Eat, Read, and Be Mommy

Yeah, I haven’t got any. And I know I’ve been playing on my phone too much, but with online school I don’t feel like my morning options are legion. Here’s my plan for tomorrow, though–change out my winter and summer clothes with my son doing his work on my bedroom floor. YOU, legions of faithful readers, are going to hold me accountable and check up on my progress!

Please?

Yeah, I know, I missed ANOTHER blog post. And there wasn’t much of a reason this time, unless you count choosing to finish another book instead…anyway. Perhaps I was also avoiding this particular review, because I found much of Laurel Snyder’s Orphan Island to be simply–maddening. I’ve liked the few other books by her that I’ve read, but this one is getting a review in list form, because I’m not quite sure what else to do with it.

1) The writing is excellent.
2) Read Rick Riordan’s review on Goodreads to get a better sense of the book and its general
direction; if you’re looking for dystopia or, you know, ultimate resolution,
you’re out of luck.
3) On the other hand, this can totally be read as a chilling example of why adolescents don’t make
good parents.
4) Oh, the poor decisions! And the avoidance of reality!
5) I was sucked in, but it took longer than I wanted it to.
6) Being sucked in doesn’t mean that I really enjoyed the book.
7) Which, to be fair, is partly because it isn’t really so much my thing; on the other hand, I’m at a
complete loss as to what audience this book would be right for. Adults and parents are going to
have an entirely different level of appreciation for it, but I doubt that a majority of the
adolescents it’s presumably written for are going to get out of it what would be most beneficial
for them.
8) Did I mention the LACK OF RESOLUTION?
9) Bottom line? This is an excellently written metaphor. If that thought appeals, you should totally
read it; if not, well–I probably wouldn’t.

Oh, and happy birthday to my mother. I’m so glad she was born!

Okay, I know I space and miss reviews more than I used to, but I did actually have a good reason yesterday. Something came up unexpectedly, leaving us ALL tired, and there just wasn’t enough emotional energy to write a coherent review. (It happens.) Today, however, I shall make up for it! I won an advance copy of The Last Year of the War more than a year ago, and I finally managed to be in the right mood for it AND have time for it at the SAME time. (It’s harder than it sounds, trust me.) And–wow.

First of all, Susan Meissner has a way with a story; she drew me in from the get-go. The story itself, however–wowsers. I hadn’t realized that thousands of German-born, long-term American residents were interned during World War II. I hadn’t realized that those interned as individuals were sometimes given the option of their families joining them in an internment camp in Texas, and I most DEFINITELY didn’t realize that some of them were repatriated (as were some of their Japanese counterparts) to their “home” countries–despite the fact that many of the children involved had never actually set foot in those countries. The last of these exchanges took place in January of 1945, meaning that WE SENT AMERICAN CHILDREN to GERMANY and JAPAN in 1945.

We were BOMBING those countries in 1945.

Okay. Deep breaths. (Because SERIOUSLY?) Meissner takes that piece of history and creates a story around it–a story of two girls who meet at that internment camp, one with Japanese parents, one with German–and become friends, and of how that friendship affects their lives, even after they are separated. Elise narrates, and it is her life we follow–from Iowa to Texas to Germany and back to the states–and her story we experience. In some ways the story is really about the relationships and how circumstances mold Elise, but the historical setting is so crucial to everything that it’s difficult to pinpoint its strongest theme; what I can say is that the story is, first and foremost, engrossing. If you’re a historical fiction OR women’s fiction fan, The Last Year of the War is well worth your time.

My older girls, that is. Meaning that Squint is another library book that I can pass along to both of them after this review, and thus another library book that they have yet to read, even though the libraries are closed. I listened to it a week or more ago, and while I possibly preferred Mustaches for Maddie–Chad Morris and Shelly Brown’s based-on-real-life first collaborative effort–Squint definitely has more appeal for boys. Its protagonist is a middle school comic book artist who’s determined to enter a “Find a Comic Star” contest, despite the eye disease that could eventually leave him blind. He’s become a loner as his eyesight worsens, but when a new girl named McKell sits down at his table, both of their lives slowly begin to change. I appreciated the story’s refusal to fall into completely predictable tropes, and I also appreciated Squint’s (a nickname) gradual awakening to the parts of his world he’s been blind to. This is both entertaining and inspiring; grab this one for your latter elementary and middle schoolers when you can.

Please? Because I totally spaced my post of the 17th until after I was in bed, and blaming it on the pandemic sounds so much better than blaming it on my current ‘Merge Dragons’ addiction…

Anyway. It’s later than I intended it to be as I write this, but I was legitimately delayed in my evening by a call from my parents, and people are the most important thing, right? At least Bat and the Waiting Game is a second-in-series, and those are a bit quicker to review. If you haven’t read A Boy Called Bat, you should start with that; its sequel follows Bat, his family, his friend Israel, and Thor the skunk kit, with Israel’s parents playing a visible role as well. Bat’s autism makes relationships harder for him than for the average person, but he keeps trying, with the help of his family and friends. Experiencing life through Bat’s eyes is moving, and yet Elana Arnold balances that poignancy with humor and a kid-friendly sense of normalcy. This is a worthwhile book for younger elementary readers in general, but it should especially appeal to animal lovers; it’s also an excellent choice for a reader who would benefit from understanding more of what it’s like to live with autism. And honestly, isn’t that everyone?

I’d just gotten the kids down last night and done my last bit of exercising; I was curled up on the couch, thinking how lovely it was to be free on the earlier side, when another lovely earthquake (aftershock?) hit in Magna. It certainly wasn’t as bad as the one in March, mind you, but it was almost 4.2, and it wasn’t exactly a welcome end to the day. My hubby decided to go downstairs and veg to throw off the unpleasant feeling; I indulged myself in a cupcake and some Australian licorice and sat down to read two children’s graphic novels. And I finished both of them! The first was picture book length and so not one I’m going to review, but the second–Sara Varon’s New Shoes–was two hundred large pages of brightly colored, fun illustrations and a simple amount of text. It’s a perfect choice for emerging readers, especially animal lovers, but even I enjoyed watching Francis the Donkey leave his comfort zone so that he could create a special pair of shoes for his favorite musical star. Not all animals are true to their biological nature, but the story–almost a fable, really–works, and the ending is especially fun. If you have a younger elementary schooler who is ready for longer books but still in the easily-intimidated stage, this is perfect; if you don’t, eh–read it yourself. It’s a happy little read that’s perfect for quarantine.

As a book, AJ Pearce’s Dear Mrs. Bird is wholly, well–endearing. Such a lovely book! There is humor, there is romance, there is tragedy, and there is triumph; there is also a great deal of pluck in the face of difficulty, as becomes a novel that takes place in London during the Blitz. Emmy is ridiculously likable, and as she is drawn into the lives of the readers of Woman’s Friend–a magazine at which she is (somewhat accidentally) employed–you root for her even as you hold your breath, knowing that her clandestine efforts to help must be–eventually–discovered. Her friends, her work with the Auxiliary Fire Service, and her changing personal life join with the fate of the magazine in making this a poignant, funny, and joyously hopeful book. (Basically, this is the PERFECT Quarantine read.) It’s available on audio through my library system, but honestly, if you can afford it, you should really support your local bookstore and go ahead and buy this one.*

*(Full confession: I bought it before reading it at a library sale, but it’s absolutely worth full price!)

I was just looking at reviews of The Okay Witch on Goodreads, and I’m apparently in a tiny minority; most people seemed to enjoy this graphic novel. I thought it was a hot mess.

Okay, fine. It was decently enjoyable at the beginning and the cat was a definite highlight, but it started going downhill about the time that the mother dropped the “Oh, you’re a witch, but magic isn’t great, so don’t worry about it” bomb. (I had the same problem with Inkheart–telling a tween (teen? because I’m not actually sure how old Moth is) something life-changing and THEN telling her not to worry about and refusing to explain further is just stupid.) And when you were the queen of teenage rebellion yourself, expecting your daughter to just be cool with what you say (especially when you apparently have NO CLUE about what your daughter’s life is actually like) seems patently absurd. The history and backstory of the witches and New England was all jumbled–witches that worshiped Hecate, one of whom looks curiously ethnic, and a New England governor still celebrated for leading a witch hunt? (Spoiler alert: the “witches” driven out of New England towns were generally, you know, NOT witches, and nobody remembers Salem for making GOOD decisions in the latter 17th century.)

As for the PLOT…for 2/3 of the book we have a middle grade girl who’s suddenly found out she’s a witch and reading her mother’s diary because her mother’s being ridiculous about it, and then BAM. Suddenly the plot develops a weird legacy/vendetta/battle-between-opposing-supernatural-forces vibe, Grandma as a character is inconsistent all over the place, and it ends with a how-am-I-supposed-to-buy-any-of-that? declaration. Seriously–HOT MESS. The intended audience is unlikely to complain about much of this, but I was stuck between incredulity and irritation by the end of the book. If you want a culturally interesting graphic novel, folks, THERE ARE BETTER CHOICES OUT THERE.

I was going to do this review earlier and didn’t get to it–and THEN I forgot completely until now (10:54). So, in a nutshell, my 10-year-old–who is very into most animals and ESPECIALLY bunnies–picked Cynthia Lord’s Because of the Rabbit out at a school book fair. I said yes because I recognized the author, and my girlie read it shortly thereafter (possibly as soon as we got home?). I finished it a few days ago, and it was lovely. Sharing Emma’s journey as she starts 5th grade after being homeschooled is both nerve-wracking and exciting, and watching her fall in love with a rescued rabbit (that may or may not belong to someone searching for him) AND develop new friendship skills is the kind of warm and fuzzy experience I needed during quarantine. It’s sweet without being sickeningly so, and if you’re looking for a last minute Easter treat for a latter-elementary aged girl, well–it’s about a RABBIT! (It might not arrive until Monday at this point, but you could always stick a picture of it inside a plastic egg, right?) Cynthia Lord for the win, folks–give this one a try.

It’s been weeks since I finished The Truth as Told by Mason Buttle–time got away from me and I put off my review–but here I am now, at last. And OH MY GOODNESS. Mason is a naive (although not completely so) narrator, which is absolutely perfect for this poignant story about friendship, truth, and trust. He’s still grieving the loss of his best friend, Benny, who died over a year ago; the investigation into Benny’s death lingers and affects some of Mason’s relationships in ways he doesn’t fully understand. When he makes a new friend in tiny Calvin Chumsky, they find new ways to escape the neighborhood bullies; eventually, however, Mason is once again in danger of being dangerously misunderstood. Only the whole truth can set him free.

I debated using that biblical reference, worried that it might sound too cliched; ultimately, however, there are some definite biblical themes here–of the Old Testament variety. (Not that the story feels biblical, particularly. But they’re there.) I loved Mason so very much, and watching him and his family over the course of the novel was both heartbreaking and joyful. Calvin is the friend every kid with struggles deserves, and as for the adults in the novel…well, that’s a different biblical theme altogether. (After you’ve read it, take a look at Matthew 18:3-4.)

Bottom line? This is a book full of heart and honesty, and while it may break your heart at first, joy does come in the morning. (Psalms 30:5. Seriously.) Read it!