Colin and Archibald in the original story itself. The scene in which Tilly sits reading the book as a “bedtime story” to her mother and pulls Mary’s garden into the room with them, surrounding the bed with flowers, might be my favorite scene from entire series.

[All of the Secret Garden GIFs I could find were from the 2020 version, where the garden is Wonderland or something? And yeah we won’t be doing that, so here are some bluebells in honor of my mom.]

Unfortunately, most of the book wandering in this story takes place in disintegrating fairy tales, which results in lots of humorous “fractured fairy tale” scenes. For younger readers encountering this type of thing for the first time, James does a great job, and they’ll probably love it. For me (admittedly not the target audience for this book), having read/watched/been in musical versions of plenty of comedic fairy tale riffs before, I found these parts of the novel less interesting than other book wandering adventures because it felt so familiar to me.

Also less interesting to me were the new Big Bads. Enoch Chalk made for such a great villain, and I’m sorry to see him go, because his motivations were relatable: the guy wanted a life outside of a book that no one had ever read, and he went to extreme lengths to achieve that goal. In comparison, our new Big Bads want book magic for immortality and…world domination, or something? Power in general? The usual stuff, I guess. Way less interesting.

But these are quibbles. I’m still in love with this series and I eagerly await the next book.

rating

*** out of 4

random babble

  • I mentioned it briefly above, but I love how James handles Bea’s depression, her trauma, and her readjustment to life outside of a book. It makes sense that she would be wary of bookwandering and might have a hard time connecting with Tilly, through no fault of her own.
  • Damn, Chalk’s death is horrific. James uses some effective, creepy imagery in that sequence. I also love the moment of character development in which Tilly recognizes that she could bring down Underwood by vouching for Chalk, yet can’t bring herself to help Chalk in any way.
  • I’m so glad James has made Oskar a bookwanderer by lineage, too, and gives him a chance to be excited about it. He deserves to be a bookwanderer in his own right, not just a sidekick.
  • Look, I know the book keeps joking about this as a lame, safe outing for training bookwanderers, but I will gladly go have a picnic on the riverbank with Ratty and Mole from Wind in the Willows anytime. ANY. TIME.

PAGES AND CO.: THE BOOKWANDERERS: Yer a Bookwanderer, Tilly

A bookshop is like a map of the world.

Pages and Co.: The Bookwanderers, Anna James, 2o19

I found it, y’all. I found my new Harry Potter.

Of course, somebody somewhere has labeled every middle grade fantasy series written in the past two decades “the new Harry Potter,” and often that seems like a stretch. Beyond looking at sales numbers, finding that new special series is going to be an individual thing. It’s about feeling.

And that feeling? That bubbly, happy sensation of encountering a fun story about a whimsical, alternate version of our reality in which magic exists? In which you wish you could just lose yourself forever? The same feeling that many people – not everyone, certainly, but lots of us – felt when reading the Harry Potter books for the first time? Reading The Bookwanderers was like that for me. I want to live in this book. Which probably explains why I loved it so much, considering that living in books is the whole point of this book.

the story

The novel follows Tilly Pages, a young girl who lives with her loving grandparents, who live next door to the family’s London bookshop, which sounds like the most wondrously cozy bookshop in the history of ever. (Did I mention I want to live in this book? I want to live in this book. Specifically in said bookshop, Pages & Co.)

Tilly has never known her father, and her mother mysteriously disappeared years ago under circumstances that her grandparents refuse to discuss. So, you know, the usual middle grade fantasy stuff. After Tilly tentatively befriends Oskar, the boy across the street, she notices characters from her favorite children’s books mysteriously appearing in the shop as she reads. She also discovers that she can travel into books with the characters – and she can bring Oskar with her. Eventually, her grandparents reveal that she comes from a long line of “bookwanderers:” essentially, people who read so intensely that they can magically travel into books (or pull characters out of books) while reading them. Tilly’s grandparents take the two children to the British Underlibrary, the large and magical library in charge of monitoring the practice of British bookwandering. Think the Ministry of Magic, except book magic. (The best kind of magic.) Turns out the Pages used to work at the Underlibrary before resigning under mysterious circumstances.

[FROM HERE THERE BE SPOILERS. YE HAVE BEEN WARNED.]

As Tilly and Oskar begin their bookwandering training by visiting various children’s books, they notice a sinister employee of the Underlibrary, Enoch Chalk, stalking them through their various book adventures. With good reason: Tilly turns out to have special bookwandering abilities because…wait for it…she’s half fictional! Her father was a character from a book, and for various reasons that I won’t spoil, Enoch also trapped Tilly’s mother in a copy of A Little Princess. It’s up to Tilly and Oskar to rescue Tilly’s mother and expose Enoch’s treachery.

the babble

Like I said, it’s as though Anna James sat down and thought, “Hmm, like the Harry Potter template…except BOOKS. And a secret society of magical librarians.” Which is 100% relevant to my interests and tastes, so I’m here for it.

This book will satisfy not only young readers, but older readers who enjoy YA books and want to relive their old classic favorites like Anne of Green Gables, Alice and Wonderland, and such through a new lens. One of the novel’s greatest pleasures is watching James capture the feeling of those earlier classics to create brand-new scenes involving our protagonists while they bookwander. So The Bookwanderers is a treat for bibliophiles…and for Anglophiles, too. It is unapologetically BRITISH, like many of the classics it attempts to evoke. (Aside from Oskar and his mum, diversity doesn’t seem to be a big priority for this series.) If that’s not your jam, you may not care for it.

The world building here is exquisite. I love the rules of bookwandering, I love the literalism of the British Underlibrary hovering underneath the British Library (*drool*), I love the varying philosophies on bookwandering and what it means and how to use it. Most of all, I love Pages & Co. itself. Can I please live there?

This isn’t a super deep novel, but not every novel needs to be. It’s deep in the sense that it addresses the sacred connection that many of us feel to certain books, as adults and certainly as children (and for many of us, as adults looking back to when we were children). It is charming, witty, and fast-paced, and it leaves you with a warm glow in your chest. It’s going on my cheer-me-up shelf.

rating

***1/2 out of 4

random babble

  • Did I mention that Pages & Co is multiple stories tall and contains a tea/coffee shop, and that Jack, who seems to be the only employee, sounds delightful? And that it’s in London? Gah.
  • Of all the classic characters James brings in, I think she captures Anne the best, but your mileage may vary.
  • I love Enoch Chalk’s motivation. The discussion of forgotten books is so poignant.
  • Okay, I know I haven’t written a review about this one yet, but has anyone else read this book and also The Starless Sea by Erin Morgenstern (if not, you need to) and noticed that they’re basically the same book in adult and children’s versions, and they came out at similar times? Even down to the important bee symbol. Spooky.

HELLO, UNIVERSE Review: Character Study Done Right

When the Universe is ready to speak, it will.

Hello Universe, Erin Entrada Kelly, 2017

Once upon a time, before every single eleven-year-old in a book seemed mandated to face off with magical creatures, wizards, ancient gods, evil governments, and/or a Chosen One Destiny, children in children’s books used to ponder cosmic questions while dealing with neighborhood bullies. Or obnoxious siblings. Or parents who gave them embarrassing nicknames. Hello Universe manages to be a novel in that classic mold, while also allowing its young heroes to ask questions about Life, the Universe, and Fate.

I came to this book already a big fan of Erin Entrada Kelly’s spectacular fantasy Lalani of the Distant Sea, which I will get around to reviewing here one of these days. (It’s SO GOOD, you guys. One of the most beautifully written middle grade fantasies I’ve ever read.) I was curious to see how Kelly writes realistic fiction. Answer: brilliantly.

the story

Hello Universe shifts points of view between four young characters. Valencia: brilliant, dealing with hearing impairment, strong-willed, and secretly lonely. Virgil: shy, awkward, outwardly lonely, best friends with his grandmother and his pet guinea pig. Kaori: confident, compassionate, a self-proclaimed mystic. Chet: an insecure bully whom you’ll want to punch in the face. All four children live in the same neighborhood. Virgil is friends with Kaori (so far he’s the only “client” for the physic business she runs out of her bedroom), he’s one of Chet’s favorite targets for bullying, and he secretly wishes he could be friends with (or maybe even middle-school date?) Valencia. Unfortunately, he’s too shy to approach Valencia.

[FROM HERE THERE BE SPOILERS. YE HAVE BEEN WARNED.]

Valencia decides to contact Kaori for dream advice after a series of recurring nightmares. On a the same day as her psychic appointment, when Virgil is heading toward Kaori’s house for his own appointment, he runs into Chet on the way. Chet, never one to resist a chance to bully Virgil, steals Virgil’s backpack and throws it down an old well — not knowing that Virgil’s beloved guinea pig, Gulliver, is in the backpack. (I hate Chet. Kelly does a great job humanizing him, and I still hate him.) From here, the story takes off: Virgil climbs down into the well to rescue his guinea pig, Valencia unknowingly traps him in the well on her way to Kaori’s house, and the rest of the novel is a race against time as Kaori, Valencia, and Kaori’s little sister Gen try to find Virgil before he runs out of oxygen and hope. Needless to say, Virgil and Valencia finally meet. AND GULLIVER IS OKAY WHICH IS WHAT REALLY MATTERS.

the babble

Just like Lalani, this book is gorgeously written – and much funnier than its immediate predecessor. These kids feel so REAL. This is a neighborhood story, set in a diverse neighborhood that feels lived-in. Kelly creates four (I would argue five, including Gen) distinct character voices, in writing that ranges from irreverent texting exchanges to poetic musings about mythical creatures of darkness.

Valencia and Virgil are well-sketched characters in the traditional middle grade fiction mode: lonely, misunderstood, far from the top of the social food chain at school, and trying to hide their suffering and angst from their respective families. I’m not the right person to pass informed judgement on such things, but it seemed to me that Valencia’s hearing impairment was treated with detailed sensitivity, and it didn’t solely define her character. Kelly establishes these two characters’ similarities enough to create the sense of fate pulling them together as potential friends, while also making them fully distinct as individuals.

It’s the other two characters who really caught my fancy. First, Chet. Like I said, I hate him — but I do sympathize with him a little bit, which means that Kelly has done her job effectively. Not many authors for this age group attempt to write from the bully’s point of view. Chet plays an integral part in this story, and rather than leave him as the common boogeyman, as most children’s novels might, Hello Universe tells at least part of the story looking at the world through Chet’s eyes. I actually wish we had gotten another chapter or two from Chet.

But now let’s talk about Kaori, because I’ve been waiting this whole blog post to talk about Kaori.

Kaori Tanaka might be one of my favorite middle grade characters of all time, and I would gladly read an entire book just about her relationship with Gen, who is also fantastic. Kelly has created such a confident point of view for this character: Kaori is the rare twelve-year-old who knows exactly who she is, feels comfortable in her skin, and can reach out to others in a sensitive way. Every single Kaori chapter is a priceless, often hilarious internal monologue. But – and this is important – Kelly never makes fun of Kaori. She celebrates her confidence and her interests. Maybe it’s Kelly’s prowess as a writer, maybe it’s because I was also obsessed with occult and psychic stuff when I was in middle school, but I adored Kaori and her pesky assistant sister from the start. I could use some advice from her “spirit room” myself, but alas, “NO ADULTS” allowed.

Basically, this novel has everything: it will make you laugh, it will make you cry, it will make you incredibly nervous for poor Virgil even as you realize this is a children’s book so of course he’s probably going to be fine. Highly recommend.

rating

**** out of 4

RANDOM BABBLE

  • Like most bullies with backstory, Chet seems to have daddy issues. But I appreciate that Kelly paints the father as a powerful business man, someone who enjoys using his privilege to punch down then invites Chet in on the joke. We get to see Chet grapple with his discomfort in these situations, while imitating it later.
  • I love the various characters’ personal treasures — Kaori’s spirit stones, Valenica’s wildlife journal, Gen’s jump rope.
  • Kelly uses third person past tense for chapters from Virgil’s, Kaori’s, and Chet’s points of view, while using first person present tense for Valencia chapters. That’s so fascinating. I have some guesses why, but haven’t fully puzzled it out yet. What do you think?

THE PARKER INHERITANCE Review: It’s Time to Retire HUCK FINN

I grew up in the Deep South, about a ten minute drive from the North Carolina/South Carolina border. I later lived in Atlanta for almost ten years. I know the places in this novel. My childhood home sits on the state highway mentioned in Chapter 26.

And holy shit, I really, REALLY wish this novel had been part of the Language Arts curriculum when I was in middle school. I’m pretty sure no middle grade novels quite like this existed in the 90’s.

I’d planned to write my first book post through the lens of the COVID-19 pandemic, but in the time it’s taken me to sit down and write again, a terrifying deadly virus sweeping the globe has stopped dominating current event headlines. So in light of the long-overdue revolution happening across America (and the globe), and because I just finished The Parker Inheritance by Varian Johnson before reading it for a storytime, I’ll write about this one first instead.

Mostly, what I want to write is this: READ THIS BOOK. JUST READ IT, NO MATTER YOUR AGE. Go buy it (preferably from an indie bookstore, even more preferably from a black-owned indie bookstore) and read it right now. If you’re looking for new middle grade fiction by authors of color, featuring fantastic lead characters of color, I can’t think of a better place to start.

The story

Twelve-year old Candice Miller is not at all pleased to be living with her mother in her late grandmother’s house for the summer, stuck in a small town in South Carolina called Lambert. She misses her friends, her house, and her father, all of them back in Atlanta. Things start to look up a little, however, when she befriends Brandon–the shy boy across the street who devours library books as quickly as she does–and when she stumbles across a letter in the attic addressed to her grandmother. The letter is a challenge and a quest: full of puzzles and riddles about Lambert’s racist history. The person who solves the puzzles will earn the town of Lambert millions of dollars from a mysterious benefactor. It turns out that Candice’s grandmother, Abigail, the first black City Manager of Lambert, ruined her career by trying to solve the puzzle ten years before and was forced to leave town in disgrace.

From here the story takes off: Candice and Brandon work feverishly to solve the puzzle, trying to find the money and clear Abigail’s name. Hopping through the decades and told from multiple character perspectives, the novel slowly unfolds a story about racist oppression and violence in this small Southern town, and the ways that racism continues to threaten people of color in Lambert in the current day.

the babble

Varian Johnson has pulled off a marvel with this book. The publisher recommends The Parker Inheritance for ages 8-12, and while some eight year olds might struggle with the acts of the racist Lambert citizens detailed in flashbacks, the book feels age-appropriate to me.

[FROM HERE THERE BE SPOILERS. YE HAVE BEEN WARNED.]

Yet Johnson doesn’t pull any punches or sugar coat his topic: his novel tackles the ugliness and violence and mania of white supremacy head on, especially in the harrowing account of Lambert’s infamous 1957 tennis game and its violent aftermath. Readers will be terrified for Reggie and Big Dub and Siobhan — and they should be. What I love is that the novel doesn’t paint racism as a comfortably cut-and-dry topic, dividing the world into white supremacists of the 1950’s and everybody else. Chip, trying to be a progressive ally in the 1950’s, screws up big time and makes life harder for the very people he’s trying to help. (Oh, Chip. More on him below.) The high school vice principal adopts a racist attitude when he suspects and verbally attacks Candice and Brandon, simply for existing on school property after hours. Brandon’s older sister drives extra slowly because she is terrified of giving a cop any excuse to pull her over. The book points out that Lambert still has a very clear line between the black and white neighborhoods in town. The Parker Inheritance even addresses intraracial prejudice through the arcs for Reggie, Big Dub, and Adam Douglas.

And all this makes it sound like I’m describing a super dour novel, or an “issue” novel, but I’m not! It is sad and horrifying and suspenseful, but it is also fun, and funny, and immensely hopeful. We get to hang out with Candice and Brandon at the library while they talk about books. We get to watch Candice and Brandon counter homophobia with acceptance. We get to see these two amazing protagonists triumph. We get to solve the puzzle along with them. And — most unusually for a middle grade book full of suspense — we also grow to care for the adults in the protagonists’ world as well.

Literary legacy is a funny thing. The only book I remember reading during my K-12 years that addressed racism head-on was that stalwart classic, The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn. Which, don’t get me wrong, is an excellent book. It’s a classic for a reason. And it’s also the subject of plenty of controversy these days when used as a classroom title.

I don’t believe in censoring books, or removing them from the public sphere. If you want your kid to read Huck Finn, go for it. Buy it or check it out from your local library. But great as it is, that novel about racism was written by a [brilliant] white guy in 1886. For so long, we didn’t have many other options.

The Parker Inheritance was written NOW, by an immensely talented author of color, and it doesn’t banish American racism to a comfortable past. It talks about slavery AND racism in the 1950’s AND racism now. It also talks about kids who love to read, and what it feels like to be a middle schooler navigating bullies and the social structure, and what it feels like to have your parents go through a divorce, and what it feels like to miss your beloved dead grandparent, and what it feels like to find a clever solution that the adults around you missed. It is beautifully and cleverly written, it is fun and unflinching at the same time. It will be an education for just about any middle schooler (or high schooler, honestly) who reads it.

Basically, there’s no real need to teach Huck Finn anymore, when we can teach books like The Parker Inheritance instead. In this case, it might be time to retire the classic and work on establishing a new classic.

rating

**** out of 4

random babble

  • Oh man, Chip’s mistake with Reggie and the Cokes is SO UNCOMFORTABLE, folks. I cringed so hard I dropped the book. And that’s exactly how I should feel. That’s exactly the type of discomfort this book makes people like me sit with. Allies screw up, too. All the time.
  • Honestly, I love the way that Chip’s arc is handled. He doesn’t get the girl. He accepts that. He helps the way he is needed. He may be clueless, but when everything is on the line, he does the work. And it sounds like he keeps doing the work for the rest of his life.
  • I love the way that Reggie’s arc plays out as well, mostly. Definitely didn’t see that big twist coming. And I love that Siobhan calls him out on his shit when he finds her again. I’m not sure how I feel about how forgiving she is toward Lambert, but then again, I’m not the right person to pass any sort of judgement on that arc.
  • Good lord, this book just packs in SO MUCH, all of it deftly handled. The many facets of racism. Bullying. Divorce. Coming out. Grief. And did I mention it also manages to be fun and enjoyable?
  • For younger readers in that 8-12 category: don’t be fooled by Scholastic’s printing. They’ve tried to disguise how dense this book is by making it look the normal size as other middle grade novels, but I noticed that the font size and the line spacing are both smaller than usual.

Oh, and in case I didn’t make it clear how I feel about the topic: