This book is not as good as the author’s Okay for Now, which I still maintain should have won the Newbery Medal, or at least an honor, but Pay Attention, Carter Jones is still a good story about a boy with father issues growing into a young man who knows his own mind and his own strength. With help of an English butler, August Paul Bowles-Fitzpatrick and the game of cricket, Carter Jones learns to “make good decisions and remember who you are.”

Mr. Bowles-Fitzpatrick is the perfect British gentleman’s gentleman and counterpart to Mary Poppins, only with a cricket bat instead of a parrot-headed umbrella. (Actually, Mr.Bowles Fitzpatrick has an umbrella, too, “an umbrella as big as a satellite disk.”) Carter Jones, whose father has not yet returned from his army deployment in Germany, is a typical American sixth grade boy trying to take care of his mom, his dog, and his two sisters while dad is away. When the former, Mr. Bowles Fitzpatrick, shows up on the doorstep of the latter, Carter, and says he’s been sent to serve the family while dad is deployed, Carter is grateful, but confused. Not only does the butler speak in a manner that is befitting a British gentleman (“you say everything like you want it to smell good”), but Mr. Bowles-Fitzpatrick just doesn’t seem to understand that he’s in the United States of America now, not Britain. He serves tea snd cookies for an afternoon snack. He has a different on the Boston Tea Party, and indeed on the entire war that Americans call the Revolution. And he wants Carter to learn to play cricket.

Unfortunately for me, I got lost toward the end of the book when Carter finally reconnects with his mostly-absent father on a father-son trip to Australia. I lost the thread of the story with the trip back to Australia and the dad and the clouds, and I just zoned out. I guess I need to re-read and pay attention! But I had to return the book to the library.

Final verdict: good characters, good themes of honor and forgiveness, lots of cricket, and a British accent. Recommended.

Alone by Edgar Allan Poe

From childhood’s hour I have not been
As others were—I have not seen
As others saw—I could not bring
My passions from a common spring—
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow—I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone—
And all I lov’d—I lov’d alone—
Then—in my childhood—in the dawn
Of a most stormy life—was drawn
From ev’ry depth of good and ill
The mystery which binds me still—
From the torrent, or the fountain—
From the red cliff of the mountain—
From the sun that ’round me roll’d
In its autumn tint of gold—
From the lightning in the sky
As it pass’d me flying by—
From the thunder, and the storm—
And the cloud that took the form
(When the rest of Heaven was blue)
Of a demon in my view—

I came across this poem by one of my favorite poets today after I finished reading the middle grade fiction novel Me and Sam-Sam Handle the Apocalypse, and it seemed to be serendipitous. Me and Sam-Sam is a book about characters who are “neuro-divergent” —or “autistic” or “on the spectrum” or whatever term you prefer. The narrator of the story, Jesse Broadview, is a middle school age girl who lives with her teacher father and her great-aunt Gustine while Jesse’s mom is deployed in Iraq, the handler for a bomb-sniffing dog. Much like the narrator of the poem, Jesse doesn’t see as others see and doesn’t act as others act and doesn’t feel the same things that others feel. She has meltdowns. She sometimes comes across as rude because she doesn’t understand the rules for social interactions that other seem to apply without effort. She doesn’t like to be touched unexpectedly or without permission. She’s just not neurotypical, although she is smart, intelligent enough to worry that her differences are somehow bad and that her difficulties in understanding the way others think might mean that her brain is broken.

As the story progresses, Jesse makes a friend, Springer, who may or may not be neuro-divergent himself, and she learns that her differences can be strengths even though they sometimes make it difficult for her to navigate the world she lives in. The novel is part detective story, part experiment in understanding diversity, and part adventure story about facing up to bullies and natural disasters and one’s own inner demons. Jesse’s dad is accused of a crime, and Jesse and Springer are the only ones who really see a need to exonerate him. Jesse and her new friend have to contend with Jerkface and his two cockroaches, the bullies that make Jesse’s and Springer’s lives miserable. And some really bad weather is headed their way.

I found the story fascinating, especially as I worked to understand Jesse’s mindset and her perspective on all of the events in the novel. I really wanted someone to tell Jesse that calling people “jerkface” and “cockroach” is not a good way to deal with your—justifiable—hostility and enmity toward them. Nor is violence the answer. Instead, Jesse’s mother engages in name-calling herself, via Skype, and the violence and threats continue, even among the adults in the story. I sometimes struggled to understand Jesse and sympathize with her because, let’s face it, I’m pretty neuro-typical.

And yet, all of us have felt the feeling in the poem, the feeling of aloneness. The feeling that maybe my brain is broken, maybe I just don’t feel what other people feel or think the same way other people think. Books and poetry are good ways to start to understand the commonalities in human experience and the differences that define us as individuals. I thought Me and Sam-Sam was a decent attempt, not preachy but illuminating, to show what it is like to be neuro-divergent and somewhat immature and still valuable and growing as a person.