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Return to Sender by Julia Alvarez

As soon as I realized that this middle grade fiction book was about illegal immigrants from Mexico and particularly about the plight of children brought to the U.S. by their parents, I was looking for a political bias or for an author with an axe to grind. And I found it. This story was unabashedly sympathetic to the difficulties and even horrors experienced by these economic immigrants, and it had a message. From the author’s letter to readers at the end of the book:

“Many farmers from Mexico and Central America are forced to come north to work because they can no longer earn a living from farming. They make the dangerous border crossing with smugglers called coyotes, who charge them a lot of money and often take advantage. . . . National troops are being sent down to patrol the border. We are treating these neighbor countries and migrant helpers as if they were our worst enemies.”

I could argue with some of what Ms. Alvarez says. (Forced? We shouldn’t patrol our own border? Maybe some of them are our worst enemies?) However, I couldn’t help finding my own sympathies engaged with the immigrants in the story who are, I believe, emblematic of most of the immigrants who do come to the U.S. Mari and her family come to North Carolina, then to Vermont, in search of simple things: work, a place to live, and opportunity. Mari’s father, uncle, and cousin are hard workers, content with low pay and long hours and a difficult job on a dairy farm. Mari herself is an intelligent, obedient child who just wants to do well in school and take care of her little sisters in the absence of her mother.

Because Return to Sender is a novel, not an essay or a working paper, Ms. Alvarez only has to tell a good story and present more than one aspect of the issue. She fulfills that task. I didn’t feel as if I were being preached at or tricked into believing that all immigrants should be allowed free rein in the U.S. even though the author rather obviously believes something of the sort. The book is written partly from the point of view of Mari, who quickly becomes a sympathetic character, and partly from the viewpoint of Tyler, the eleven year old son of the farmer for whom Mari’s family, the Cruzes, work. Tyler’s feelings and actions are conflicted. He doesn’t understand why his parents are willing to break the law in hiring illegal immigrants even while they tell him that he must obey the laws and rules to be a good citizen. He doesn’t know what to do about his sympathy for Mari’s family and his respect for the law of the land. Tyler even does something he knows is wrong while justifying it to himself with excuses, unintentionally mirroring his parents’ actions. Tyler ultimately falls on the side of compassion and friendship for Mari and her family but not without some bumps along the way.

Tyler, his parents, Tyler’s grandmother who also befriends the Cruz family, the elderly anti-immigration Mr. Rossetti, even Mari and her family, none of them ever resolve the underlying questions that the novel raises. What do we, the United States, do about the thousands of illegal immigrants who cross the border every year? Can we find a way to accommodate them, allow them to work here, and still maintain some kind of security that keeps criminals and terrorists out? Are these immigrants an asset to our country and our work force that should be welcomed or a drain on our resources that should be shunned and criminalized? What about the children who come the United States with their parents or who are born in this country to parents who are here illegally? How can we be compassionate as a people and still maintain the rule of law? What should individuals who are confronted with these situations do? Is it morally wrong, even if it is illegal, to hire people who want to work and whose work you need to keep your business or farm going? Is it morally wrong for people to cross a border to find work? Would you do the same thing if your family were living in poverty with no other way out?

Ms. Alvarez doesn’t really have answers for those questions. I don’t either. But we had better start talking about them seriously and effectively. This novel might be a good start to that conversation for middle school children, particularly if a teacher or other adult can bring out all the nuances and conflicting opinions on this issue. Yes, the book is biased in favor of the open immigration, and it repeated the obligatory, but annoying, slogan of the environmentalists: “we are citizens of the world, and you can save the planet.” Still, the characters and the plot are engaging, and the book could provoke a good, healthy discussion.

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One or more of these books is also nominated for a Cybil Award, but the views expressed here are strictly my own.

Grief, Guilt, and Recovery in Four Cybils’ Middle Grade Fiction Books

The Last Invisible Boy by Evan Kuhlman.

Gone From These Woods by Donna Bailey Seagraves.

Love, Aubrey by Suzanne LaFleur.

The Girl Who Threw Butterflies by MIck Cochrane.

Disclaimer: There are some spoilers in these reviews. I couldn’t discuss the books otherwise. If you just want to know the general subject, see the title of this post and go read one or all of them. The Last Invisible Boy uses metaphor and imagination to deal with the grieving process in a creative way. Love, Aubrey is about a girl whose father and little sister have died in an accident and whose mother is so immersed in her own grief that she neglects Aubrey. In The Girl Who Threw Butterflies Molly deals with grief by using baseball as both therapy and metaphor. And Gone From These Woods is about a hunting accident. Read on only if you want to know more.

Betsy-Bee and I already discussed Love, Aubrey by Suzanne LaFleur in this post a couple of weeks ago. I reviewed The Girl Who Threw Butterflies, which I loved, here. I don’t have much to add, except that Aubrey and Molly seem much more resilient than the boys in the other two books featured here.

In The Last Invisible Boy twelve year old Finn Garrett is convinced that he is slowly fading into invisibility after his father’s sudden death caused by a heart attack. Everyone else in the book is also convinced that something is wrong with Finn since his hair has faded to white and his skin has become “as pale as a ghost’s.” I never quite understood what it was that was really happening to Finn, but I decided to just go with it, willing suspension and all that jazz. Obviously, Finn feels like “the Bleached-Out Nearly Invisible Boy,” so metaphor or fantasy or reality, it’s where Finn is, anyway.

And where he continues to be for almost 230 pages. The book is h-e-a-v-y, even though Finn gives the reader permission to take a break and go play outside. Finn has a lot of feelings to work through, and his grief and anger and guilt feel real. As bibliotherapy, the book might work, or might be such a downer that the child reading it would go into a major depression. I don’t know. As a picture of what it feels like to lose a parent and how grief is a process that takes time and energy and even decisions to feel better eventually, the book would be of interest to a certain type of psychoanalytic or morbidly curious child. That’s not a criticism, by the way; I have more than one “mordibly curious” child, and I’m a bit that way myself. I just don’t know if I could read this one, or if I would recommend reading it, when grief is fresh and personal.

Gone From These Woods is a more straightforward narrative about a boy, eleven year old Daniel Sartain, who accidentally shoots his favorite uncle and surrogate father, Clay, while the two are hunting. The accident is fatal, and Daniel feels like a monster. The book is not anti-hunting, although it seems to me as if it might a good book to give to a young man who’s going hunting for the first or the fortieth time to remind him to be careful. Daniel has to deal with not only grief, but also an overwhelming sense of guilt, since the shot that killed his uncle came from Daniel’s shotgun, even if it did go off accidentally. In fact, Daniel is so depressed that he nearly commits suicide, but his uncle’s memory keeps him from completing that desperate act. It is doubly sad that Daniel is bereft of his uncle and also of almost all support in dealing with his uncle’s death, since Daniel’s father is an alcoholic with his own demons of guilt and abusiveness.

I found this book to be “morbidly fascinating,” too. I’ll try it out on Karate Kid, but he may have too sunny a disposition for this kind of reading.

What about you? Do you have any “grief books” that you find especially insightful and even enjoyable to read? I define a grief book as one in which someone dies at the beginning, and the main character spends the book dealing with his or her grief and healing. Any suggestions, either for adults or for children? Come to think of it this recent read by Elizabeth Berg was a “grief book,” and I enjoyed it, too.

Amazon Affiliate. If you click on a book cover here to go to Amazon and buy something, I receive a very small percentage of the purchase price.
One or more of these books is also nominated for a Cybil Award, but the views expressed here are strictly my own.

Texas Tuesday: The Evolution of Calpurnia Tate by Jacqueline Kelly

I read several reviews of this debut novel set in 1899 in Caldwell County, Texas, before I actually read the book itself, and I remember all of the reviews being quite positive. That’s sort of a dangerous thing to do because my expectations can be raised too high—which is exactly what I think happened with The Evolution of Calpurnia Tate. Maybe if I had discovered it serendipitously, I would have liked it better.

As it was, the book felt preachy to me and sort of generationally snobbish, if I can use that term. We are soooooo enlightened nowadays, whereas back in 1899 girls could only become housewives and no one believed in Darwinian evolution. I know there was a time, not so long ago, when well-bred young ladies didn’t study science, at least not in depth, and when nobody who wasn’t heathen read Darwin. But in this novel, I felt as if the messages that “girls can become anything they want” and that “science is vitally important” got in the way of the story. I wanted to understand Grandfather, Calpurnia’s mentor in scientific studies, better and see what motivated him. I wanted a little more humor in the story. I don’t know what I wanted, exactly, but I do think mostly I just expected too much. And dare I use the B-word? Some parts of the book just dragged with very little action and a whole lot of exposition.

The setting itself was just right, though. Ms. Kelly begins the novel by describing the Texas heat, and she even gives a few methods for beating the heat back in 1899. My father-in-law, who was a boy back in the early 1900’s in West Texas, said that they used to haul their bedding outside and sleep out under the shade trees. Of course, if a rain storm came up, everyone had to high-tail it back inside. Calpurnia’s observations as an amateur naturalist are sprinkled throughout the book, and these passages are some of the most fascinating reading in the book.

If only The Evolution of Calpurnia Tate could have soft-pedaled the evolutionist and feminist preaching a bit, I think it would have come closer to being a favorite for me.

Other Bloggers’ Opinions:
Melissa at Book Nut: “I also liked the way Kelly evoked a particular feel; the sense of anticipation, of change that must have accompanied the time period was quite palpable in the book. It’s a historical novel that actually felt like it. Callie was modern, sure, but she was struggling with her modernity against all the traditional values that were around her, and that dichotomy was intriguing.”
Welcome to My Tweendom: “Jacqueline Kelly has written a piece of historical fiction with depth, detail and characters that leap off the page. From the first telephone coming to town, to Callie’s grandfather’s first time sitting in an automobile, to the kerosene powered ‘wind machine’, readers will find themselves immersed in the sweeping changes that were happening at the dawn of the 20th century.”
The Reading Zone: “It’s historical fiction that kids will actually enjoy! There are great little tidbits about the turn of the century- kids will love the idea that Coke was invented and wasn’t always around.”
Never Jam Today: “I loved the Tate family. I loved watching the interplay between seven siblings–you don’t get that very often. I loved the generation-spanning relationship between Callie and her grandfather. These things breathed.”

I told you most everyone else loved it. Use my review to lower your own expectations, and then form your own opinion. (I really hope this one doesn’t win the Newbery.)

Amazon Affiliate. If you click on a book cover here to go to Amazon and buy something, I receive a very small percentage of the purchase price.
This book is also nominated for a Cybil Award, but the views expressed here are strictly my own.

Sunday Salon: Books Read in October, 2009

The Sunday Salon.comChildren of God by Mary Doria Russell. In this sequel to Russell’s The Sparrow, ex-priest Emilio Sandoz continues to work out his salvation in fear and trembling as the fate of two cultures hangs in the balance.

Gateway by Frederick Pohl. Not recommended. Although both of Mary Russell’s sci/fi books (see above) have explicit sexual content that may make some readers uncomfortable, I thought it was both tastefully written and integral to the plot and theme of the novels. I can’t say the same for Gateway. The sexual content in this book was annoying and gratuitous, and the ending was forced and trying too hard to be philosophical and psychological at the same time. I was already nine-tenths of the way through the book when I realized that I didn’t like the story or the characters, but by then I did want to know what happened. I wish I had skipped the whole thing. For what it’s worth this one is supposed to be a classic in the genre.

A Thread of Grace by Mary Dorie Russell. Not science fiction. Not as good as The Sparrow or Children of God. However, this novel set in Northern Italy during the last year of World War II does have its moments. Either I was distracted or the changes in place and point of view are confusing. I had trouble keeping straight the various story lines and characters and events. The book did give me a perspective on World War II and The Holocaust that I hadn’t known before: I learned that many Jews and other fugitives fled Southern France and other places as it began to look as if the Germans would lose the war. Many of these fugitives came to Italy because Southern Italy had already surrendered to the Allies. Unfortunately the Fascists and their German allies remained in power in Northern Italy for another year while the Allies made their way slowly and painfully up the Italian peninsula. The Italians formed partisan resistance groups, hid many of the Jews and other on the German blacklist, and endured the German occupation as best they could —hanging on to a thread of grace.

The Texan Scouts by Joseph Altsheler. Semicolon review here.

Unsigned Hype by Booker T. Mattison. Semicolon review here.

Luke and the Van Zandt County War by Judith MacBain Alter. Semicolon review here.

West Oversea by Lars Walker.

The Year of Pleasures by Elizabeth Berg. Semicolon review here.

Cybils Reading:

Also Known as Harper by Ann Haywood Leal. Semicolon review here.

Anything But Typical by Nora Raleigh Baskin. Semicolon review here.

The Year the Swallows Came Early by Kathryn Fitzmaurice. Semicolon review here.

The Beef Princess of Practical County by Michelle Houts. Semicolon review here.

When You Reach Me by Rebecca Stead. Semicolon review here.

Any Which Wall by Laurel Snyder. Semicolon review here.

Mudville by Kurtis Scaletta. Semicolon review here.

The Girl Who Threw Butterflies by Mick Cochrane. Semicolon review here.

Models Don’t Eat Chocolate Cookies by Erin Dionne. Semicolon review here.

Neil Armstrong is My Uncle and Other Lies Muscle Man McGinty Told Me by Nan Marino. Bratty kid learns to say “thank you” but not much else. I didn’t care for this one much, but others may sympathize with the main character who is admittedly sort of a lost, neglected child in a dysfunctional family.

Sahwira: An African Friendship by Carolyn Marsden.

Carolina Harmony by Marilyn Taylor McDowell.

Tropical Secrets: Holocaust Refugees in Cuba by Margarita Engle. Semicolon review here.

My Life in Pink and Green by Lisa Greenwald. Semicolon review here.

The Kind of Friends We Used To Be by Frances O’Roark Dowell. Semicolon review here.

All the Broken Pieces by An E. Burg. Semicolon review here.

The Brooklyn Nine by Alan Gratz.

The Mostly True Adventures of Homer P. Figg by Rodman Philbrick.

Peace, Locomotion by Jacqueline Woodson.

The Dunderheads by Paul Fleischman. Semicolon review here.

The Problem With the Puddles by Kate Feiffer. Semicolon review here.

Dessert First by Hallie Durand. Semicolon review here.

Love, Aubrey by Suzanne LaFleur. Betsy-Bee and I discuss Love, Aubrey.

Anna’s World by Wim Coleman and Pat Perrin. Semicolon review here.

Wanting Mor by Rukhsana Khan. Semicolon review here.

Callie’s Rules by Naomi Zucker. Semicolon review here.

Leaving the Bellweathers by Kristin Clark Venuti.

Lincoln and His Boys by Rosemary Wells. Semicolon review here.

Solving Zoe by Barbara Dee

In Solving Zoe by Barbara Dee, Zoe attends a sort of experimental school for gifted kids. It’s the sort of place that C.S. Lewis parodies in The Silver Chair; the school in Solving Zoe is something like the school Eustace and Jill attend. The teachers and the administration pretend that everyone at the school is gifted and allowed to express their talents freely, but when Zoe finds that her only passion is for pizza, she soon discovers that being an ordinary kid with no special talents or passions is not acceptable at Hubbard Middle School.

Sadly enough it is when Zoe is suspended from school and when she is doing her afternoon job babysitting a friend’s pet lizards that she learns and grows and seems to come alive. Her school doesn’t inspire much learning on Zoe’s part, even if the students do call the teachers by their first names and even if Zoe’s math teacher, Anya, tells her that she is free to explore, to just enjoy the numbers. “Numbers are sort of like toys. Try to play with them a little. You know, relax and mess around. Don’t worry about being right or wrong. Just have some fun with them, okay?”

Then, on the same page, Anya tells Zoe that she’s about to fail math because she’s drawing numbers and coloring them instead of doing “actual work.” I can’t figure out whether the author is making fun of the hypocrisy and sheer silliness of a school like Zoe’s, or whether Zoe is really supposed to learn something in such a confusing environment. The most confusing part of the book for me was the part where Zoe is suspended for two weeks to think about her life and about whether or not she really wants to attend Hubbard School, and she decides that she really wants to go back! She spends the two weeks in the library, learning about codes and ciphers and at her lizard-feeding job, learning lots of valuable lessons in responsibility and observation skills. And she seems to enjoy her two weeks of freedom. However, she can’t envision any other alternative than to return to Hubbard, meekly, and try to fit in with her schoolmates who have falsely accused her of a relatively minor “crime” and then blown the nonexistent offense up out of proportion to get Zoe kicked out of school in the first place.

This post isn’t so much a review of the book, which is a decently written story about friendship and about finding your own areas of giftedness. It’s more a biased homeschooler questioning: why would anyone want spend five days a week being given mixed messages and inadequate teaching in a school like Hubbard? And pay money for it?

Amazon Affiliate. If you click on a book cover here to go to Amazon and buy something, I receive a very small percentage of the purchase price.
This book is also nominated for a Cybil Award, but the views expressed here are strictly my own.

Jemma Hartman, Camper Extraordinaire by Brenda A. Ferber

Girls of a certain age do this friend ranking thing. They have “best friends,” and they get jealous if their best friend spends too much time with another girl. They write notes that ask “am I still your BFF?” and try to figure out body language and sub-texts to conversations, and it’s all kind of sticky-icky sometimes. For most girls it’s all part of growing up.

I have noticed that boys don’t mess with this kind of relationship/friendship stuff. Karate Kid (age 12) has nineteen or twenty best buds; he plays with all of them, hangs out, generally just enjoys whoever is around. He always has. I can’t imagine him or any of his friends getting mad because Joe is spending more time with Pete than with with Karate Kid. KK would just figure that they were doing something, so he’d find someone else to hang with for a while. Or he would go do something with the group, including Joe and Pete. BFF is just not an issue with most boys.

Why this division in behavior occurs, whether it’s nature or nurture, I’ll leave to the psychologists and sociologists. At any rate, Jemma Hartman is a girl book about girls being girls at a girls’ summer camp. I thought it was well written, especially from a psychological point of view, and that the author, Brenda Ferber, captured the voice of an eleven year old girl in a friendship crisis quite well.

I gave the book to Betsy-Bee, who has experienced her own friendship crises, and she is enjoying it. She did say that she thought Jemma’s erstwhile BFF was “mean.” I think when BB finishes the book we’ll talk about the difference between actual “meanness” and changes that happen in friendships as girls become older and as they, possibly, grow apart. It’s a hard lesson to learn.

Amazon Affiliate. If you click on a book cover here to go to Amazon and buy something, I receive a very small percentage of the purchase price.
This book is also nominated for a Cybil Award, but the views expressed here are strictly my own.

Wanting Mor by Rukhsana Khan

Afghanistan is in the news almost every day, and those children who hear about the war there have questions about the people of Afghanistan and the culture there. Wanting Mor by Pakistani author Rukhsana Khan could serve as an introduction to a country that has become, for better or for worse, a preoccupying subject for Americans and for the world.

When Jameela’s mother, Mor, dies, her father decides that he and Jameela will move from their village to Kabul to start a new life. Unfortunately, Jameela’s father is a self-centered and cruel man. In a story that reminded me of Hansel and Gretel, Jameela’s father acquires a new wife, and then decides that Jameela, with her cleft lip and general uselessness, is an impediment to his new life.

The points that interested me the most in this book were those where cultures and ideas intersected. Jameela’s father and his new wife are typical of city dwellers in many third world and Muslim countries who are becoming Westernized and losing their loyalty to traditional customs and religious laws. Jameela herself finds comfort and strength in the traditions of Islam, particularly the head covering or chadri (also called a burka), that serves to protect Jameela from prying eyes and from the embarrassment that she feels over her cleft lip. The orphanage where Jameela ends up living is dependent on the charity of Americans and of other wealthy Afghanis and foreigners, but the attitude that children and the management of the orphanage have toward these benefactors is sometimes less than respectful or even grateful. This conversation between Jameela and another of the orphans shows the difficulties in such a relationship and perhaps could clue us in to how the Muslim world in general might feel about Americans and other westerners a lot of the time:

“What do you think of this new donor lady?”
I shrug. “She seems all right.”
“They all do when they first arrive.”
“What about the soldiers? They didn’t do anything wrong.”
Suraya scowls. “They’re invaders. They want to control us. They won’t be happy until they change us so we’re just like them.”
“They fixed things. You should be grateful.”
Soraya stands up and paces around our small room.
“I’m tired of being grateful.”

People do get tired of being grateful. And somehow we will have to find a way to leave Afghanistan, and Iraq, with a sense of mutual respect and cooperation. At least, I hope we can.

And I hope we can find a way to help girls like Jameela without taking away their cultural heritage or their self-respect.

Amazon Affiliate. If you click on a book cover here to go to Amazon and buy something, I receive a very small percentage of the purchase price.
This book is also nominated for a Cybil Award, but the views expressed here are strictly my own.

I’d Tell You I Love You, But Then I’d Have To Kill You by Ally Carter

For me, the last panel discussion of the day on Saturday at the Texas Book Festival was a discussion with four children’s/YA authors about writing series fiction. The title was something like “How To Write Characters That Go the Distance: Writing Books in a Series.” The authors were Derrick Barnes (Ruby and the Booker Boys), Ally Carter ( The Gallagher Girls, beginning with the book that gives its title to this post), Pseudonymous Bosch (The Name of This Book Is Secret and sequels), and James A. Owen (Chronicles of the Imaginarium Geographica). The only one of the four whose books I had read was Mr. Owen, but I thought all four authors were interesting and some insightful things to say. Mr. Bosch was a bit, well, secretive. He wore sunglasses and looked like a sort of leftover hippie type with wild hair. I’ll let you know what I think about his Top Secret Book as soon as I get it from the library.

James Owen started out as an artist and comic book writer, and he illustrates the books in his seriesas well as doing the writing. I have enjoyed the first three books in the Imaginarium Geographica series (Semicolon review here), and I’m looking forward to reading the fourth book, just out, called The Shadow Dragons. Mr. Owen says there are seven books planned for the series, and he already has all seven (loosely?) plotted out and planned. He seemed to be a mild-mannered, stereotypical author type, very sweet, and and a bit bemused at finding himself at a book festival in Texas of all places. I was fascinated by his answer to an off-beat question posed by one of the children in the crowd: where did you go to college? He said that he took college classes while he was still in high school, but that when he was fifteen (or maybe fourteen?) he started his own art/design studio and as it was thriving when he graduated high school, he simply continued doing what he loved to do and never went to college. It sounded like a homeschool story, but as far as I know he wasn’t homeschooled.

Mr. Barnes said he learned a lot of his craft while working as a copywriter for Hallmark cards. He got a book deal, started writing the Ruby books, even though he has three sons and no daughters, and as of now he already has ten (or more?) of the series books written and waiting to be published. The fourth book in the series was published in March, 2009 and is one of the nominees for the Cybils Middle Grade Fiction category. I checked out the first book in the series a couple of days ago, and I’ll again let you know what I think.

And last but not least, I was so impressed with Ms. Carter and her coterie of fans who were there to cheer her on that I found the first book in her Gallagher Girls series at the library and read it today. I wish the second and third books had been on the shelf, too, because now I’m dying (get it, dying) to read them. Ms. Carter told the story of her agent calling her to say that YA chicklit was selling well these days and could she come up with any ideas in that genre? Ms. Carter, starving artist that she was, immediately made a list, but her agent said her ideas weren’t good enough. So the author proceeded to watch Alias. Something on the TV show gave her the idea for a spy school for girls, and the Gallagher Girls were born. I’d Tell You I Love You, But Then I’d Have To Kill You is pure fun. Lots of high-tech spy stuff, a girls’ boarding school, secrets galore, espionage at its finest. And it has no sex and no bad language that I noticed. There is a little kissing and a lot of boy craziness, but again it’s all in fun. The other two books in the series are Cross My Heart and Hope to Spy and Don’t Judge a Girl By Her Cover. The latter (book three in the series) is nominated for the YA Fiction category in the Cybils. Ally Carter said, by the way, that she writes for “immature teens” but I’m thinking that most teen girls would enjoy these as just low effort entertainment. Three cheers for fun!

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Callie’s Rules by Naomi Zucker

Some of Callie’s Rules:
A family is not a democracy. Even when your father’s a lawyer and talks a lot about rights, it’s still not.

Listen to your father. The things he tells you might be useful sometime.

Monks have the right idea. If you never open your mouth, you get into a lot less trouble.

If everybody liked their Coke the same way, the world would be a pretty boring place.

I read this book about diversity and The Town That Tried to Cancel Halloween on just the right night, Friday night October 30th in my Austin motel room while I was preparing to attend the Texas Book Festival on Saturday, Halloween. In the book some busybodies decide that Halloween is Satanic and dangerous and harmful to young psyches. Unfortunately, the head busybody is also the wife of the town banker, and Mrs. Van Dine has more influence with the Hillcrest Town Council than Callie’s weird family does. The Jones family is made up of a lawyer father, and artist mom, and seven children, each with their own unique personality. (Callie’s little sister plays and naps in a cage.) Callie’s caught right in the middle of this weird family, and she’s not sure she can ever be like her mom, who doesn’t care whether people think she’s weird or not.

The minor characters in this novel are somewhat cartoonish, Mrs. Van DIne and her snooty daughter Valeri, the obtuse Town Council members, Callie’s wishy-washy best friend Alyce, but it’s still a good exploration what it feels like to be in middle school, desperate to fit in and yet wanting to be true to one’s own passions and beliefs. Callie loves Halloween. She enjoys the “weirdos”, the metal sculptures that her mom makes every year to display in the front yard of their home at Halloween. She doesn’t want to celebrate a healthy, insipid Autumn Fest, the substitute that Mrs. Van Dine has dreamed up for Hillcrest’s children. But she also doesn’t want anyone to think she’s weirder than they already think she is.

Callie’s dilemma, the fitting in and being yourself at the same time, is the dilemma of almost all middle school students. Callie navigates this perplexing middle school conflict with grace and humor. I’m thinking this would be an enjoyable Halloween read for young people who are caught in the same quandary. They might find some of Callie’s rules quite useful. Oh, and fans of Jane Eyre will also find a kindred spirit in Callie since Charlotte Bronte’s classic is Callie’s comfort book.

Comfort books, books that the protagonist reads over and over for solace and support, seem to be a theme in several books I’ve read lately, and that re-reading is also something my own children do. I don’t remember ever becoming that focused on one book or one set of books, though I do re-read favorites sometimes. The girl in Rebecca Stead’s When You Reach Me loves Madeleine L’Engle’s A Wrinkle in Time. Brown Bear Daughter has been reading and re-reading Twilight and its sequels for about six months now. I read them once and found them entertaining, but I really don’t see that there’s enough there to go back to the well more than once. And Drama Daughter has been, dare I say, obsessed with Harry Potter for about three or four years now. Do you have a “comfort book” —one that you read again and again and that serves as metaphor and key for your life’s events?

Amazon Affiliate. If you click on a book cover here to go to Amazon and buy something, I receive a very small percentage of the purchase price.
This book is also nominated for a Cybil Award, but the views expressed here are strictly my own.

Anna’s World by Wim Coleman and Pat Perrin

I’ve always been interested in aberrant minds, people who think differently from the rest of us, and in aberrant religious groups, group that detour from orthodox Christianity into a spiritual path that obviously has its roots in Christianity, but doesn’t adhere to Biblical teaching. The Shakers of nineteenth century America were such a group.

Anna’s World is a Shaker world. When Anna is first left at the Shaker colony of Goshen by her bereaved and destitute father, she doesn’t understand how anyone can live according to Shaker rules and regulations. The Shakers were a “plain people” believing in plain dress and in simplicity in lifestyle. They also believed that the sin that condemned Adam and Eve was the sin of having sexual relations. (The Shakers and Phillip Pullman— what a combination!) So all Shakers were required to live celibate lives. They also held all possessions in common and owned no personal property. Anna is only fourteen when the story begins and not too concerned about relationships with boys, but she does find it difficult to follow all the rules that the Shakers have to regulate daily life. She longs for the day when her father will return to take her to Boston to live with him again.

In the meantime Anna makes friends at Goshen and becomes accustomed to Shaker life. When her father does return after she has experienced a long year of Shaker living, she realizes that her life will never be the same as it was before the flood and disease that destroyed their old life. Anna’s World is a coming of age story with a twist: Anna decides to enter a religious life and a world that her father will never understand or approve.

Although this book presents a seemingly accurate picture of Shaker life and of a young girl who is welcomed into a cultic group that has both a good side and some more questionable practices, I would not recommend it for children. It would require more discernment than an eight year old would typically have, even though the blurb on the back of the book says “for ages 8 and up.” The subject matter is much more appropriate for high school students, and even some adults, maybe those who are interested in the whole “Amish fiction” craze, would enjoy this story. Anna’s World was nominated for Cybils Middle Grade Fiction, but I would recommend it as young adult fiction. I just don’t think the 8-13 year old crowd would be very interested.

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This book is also nominated for a Cybil Award, but the views expressed here are strictly my own.