From TAB, CK writes:This was a wonderful and profound book. I truly enjoyed it. The boy (Clay's) thoughts were kind of annoying at first but soon it just fell right in with the rest of the story.
After many years of running this bookblog my life has shifted a bit. I will continue to review books I am reading but will be adding in TV and movie reviews as well. Enjoy! Check out my companion blog: http://dcvegeats.blogspot.com/
From TAB, CK writes:
This biographical graphic novel is definitely unique. At first, I thought I liked it, but as time wore on (I was constantly interrupted while trying to read it), I found I liked it less and less. The author is an artist who chronicles the life of his British parents from their meeting in the 1920s through their deaths in the 1970s. The book is broken up into chapters by decades, but the story itself is rather snapshot-like, with small interchanges, sometimes seemingly inconsequential, between the couple as their relationship grows. One wonders what Raymond Briggs thought of his parents, as their portraits are fairly unapologetic. Perhaps it is a British “thing”, but the two people he reveals in this book are deeply flawed and fairly unlikable. Was I missing the charm of “those crazy things we put up with from our loved ones” or was this Mr. Briggs’ chance to work out a few demons? I’d like to believe the former, but the word “love” didn’t seem to appear anywhere in the text. His character, as a young boy and then growing man, is scolded, molded, but rarely hugged. We see criticism, but not the kind of “guiding lessons” one would wish to have as memories from your parents when they are gone. Maybe that’s the point – that we all crave a parent/child relationship that is, essentially, myth. Hard to say. The book was engaging. The colorful watercolor and colored pencil drawings are drawn with amazing specificity, and the bold text grabs your eye. Some devices, such as using a single bubble to enclose the dialog of two characters, creates a little humor. In terms of presentation, this was a page-turner. It’s just that the book as a whole left me a little cold … and when you are writing the saga of your family, one would hope for even a single drop of warmth.
In Ms. Anderson’s first book with a male protagonist we meet Tyler Miller, a n’er-do-well Senior who is definitely not in the popular crowd. In many ways, he is the typical teen boy. He fights with his sister but loves her, he aches for a look from the pretty popular girl and he blocks out the struggles in his life by focusing on getting from one level to another in a computer game that takes you to hell and back. The game is a metaphor for his life and the arc in this book. Tyler is a good kid who somehow just keeps getting sucked up into one mini-disaster after another, mostly for having the audacity to want more in life. The book is 90% humorous and 10% deadly serious. The funny parts were very true to life and had me laughing out loud. The serious part makes the opening warning “This is not a book for children” abundantly clear. Tyler has parents who have issues, and like in many teenage books, those issues run deeper than our lead character would like to admit. When Tyler’s life spins out of control he has no support system – and you might guess where things go from there (I’d rather not provide any spoilers). Laurie Halse Anderson’s terse style works well here to build anticipation and keep the story careening forward. It is that style, and her very realistic take on the inside-the-head life of teens that makes her such a compelling writer for me. Consider this one another novel in the “win” column and enjoy. But if you are a middle schooler, you might want to wait a few years to enjoy it.
Oh my goodness. Zusak, a bit of an Australian prodigy, has surpassed his impressive earlier works with a true masterpiece. A tale of World War II Germany, narrated by Death, the story reads like a haiku. In a book that is very much about words, every phrase here seems specifically chosen and crafted. Told in a series of snapshots, young Liesel (the aforementioned book thief) is just a normal kid in an extraordinary time. We watch her play soccer in the street and eat ration food night after night. She befriends the other pre-teens in her poverty-stricken neighborhood and is remarkably resilient despite the many setbacks that cross her path. The politics of Nazi Germany are present, they drive the events of the novel, but they are not the point. Abandoning one of the first rules of authorship, Markus Zusak has his narrator reveal the fate of everyone in the book, even jumping ahead to cover some of the climax right from the beginning. The end is also not the point. As Death makes it clear, we all die. Perhaps the point is the journey. From a literary standpoint, Zusak tends to flip things on their heads and comes up with brilliant ways of revealing the commonplace as something miraculous. The choice to have Death narrate this tale provides emotional distance but also allows the readers to experience a rather inevitable story with a fresh perspective. It packs a heck of a punch. These 550 pages read quickly, but I would suggest taking the time to read reflectively. Eat these words slowly, so as to absorb all their richness.
“And Dinah the daughter of Leah, which she bare unto Jacob, went out to see the daughters of the land. And when Shechem the son of Hamor the Hivite, prince of the country, saw her, he took her, and lay with her, and defiled her.” Genesis, 34: 1-2.
The first of Ms. Rennison’s growing series about British n’er-do-well teenager, Georgia Nicolson, this diary-format book was a laugh-out-loud winner for me. Featuring one year in the life of the most moody, angsty teen one might ever meet, the book drips with sarcasm. Her interest in school is in the negative numbers, her parents are loons (in her personal opinion) and her overweight feral cat, Angus, has the instincts of a Siberian Tiger. What little human compassion can be found in this girl is reserved for her little sister – sticky and slobbery, but cute. Georgia’s great efforts at life are spent trying to be friends with fellow teens she doesn’t really care for, trying to get fashionable hair, and pursuing the impossible guy … the attractive older “sex god” who works at the local green grocer’s. Taken at face value, it could be seen as whiney, but one could never take this book at face value. The stuttering additions to most of the entries (1 and 2am one liners) only add more hilarity to the over the top “drama” covering each entry. And don’t forget to read the “British-American” glossary at the back. It had me on the floor.
This National Book Award winner and TAB title has been on my “need to read” list for a while. One of those few books left that is clearly a middle school book, I don’t see it appealing to many of our students. In a time when contemporary urban stories are popular, the book is set in small-town Texas in 1971. One of the themes includes Christian redemption and the protagonists are all male – in a book with virtually no action. None of which is to say it is a bad book. I just think it would take a more reflective reader to appreciate it. Perhaps it could find a home with niche readers. It is a charming story in many ways and the characters are drawn richly. The religious theme, along with the other plotlines (mostly of loss), is gently written. And perhaps that is the point of the story. Focusing on 13 year-old Toby and his friend Cal, the tale unfolds when a 600+ pound teen is brought to the town of “Antler, TX” as a sideshow attraction. Humanizing the freak becomes a journey that allows each of the characters to deal with their own internal struggles. It is not a sad book, just a sweet one. There is discovery and there is growth, but mostly it felt like a slice of life. It’s a worthy read should someone come across it.
This complex novel won the Printz Award in 2008 for best Young Adult Fiction. It is easy to see why it has been listed as “notable” on a number of lists, but it is arguably a young adult novel. The protagonist is 14, yes, but this is a mature tale full of strong literary themes – the 369 pages were dense and required a great deal of “thinking” as I read, and it was the second book I had read this summer that began with a quote from Milton’s “Paradise Lost”. Much like an antithesis to “Into the Wild”, our lead character is acutely aware of the dangers around her and deeply wants to survive. The events were somewhat implausible, but like “Moby Dick”, I felt it was the internal journey and the metaphors that mattered most. There are lies, madness and death in this story, aptly titled “The White Darkness”. The title refers to night in Antarctica, a time when you can lose your way and see things that aren’t there. It is a kind of paradox, and Sym, the young girl at the heart of the book, is someone living a paradox. Her imagination seems to be the most real thing to her, and her reality is full of people who are not what they seem. The author helpfully provides a history of the doomed expedition of Captain Robert Falcon Scott to the South Pole, but much of the book includes detailed discussions of the Antarctic land mass – readers who have never spent time on a glacier might want to research that a tad before diving in…it will help your understanding of the variations and sameness of such a place (again, a paradox with symbolism). At the end, Ms. McCaughrean lists her acknowledgements beginning with a quote from Kafka, “A book must be an ice axe to break the sea frozen inside us.” And with such words I just began to understand the depths to be plumbed here, and in the rainbow colored ice. Hopefully, this book will be found by readers who can appreciate its many shadings.
“Aquamarine” is the story of two best friends spending their final days together in a summertime beach club. Their sadness is changed suddenly when they make an amazing discovery at the bottom of the pool. This popular “tween” book was made into a well-rated film in 2006 by Fox Pictures. I didn’t see it because I wanted to read the book first. I’ve been intrigued by the fandom of this brief little mermaid tale (just over 100 pages) and by adult author Alice Hoffman’s move to teen-focused fables. I read the story in one sitting and while it was enjoyable, I found it perhaps too brief. It’s a strange complaint – I felt I got the whole story and a good sense of the characters, but it just seemed a little “stripped down”. Perhaps it was a need for a better sense of context? Not the setting, which was also made quite clear, but something intangible, perhaps where the story “sits” in a larger sense. I’m now curious to see the movie, which would have to flesh out the bare bones narrative with something – and I’m curious to see what I seem to be missing. “Green Angel”, another of Hoffman’s new books, is supposed to be for a slightly older reader. I hope to check out that one as well. In the meantime, I think this book works for “tweens” and as a “hi/lo” title.
Take Harry Potter, mix in a touch of “Little Women” and “Little Princess”, and you get Libba Bray’s “Gemma Doyle Trilogy”. I had meant to read “A Great and Terrible Beauty”, which was a New York Times bestseller. Instead, I grabbed “Rebel Angels” by mistake (it’s an honest mistake, the covers are quite similar). Called a “companion novel”, it is clearly a sequel. I realized my boo-boo several chapters in as exposition went on a bit to cover the events of the first book, some two months previous in the timeline. While I now feel like I don’t need to read the first book, this second title was quite engaging. Is it derivative? Highly. It is also fairly predictable at points, but credit should be given to Ms. Bray for finding an excellent blend between the realities of industrial England in the 1890s and the magical realms visited by our heroines. She has a good narrative style (told in first person) that made the book a page-turner, and she finds threads that will clearly appeal to modern teens, such as the plump girl who cannot find acceptance (and is a cutter) and the snobby girl who holds a dark family secret. I particularly liked the internal journey of the lead character, Miss Gemma Doyle, in the arc of this book. She begins as a typical prep school teen, her manners barely covering the giggly social misfit that most girls seem to become at one point or another. By the book’s end, however, she has glimmers of the adult woman, as she begins to see the world through a larger, more reflective lens. The conclusion is satisfying, but kudos again to Ms. Bray, who didn’t tie everything up neatly, and, like Philip Pullman, is willing to let bad stuff happen to good people. It was also a book that kept me up at night – plowing through the 500+ pages because I didn’t want to put it down. Unlike the Twilight series, I look forward to reading the third in this series, “The Sweet Far Thing”.
For the last year and a half, my book club students have insisted that I read the hottest tome on the market today … Stephenie Meyer’s “Twilight”. While the young folk have been downright fanatical about anything coming from the pen of Ms. Meyer, the adult reception has been, by and large, cool. With the summer came time to peruse this 498 page book, and I now have to say I am firmly on the fence. On one hand, I find it the fluffiest of fluffy reads, on the other hand, I do understand the teen fascination. “Twilight” is yet another vampire tale (no complaints here, I love my bloodsuckers). This time the story takes place in rural Washington state. There is Bella, a 17 year-old angst-filled teen and recent transplant, then there is the pretty Edward Cullen and his beautiful family – a group of pale-skinned young folk with a noted lack of appetite … for cafeteria food, anyway. The predictable happens and anti-social Bella falls for anti-social Edward. Secrets are revealed and longing is had. Ms. Myers uses up her thesaurus with synonyms for “perfect” as Bella thinks about (almost) every part of Edward’s anatomy, while simultaneously wallowing in her own tremendous lack of self-esteem. Edward rescues his damsel in distress over and over again with the caveat that while he “really really loves her” he can never be “with” her because he is, at heart, a bad boy who will hurt her. And herein lies the symbolism that makes vampire tales, particularly with “good” vampires, so attractive. You have the whole blood thing, which acknowledges the maturation of young women, and is, at its core, about sex. Then there is the full-fledged adult man (vampires having lived a while regardless of their looks) who are desired but also scary. The good vampire is ideal – the lusty female protagonists can acknowledge their feelings but remain in a safe place. “Twilight” manages to capture a lot of this, although it is badly in need of an editor and the main character, Bella, could use some of Buffy’s sense of self. In fact, much of the first book in this series feels like an overwrought and less clever version of the Buffy/Angel tale. Bottom line is that it was a fun, and surprisingly fast, read, but I’m not running out to get the sequel, “New Moon”. In a rare moment, I’ll say this is a great book for the young, but readers over 21 might prefer Anne Rice’s moody, conflicted vamps to the G-rated folks in these books … unless you are looking for something mindless on a warm summer night to make you go “ahhhh”.
Nine months. That’s how long it took me to read this book. In part, it took that long because I am a slow reader and this is simply a long book, and in part, it took that long because I had to keep putting it down to read new YA books gaining some notoriety. But the truth is, this book isn’t ~that~ long (448 pages of teeny-tiny type), it’s just ***dense***. This isn’t so much a novel as it is an epic – an epic that spans two decades (with meanderings back to WWII and the Jamaican earthquake of 1907) and three families. There is Archie, a stereotypical lower-class Englishman, a virtual Babbitt of his unremarkable world. There is Clara, his second wife, a Jamaican. There is Samad, Archie’s best friend, a thoroughly British Bengali with a crippled hand, and his wife Alsana. Then there are the Chalfens, a family that manages to make the worst liberal stereotypes look tame. Archie is a paper-folder, Samad a waiter. Both are pretty much miserable, and their children, starved of any level of emotional support from their parents, end up miserable as well. The book does have humor – in an arch, sarcastic, dark way. If you found “Running With Scissors” to be a laugh riot, you will enjoy the dysfunctional family fun here. And it is extremely well-written – with the kind of literary merit that turns books into classics. A sample: “She wore her sexuality with an older woman’s ease, and not (as with most of the girls Archie had run with in the past) like an awkward purse, never knowing how to hold it, where to hang it, or when to just put it down.” Nothing is left without history – every room, every passerby, is given a detailed, Dickensonian history. All of this made it very rich, very deep reading. Aside from the extreme “British-isms” and the vernacular speech patterns (written phonetically) for many of the characters, I think many would find this to be an extremely strong debut novel. But did I like it? It wasn’t engrossing in the traditional sense. Some of the paragraphs go on longer than a page (or even two) and the pacing is more of an observatory style than one of a driving plot. Instead of wanting to turn the page and see “what happens next” I found myself slowing down to digest what I had just read. The characters are deeply flawed, at times morally questionable, and have little growth over this twenty year snapshot. Aside from the build-up to a rather inevitable event, there is little difference between the beginning of the book and the end. The author has much to say – I’m just not sure what all of it is. The ending, which I read three times to understand, seemed to indicate that life is essentially cyclical – the past drives us in the same paths over and over. And yet Ms. Smith seems to resent a focus on the past, often having the character of Irie (Archie’s daughter and the seeming author mouthpiece) wax on about the suffocating nature of living inside memory. There are also many cultural issues raised. What it means to be British, what it means to be an ethnic or religious British minority, what it means to be a British citizen whose family comes from a land conquered by the British. Only the questions, not the answers, are provided. (It is easy to see why this book is so popular with book clubs…) Zadie Smith’s characters are at once both archetypes and individuals. They aren’t truly the anti-heroes that seem to populate every aspect of our culture these days, but they aren’t good people, either. Ms. Smith does deserve congratulations on keeping her characters true to their nature, and, for the most part, refusing to make comment on their choices. In the end, I have to say (in the style of the book), that I really don’t know how I felt about this book. I appreciated its value without falling in love. It made me think, but left a lot of questions. If you have some time to devote, you may want to dive in – but it is not the kind of book you can dip your toe into, so be prepared.
In doing a unit on graphic novels, I set this one out after skimming it. Although it has its fair share of PG-13 content (“S” words are said, while the “F words” are blanked out), the “relations between adults” are shown with underwear rather than full-on nakedness. The opening birthing scene, however, left the kids in a fit of giggling so it was put aside for use by some of our older readers. In reading through it I felt torn. Clearly, this is a left-wing publication that triumphs the voice of the IMF protestors, anarchists and the like. They have some valid points: We have damaged our world, and ourselves, perhaps beyond repair, by focusing on power and greed. The lead character, Victor Evertor, is raised by parents who judge and hate and he follows the predictable path of using an ROTC uniform to hide his bullying tendencies. He is a womanizer who loves neither his wife nor his children, but is willing to sacrifice all – even his own life – to be at the top of his perceived “mountain of success”. Binky is the social consciousness of the piece, and follows Victor from birth to “brink of death” with chidings to be a better man. The artwork succeeds in conveying complex emotions (anger, in particular) and the simple line drawings are good accompaniment to the extensive text (this actually took some time to read). My only problem with the images is that the character of Victor is sometimes hard to discern in the groupings of businessmen, as his visage changes with age and mood throughout the book. My bigger issue with the story is that it is almost too leftist … which is saying a lot, coming from me. Do I believe in the total overthrow of all corporations? No. Do I think that all companies are essentially evil at heart? No. It is in the broad characterizations and stereotypes that this story fails. While I do know someone like Victor, someone who seemingly has no love for humanity, I find it hard to believe he is real. Victor, his meek then emancipated wife, his resentful kids, his Vietnam war soldier brother who goes from addict to granola-munching kayaker – it’s all just a little too flat. We live in a complex world, and solving the problems we face (media manipulation, the power of big brother, consumerism without understanding of consequences) requires complex and layered thinking. An attempt to understand the forces that create monolithic industries, and a visionary effort to move us into a myriad of possible “better” futures requires thinkers and doers, not simply condemnation. This book may spark some strong reactions, and that’s good, but the next step is to begin work on answers.
Finally! The two-month wait to get the Newbery title has been rewarded. It arrived yesterday and I was able to read it in a single afternoon. Chalking this one up to another esoteric pick by the arcane Newbery committee, I was pleasantly surprised by this off-beat and unusual award-winner. The book is a series of 21 monologues, meant to be performed by 23 young actors. The intertwined stories are those of villagers in the Middle Ages, and are accompanied by a number of brief informational sections describing historical roles and events. The monologues themselves include a number of notes and there is an extensive glossary as well. Although the work is meant for performance, it was enjoyable to read – and had quite a number of interesting facts that I was completely unaware of (although I fancy myself a decent historian when it comes to this period in time). The book works best when the author’s humor and cleverness comes out (including some arch comments about the crusades) but is a bit of a mystery in terms of who might pick it up. The detailed and well-matched illustrations by Robert Byrd are a perfect accompaniment to the text, but the book presents as a picture book. High schoolers will not pick it up for this reason, yet the text was a challenge for ~me~, so I hardly think younger children would “get” it. Many of the monologues are in verse, which I did find a bit challenging, as they don’t adhere strictly to any one form – sometimes rhyming, sometimes not, sometimes very metered but breaking the meter as needed. That was a minor distraction in reading text that seemed very legitimate in terms of language of the period. The book was entertaining, engrossing and enlightening, so try to find an hour or two to peruse it. I guarantee you will learn something you didn’t know before!
The following review was written by NW, from the 6th grade reading class:
The following review was written by DK, from the 6th grade reading class:
The following review was written by KL, from the 6th grade reading class:
The following review was written by SS, from the 6th grade reading class (see another review of "American Born Chinese" in the Previous Posts section):
The following review was written by AC, from the 6th grade reading class:
Tis the season of award-winners. Since things have been a tad slow, I’ve been able to work my way through a few of the books that have won awards for illustration. As always, it’s a complex and delightful grouping of books. So let’s hear it for picture books … they ain’t just for little kids any more!
Winner of the Caldecott Medal for Best Picture Book for Children
Caldecott Honor Book.
Winner of the Sibert Medal for Best Informational Book and a Caldecott Honor.
Caldecott Honor Book.
Winner of the Pura Belpré Award for Best Illustration of the Latino Experience, and an Honor Award in the Pura Belpré Author category.
This one is getting mixed reviews. Touted as a biography of Houdini in graphic novel form, it is really more of a snapshot. The introduction, written by Glen David Gold, is intriguing. Written in “plain speak” it comes to the point about who Houdini was, and wasn’t, and encourages the reader to really think about the impact of a life lived large. The panel discussions at the end are similarly interesting, providing some neat (and unknown) facts about the time period and various events portrayed. It is the “graphic novel” section itself that I struggled with. While the artwork is quite good – clean line drawings do a great job of creating a likeness of Houdini – the story is far too short and the dialog is campy. The entire “story” told here is that of five hours, and one escape, by this master of the art. And, while Houdini’s temper and his wife’s dedication were well-documented, they are depicted here with two-dimensional portrayals. Houdini is egotistical and mean, his wife never stops smiling and telling him how wonderful he is. It reminded me of those cartoons in the Sunday paper which show very “cleaned up” history. While some graphic novels are able to convey complexity and depth within their slim volumes, this isn’t one of them. I say, read the text at the beginning and end, then look for one of the other Houdini biographies to have come out lately (such as “The Secret Life of Houdini” by William Kalush and Larry Sloman). This book might make for an intriguing tease about the life of Harry Houdini, but it really only wets the appetite for something more substantial.
This wordless book is absolutely stunning. I’ve read it twice through and it still takes my breath away. Don’t be fooled by the “wordless” description. This is not a picture book for little kids (although some of the more sophisticated ones might enjoy it). The story, of a man immigrating to a new land, is told both clearly and symbolically. The artwork, a kind of sepia-toned print, is rich and powerful, and heavily influenced by one of my favorite artists, Hieronymus Bosch. Everyday actions, such as the man leaving his home and family, are combined with fantastical elements, such as the shadow of a dragon tail weaving itself through a town poised for destruction. The new world is full of unintelligible signs, strange creatures and bizarre machines … all of which makes this “stranger in a strange land” feel that much more isolated. The passage of time is beautifully depicted, by endless panels of clouds during his boat trip across a sea, and by plants blooming in the spring only to be covered in snow as winter progresses. The great thing about wordless books is their universality and their ability to be interpreted on deep and complex levels. Our lead character encounters many people along the way, none seem to be “from” this country, but all have stories about the struggles that drove them to seek a new home. As the American grandchild of immigrants, I saw this as a uniquely American experience, complete with Ellis Island. Imagine my surprise to discover that the author is Australian! Some of the images he used were from the Ellis Island archives, but much of this story comes from the immigration stories of Australians. As proof of the web of human experience, the book ends with a story much like those throughout its pages. An immigrant girl who has acclimated assists another “fresh off the boat” arrival. Each time I look at this image, I feel it drives its way further into my heart. This book is a joy. Take time to delve into it.
HYSTERICAL. This “novel in cartoons” is a very guy-centered depiction of young Greg as he begins middle school. Greg is not a wimp, nor is he a bad kid, but he is very much a “boy” and his attempts to do good while creating the most gain for himself had me laughing out loud. This fast read could be appreciated by younger readers as well as older ones. The font is large, made to look like hand printing on school ruled paper, and the cartoons are plentiful. The book borders on a graphic novel given the extensive images and the strong connection between picture and text. The drawings add emotional undertone to the words and the words convey subtleties in the cartoons (I love the Orphan Annie eyes on mom). As an older reader, I also enjoyed the book. The humor is obvious, but also arch and sardonic. If you have a free hour (our computers crashed and I got a chance to read for a change) then I highly recommend this book as an amusing diversion. (Side note: the author was local! He grew up in DC).