Eat, Read, and Be Mommy

At least, I’m hoping this is the beginning. I’ve finished at least four books this year that I have yet to review–not counting the audiobook or two that I still have time to finish–and I’d like not to leave a stack of reviews undone as we head into 2020. My mother-in-law has my children–because she is wonderful and because it’s my hubby’s and my anniversary–and my hubby has to work at least most of the day, so I’m free to focus on trying to finish some of the things. SO. Review #1:

Katherine Rundell’s Rooftoppers has been on my radar since 2015, when there was a spectacular reading challenge available online and Britt and I were looking for an author that was younger than both of us to count for one of the requirements. I only recently discovered, however, that it was available on audio, and I finished listening to it a few days before Christmas. (I think. It’s all a little hazy now. And yes, I realize that 2015 is now almost 5 years ago, but I had a baby that year, and didn’t finish the challenge, but the book sounded too good to just bail on.)

It was thoroughly delightful.

Seriously. I loved it. And the narrator was excellent, making the audio a lovely choice. Imagine a book that feels a bit like it was written by Eva Ibbotson in her young adult style of writing, influenced by Francis Hodgson Burnett but with a touch more whimsy AND a touch more (surprisingly gritty) tension; imagine it to be about a 1-year-old found floating in a cello case after a shipwreck and cared for by an eccentric but charming English bachelor; imagine hard-hearted child welfare people and a desperate search for a possibly-alive mother over the rooftops of Paris, led by a small band of ‘children’ called rooftoppers; and imagine a Requiem played in double time as the key to it all. If that sounds appealing–and seriously, it should–then this is absolutely a book you should read. (Or listen to, because again, the fabulous narrator!) I would have loved it as a child; I did love it as an adult.

I hope you feel the same way.

I’m going to do something here that I’ve never done before; I’m going to link another person’s review of Rebecca Stead’s Goodbye Stranger to mine. You can call it lazy, if you choose–it’s the 21st of December and the act of writing a long and detailed review myself feels un-doable. (I need to WRAP. And address more Christmas cards. And make more truffles!). You could also, however, consider it two for the price of one, because Elizabeth Bird’s review does such a very good job of discussing the book that I can’t easily reference an idea or two. Better to have the entirety at your fingertips, right?

As for me, I listened to Goodbye Stranger in a bit of a hurry because I wanted to gauge its appropriateness as part of my newly-13-year-old’s Christmas books. (I wasn’t going to spend any more money on her, but when your friend finds a hardcover by a Newbery author that’s in excellent condition at Dollar Tree, that feels affordable, you know?) Goodbye Stranger is a book about 3 main characters told from 3 different points of view, but interestingly, the 3 do not necessarily coincide. Two of the points of view are supporting characters (albeit strong and/or important ones). The three friends who feel like the main characters are told in one point of view–that of Bridge, the most contemplative of the three. She’s been friends with Tab and Em for years, but as they enter 7th grade, life begins to change for all three of them. Their friendship remains strong, which I especially appreciate–I’ve read a few two many books recently about friends whose interests shift with puberty and whose friendships fade (or burn out) accordingly–but there are issues to face, for them AND their family members. (And friends.) What do you do–and not do–for a friend? A boy? What makes a good friend? What is fair? How do you know when (and who) to trust?

There are more, really. What I can tell you is that this is a thoughtful book, a book that builds, and book that tackles issues that our middle schoolers face that we wish they didn’t. I probably will give this one to my oldest for Christmas. I’ll want to discuss parts of it with her afterward–like the kinds of choices made and what other options there may (or may not) have been–but that’s not a bad thing, I think. In the meantime, I’m still thinking about it–and that says something.

Well, dang.

I bought Dan Gemeinhart’s Some Kind of Courage at the library sale months ago; I started listening to it yesterday because it was immediately available on audio, it was under 5.5 hours long, and, well, it seemed like a good idea at the time. (Interestingly enough, the first few sentences threw me–I hadn’t looked closely enough at the description and was thinking, for some reason, that it was contemporary fiction instead of historical.) I finished listening to it tonight, playing Candy Crush while I listened after running out of dishes to do and laundry to fold. And I don’t know whether listening to it made ALL the difference–the narrator was spot on, and hearing it in an earnest boy voice definitely added to the book’s impact–but wow. Is it a bit of an improbable story? Absolutely–probably more than a bit. But Joseph Johnson’s quest for his horse–the only family he has left–grabbed hold of me over the first few chapters and didn’t let me go until the story was done. (And not just the climax, mind you. The falling action as well.) On his journey he meets a Chinese boy, a grizzly bear, a woman in labor, and an outlaw, among others; each encounter matters. This isn’t a perfect book, but it was an all-consuming read for me, and in a world where too many books for boys rely on bathroom humor or other crudities, I’m keeping this for my son to read in a year or three. (He’s only 7.) In many ways it feels like a 21st-century version of The Sign of the Beaver–yes, it takes place in the 19th century, but Gemeinhart’s writing style is not at all the style of Elizabeth George Speare in the 1980s. This is a book about a quest, about friendship, about survival, and about family, and at the end of the day, I’m incredibly glad I read it.

I didn’t particularly love the last Suzanne LaFleur book I read. In fact, I might never have gotten around to reading Eight Keys if I hadn’t already bought it, years ago, for a couple of bucks–AND if it hadn’t been available in audio. I did get to it, however, and I finished it last night, and I’m pleased to report that I liked it MUCH better than Listening for Lucca (although honestly, that wouldn’t have been terribly difficult). Elise (aka Cricket) is struggling with the transition to middle school; the work is more difficult (and just MORE) than she expected, her locker partner is bullying her, and her home life is changing up now that sort-of-cousin Annie and her 5-month-old, Ava, have come to live with them. Her best friend, Franklin, hasn’t changed, but suddenly Elise is worried about what other people think of her, and him, and the things they’re used to playing together. Elise is suddenly struggling with ALL THE THINGS, and she isn’t handling any of them very well.

In the midst of the turmoil, however, she discovers a key–a key that opens one of eight locked rooms upstairs in the barn–and opens the door to the first of a series of rooms that her dead father seems to have left for her to discover. As she discovers more keys and enters more rooms, she tries to understand what he was trying to tell her–and how it will help her get her suddenly messy life sorted out.

I liked this one. I liked it DESPITE having recently read at least two other books about middle school kids who are being bullied, and I think it had a lot to do with the balance. The bullying and the mystery of the keys were a combination that worked, and it was mostly because the combo was proportioned so well. Before I started it I assumed I’d be giving it away when I finished; now I’m anticipating that my 10-year-old will read and enjoy it. Elise’s family is fabulous, her friends are good friends, and she is understandable even when she isn’t being particularly likable. Bottom line? A solid choice for middle grade girls.

And some boys.

It’s December, and I missed my last post–and I’d probably be lying if I assured you that I wouldn’t do it again. Just plan on irregular posts between now and Christmas…

My search for a 2nd-Girlie-appropriate-Christmas-graphic-novel is over–Jen Wang’s Stargazing is the winner! Hallelujah!

So, here’s the thing about my second girlie–she OBSESSES over graphic novels. Once she owns one, she rereads and rereads and carries it around or keeps it in her bed, which means that if I’m going to give her a graphic novel to be her own, it’s got to be one that has messages and people I’m okay with her spending a LOT of time with. Trying to find something that fits that criteria–that she hasn’t already read–is a Herculean task; so many titles fall into the “I’ll check it out of the library for her instead” category. Stargazing, however, is a lovely graphic novel that focuses on friendships, familial and cultural expectations (and stereotypes), and individuality. I would have liked being friends with both straitlaced Christine and free-spirited Moon, and I suspect Girlie #2 will, too. Yay for one more Christmas gift off of the list!

Oh, and incidentally? This book would make a lovely graphic novel lead-in to reading Mustaches for Maddie. Teacher friends, do a unit on the two so that I can live vicariously…