Eat, Read, and Be Mommy

I just finished Kaeti Vandorn’s Crabapple Trouble, and while I totally applaud the message, the execution was really, really odd. The world didn’t work for me as well as it wanted to, for one thing–it’s peopled by people with human bodies but fruit/vegetable heads. Except that these people GROW the fruits or vegetables that their heads are shaped like, and their produce gets eaten like any produce, so there’s a weird vibe there. If you have a carrot head and you eat carrots…see what I mean?

As far as the story itself, the idea of overcoming anxiety by finding a way to participate that works for you is a great one. The development of that story, however, felt–choppy. The idea of ‘losing your head’ was introduced abruptly in a ‘well, THAT took quite a turn’ kind of way, and the subsequent events didn’t lead nearly as smoothly or coherently into the conclusion as they kind of needed to. I’m interested to see what my kiddos think, but for me, this one fell short.

I know, I should have posted on Wednesday, but I was too busy making pies. (And getting ready to go spend Thanksgiving with my in-laws–even packing for one night is an undertaking for a family of six!) Maybe I’ll get around to posting those pies later–although I’m not sure I did last year, come to think of it–but I finished Scary Stories for Young Foxes while we were up in Clearfield, and so I decided to do that review tonight.

I suppose I ought to acknowledge from the get-go that I wasn’t particularly excited to read this one, Newbery notwithstanding, because scary stories are really just not my thing. Oddly enough, it’s not because I find them frightening, for the most part–I’m more of a home-alone-in-the-dark-and-the-house-is-suspiciously-creaking kind of person when it comes to being scared–but because I don’t generally find them enjoyable. If the point is to be scared, but it’s a story and so I’m not all that scared, well…see what I mean?

I should have had more faith in the Newbery committee. While I would never have picked up Scary Stories if it hadn’t been a Newbery Honor book, I have to acknowledge that it was a spellbinding read. Mia and Uly were such real characters, and the way the author wove his threads together was masterful. It’s certainly not a book for the faint of heart–it takes place in nature, and nature is not a thing of sweetness and light–but it’s powerful. (A bit too powerful for a parent, in a way. It would have been a less heartwrenching read if I were the age of its intended audience.) I’m not going to give this one to my animal-loving girlie, because she doesn’t deal well with the realities of nature and animal consumption by other animals; my older girlie, however, might quite enjoy it. Either way, it deserved to win.*

And by the way–although gratitude should never be a ‘by the way’–I am grateful, for so very many things. I am richly blessed in family, I am safe and warm and as comfortable as one can be after a day or two of eating far too much, and I am watched over by a loving Heavenly Father and by my Savior Jesus Christ. My heart is full.

*If you have a minute, google Christian McKay Heidicker and listen to his Newbery acceptance speech. It definitely added to my reading experience.

I received a complimentary ARC of Melissa Savage’s Lemons an embarrassingly long time ago (remember how I’m STILL catching up?), and I actually listened to it months previously, but the copy I listened to came from a CD with a seriously scratched section and I felt like I’d missed bits that I didn’t want to miss. When it became available as an eaudiobook, then, I put it on hold; it took forever to come in, but when it did, I got the chance to listen to a fully audible edition. And–wow.

Let me say from the start that Bigfoot myths are not my thing–nor are UFOs, the Loch Ness Monster, etc., etc., etc. Savage did such a lovely job with the Bigfoot thread of the story, however, that I enjoyed it almost as much as I did the relationships involved. Tobin’s fierce approach to Bigfoot science is compelling, just as are Lem’s grief over her mother’s death, her longing for her old, familiar life, and her rocky adjustment to a new sort of family. Charlie, Debbie, Mrs. Dickerson, and the rest of Willow Creek are just the sort of people you wish could surround every grieving child, and Lem’s journey made me laugh AND cry. If you want a story about family, about friends, and about deep down love, this book is for you.

And hey–it’s also about Bigfoot.

I read Cynthia Rylant’s Rosetown aloud to my 11-year-old–we finished it last night–and it was the loveliest comfort read imaginable. It’s full of hometown love and a quiet kind of working out of the changes that have come to Flora’s life; her family’s old dog has died and her father has moved to a rental house, and fourth grade seems to be very different from third. She is moving towards a new friendship, however, and continuing to spend time in the places and with the things she loves, and–hmmm. It’s difficult to properly convey any more than that. If you remember your hometown with fondness, however, or have ever cherished a pet or loved a story, this little book is something to savor.

Also, my girlie really enjoyed it.

I have to say, I wasn’t exactly dying to read Wolfie & Fly: Band on the Run, because I didn’t actually love its predecessor. Unfortunately for me, the sequel ran along similar lines. Wolfie’s parents try and get her to go somewhere with them (in this case, to support a family member), she refuses, they give in and leave her alone, and Fly comes over and gets her to do something more imaginative than she wants to do. Make-believe crosses over into reality for a while, and when her parents return at the end, it’s unclear how far it crossed and exactly when it crossed back. (Sorry–that sentence got awkward, and I’m too tired and lingeringly sick to figure out how to fix it.*)

Yup, that pretty much describes both books.

Here’s the thing. Number one, my 5-year-old wanted to hear the sequel, and it’s not like it’s a long read-aloud. Number two–it would actually be a fun book if it weren’t for Wolfie herself. Fly is a totally fun character, clueless-yet-not, and if Wolfie were a bit more likable, I probably would have enjoyed both books. As it is, she ignores her parents, who just give in and leave, and she’s rude to Fly in a way that transcends bluntness or social ineptitude. Perhaps her behavior suggests her to be on the spectrum, but that’s never addressed–and so, for me, she remains simply unlikable.

As for “one more try”–several of Cary Fagan’s other books (as listed on Goodreads) sound irritatingly interesting, and so I’m going to try one of them before I bail on him altogether. Perhaps, without Wolfie, I’ll find it to be simply enjoyable.

*Also, why this program just accepted “lingeringly” as a word when it cries for spell check for far more common linguistic specimens, I have NO CLUE.

I grabbed Catherine’s War off of the shelf while browsing the JGN (presumably Junior Graphic Novel?) section at the library; my older girls love graphic novels and I love history, so it seemed like a perfect fit. (I didn’t realize at the time that it started out as a novel–in French–before the author was approached about adapting it into a graphic novel. I looked to see if our library had the original, but no such luck. I don’t even know for sure if it’s translated into English or not.) I finished it last night and did enjoy it, although it felt–brief. The main character moves around from one refuge to another to escape detection by the Nazis, and each new place seems so very temporary. (Which, of course, it was.) It’s actually (loosely) based on the author’s mother’s wartime experiences as a hidden child during World War II, which made it more interesting for me. I learned a few things about occupied France and its zones that I hadn’t known, and I found the photography angle interesting. It’s a quick read, thereby creating less of the mood of fear and waiting and danger that I associate with Jewish WWII narratives, but that very fact might make it a good bridge to some of the meatier options out there.

Wow, this review feels choppy. I’m blaming it on my still being sick.

Anyway. This is a worthwhile (if easier) read, and I’m looking forward to passing it on to my girlies. Let me know what you think!

I’m usually all for sharing, mind you, but this cold we all have…I could have done without that. (And I got it a day later than everyone else, so I was thinking there was a teensy possibility that I might.) I’m blaming Friday’s missed post on it, since that’s when my throat started to signal to me that I hadn’t dodged the bullet, but it works out, because I just finished When Stars Are Scattered today. (If you’re not familiar, it’s the graphic biography by Victoria Jamieson (Roller Girl, All’s Faire in Middle School) and Omar Mohamed, whose story it is.) I remember Somalia being in the news in the early 90s, but I was at an age where I just thought news was boring. Omar’s story, on the other hand, is riveting, even while the pacing reflects the reality of life in a refugee camp (“Life is always the same in a refugee camp…except when it’s not“). This is a book that will make readers think about their lives in new ways; it’s an honest book, relating Omar’s struggles with despair as well as the faith that ultimately sustains him, as well as a powerful one. I’m expecting both of my older girls to be grabbing for it, since they loved Jamieson’s other books and are graphic novel fans in general, but after reading it, I think I’d give it to them even if that weren’t the case. Some books ought to be read–and this, I think, is one of them.

It’s hard to imagine a better book to review on Veterans Day–nee Armistice Day–than Gordon Korman’s War Stories. In my experience, Korman has a tendency to be a bit larger-than-life; the books of his that I’ve read are frequently wildly improbable but satisfying. This newest offering, however, is understated (for Korman). The stories of Trevor in 2020 and his great grandfather in 1944 make for a fascinating look at D-Day and the Normandy invasion, and I learned all sorts of things I didn’t know. Korman’s message about war, about World War II, and about the soldiers who fought in it was a powerful one, and I choked up at the image of the few old soldiers left alive to commemorate the 75th anniversary of VE Day. This is an excellent book for middle grade readers–especially boys.*

*The obvious flaw, of course, is that it came out this summer and takes place in 2020 but treats 2020 as if it were no different than 2019. I assume it was completed and in the midst of the publishing process before things went completely nuts, but there’s a dark sort of humor in reading about people flying to Europe and traveling to at least two countries in the latter half of the spring of 2020. Not so much…but on the other hand, subsequent editions can’t just change the year, because 2020 IS the 75th anniversary of VE Day. Unfortunate, right? Still–eh. I can live with it, partly because it’s just incredibly bad luck on Korman’s part, and partly because it would be nice to live in a world where 2020 wasn’t much different than 2019. Am I right?

On November 1st my Uncle Brent left his wasted body on this earth and graduated to the next stop on his journey to immortality. He was a smiling, loving, and truly kind man who embraced my widowed aunt’s family as his own; he also, it seems, was on a basketball team dubbed the “Mormon Yankees” during his mission to Australia in the 1950s. (They played the Australian Olympic Basketball Team–and won.) Today was his funeral, and it seems like the perfect day to review Scott Ellsworth’s The Secret Game: A Wartime Story of Courage, Change, and Basketball’s Lost Triumph.

Of course, if you know me you know that what I know about basketball might most charitably be characterized as “more than I know about football” and “far more than I know about soccer.” Ellworth’s book, however, tells a story that I doubt many fans know. It is at once the story of a single game between two incredible but largely forgotten teams and the story of the early years of what was then frequently segregated basketball. (Learning that North Carolina teams and schools were rigidly segregated in the 1940s did not surprise me. Learning that Kansas and Indiana teams and schools were often segregated as well, did.) It was the kind of book that had me “did you know-“ing to friends, family, and the young women I worth with at church; it was also the kind of book that had me thinking about racial injustice in this country and how we can build bridges of understanding in what ought to be our continual quest to eradicate it.

It’s the kind of book that would be helpful for more people to read right now.

(It’s also the kind of book that notes Uruguay’s attempt to disqualify players over 5’8″ in the first Olympics in which basketball was an official sport. You’ve got to admire the chutzpah.)

This is a book worth reading, friends–whoever you are. The story of North Carolina College for Negroes’ basketball team and the team from Duke Medical school (NOT Duke’s actual basketball team–the med students beat them) playing behind locked doors for safety a decade before the Civil Rights Movement got firmly off the ground is both a dramatic and an important one, one that ought to be known. If you’ve got $20 to spare, buy it. (Unless you’re my adult nephew in Florida, who really shouldn’t be buying such things less than two months before Christmas.) If not, look for it at your local library. Either way–enjoy.*

*If you enjoyed The Boys in the Boat, you should definitely not miss this. It’s even the same Olympics!

Have I mentioned that my second girlie has been asking for books similar to Rob Buyea’s Mr. Terupt series? Because we seriously just hit the jackpot. If you took Because of Mr. Terupt, added in just a tad of Gordon Korman’s The Unteachables, and finished it off with bits of Andrew Clements’ The Landry News and The Last Holiday Concert–oh, and added a graphic element plus one actual amphibian–you’d get Sarah Scheerger’s Operation Frog Effect, which is one of our school district’s “Best Books” for 3rd-4th graders this year. I actually thought Kayley’s character was more realistic than her sort-of-counterpart in Because of Mr. Terupt, and I enjoyed the rest of the characters; I rather think my 6th grader is going to LOVE this. It’s told from 8 different viewpoints–9, if you count the teacher–and is a feel-good teacher sort of book, which always gets me. Fans of the other titles listed above should definitely check this out!