Flora & Ulysses

The cover of Kate DiCamillo's Flora & Ulysses, surrounded by greenery, and framed with a typewriter, a vacuum cleaner, a pair of sunglasses, a teacup, a donut, and a necktie.

If you need a fun, quick read that’s delightfully magical and laugh-out-loud funny, Flora & Ulysses is a great pick.

Flora is a wonderful character. Smart and cynical, she nonetheless manages to be be sweet. Also, her ability to accept the incredible (but true) is refreshing.

I wonder, in fact, if that ability to accept the incredible is one of the great gifts of childhood. Those, like Flora, who can navigate the path toward adulthood and its worries without losing that acceptance, are gifted. Or stubbornly unique. Or something.

Flora isn’t the only character I like in here. Ulysses is probably the most well-rounded squirrel I have ever met in a book. The neighbors–both her mother’s and her father’s neighbors–are quirky and full of compassion. And Flora’s parents, despite their issues (real issues!) are fascinating people we can empathize with.

There are plenty of difficult things in this book, but it doesn’t come off as heavy. In fact, the humor keeps it almost buoyant–without ever getting crass or minimizing the problems. This is an amazing book, well worth its Newbery. If you can at all tolerate middle-grade books, I’d recommend this one. (Note: I have not seen the movie. I’ve heard it’s good, but have no other information on that point.)

The Crossover

Cover of The Crossover by Kwame Alexander--silhouette of a boy twirling a ball made of words on one finger

The Crossover, by Kwame Alexander, is a gorgeous novel in verse. In lyrical language it sings…and seduces…and transports.

In fact, The Crossover is a bit magical. I know that, because partway through reading it, I imagined I actually wanted to get out and play basketball.

Anyone who knows me will understand the magic of this. I’m hardly what you’d call a sports person. I’m uncomfortable with any level of physical activity that requires a shower afterward. And, I don’t watch sports. (I make exceptions for Olympic figure skating, gymnastics, and occasionally diving.)

But this book magically turns me into Josh Bell, a basketball phenom. Josh’s pure love for the game sings through me, and so does his love and worry about his family. So does his love and frustration with his twin.

I used to think I didn’t like novels in verse, but now, I suspect I just hadn’t read any. If you haven’t tried one, this is a fabulous one to start with. (I’d also recommend Audacity by Melanie Crowder–or maybe even Flying in a Cage)

The Girl Who Drank the Moon

A red hardback copy of The Girl who Drank the Moon sits on the spine of a fan over a blue bakcground. White origami birds flock over it.

I have loved The Girl Who Drank the Moon since I first read it when my daughter picked it up for a contest back when she was in fifth grade. So, several years, now.

Like all the best fantasies, this one immerses me in a world that feels both familiar and wonderfully different from the world where I live.

And the characters! Kelly Barnhill, the author, has created so many fascinating people in this book. I love Luna, especially for her exuberance. And the swamp monster. I love the Simply Enormous dragon (who fits in Luna’s pocket). And so many more…

What I love most might be that in this story, even good people make problems worse. They do this even when they’re trying to do right. In a messed up system, treating symptoms may be necessary, but it won’t touch the heart of the issue. Systemic evil must be dismantled before lives can improve.

And this book helps me to see that in a story that I would have no qualms about reading with an eight-year-old. It’s that kind of good.

Anyway, if you like fantasy at all–or middle grade–or just fabulously good writing–and you haven’t yet read The Girl Who Drank the Moon, you absolutely should.

Bridge to Terabithia

Cover for Bridge to Terabithia by Katherine Patterson (Special 40th anniversary Edition) on a computer screen. 

Picture--Silhouette of girl swinging on rope from a tree across a gully toward silhouette of boy next to taller tree. Background blues with stars, silhouette of a pink/purple castle foggy in the background.

I read Bridge to Terabithia once long ago, and my memory of it was fuzzy–only that it was a very good book, and that it made me sad.

When a student needed to read it for a class, I was glad to pick up a copy and read along. And, having read it again, I have to say that I still think it’s a very good book. And it still makes me sad.

I love Jesse–and feel convicted by him. Like him, I fear what the people around me think–and feel both crippled and embarrassed by my lack of courage. Like Jesse, I have siblings I love–and sometimes want to throttle (less so now that I don’t live with them, but I remember that feeling).

And, then, of course, there’s Leslie–the child of the city and imagination who changes everything. I love the way Leslie brings Jesse along with her flights of imagination, and the way the two of them challenge each other to experience things beyond their normal.

I also love the way this book deals with hard things with both honesty and compassion. In this particular strength, Bridge to Terabithia excels beyond most books I have read. I highly recommend it for anyone. It might be even better than some of the other Newbery award winners I’ve reviewed here, like Holes and Hello, Universe.

Holes

This book has been on my shelf for quite some time, and somehow I never felt like picking it up. Maybe the cover was too bland. Maybe the Newbery sticker faded into the sand. I don’t know.

This weekend, though, I picked it up off the shelf, and wow.

I like Stanley and Hector and the other boys at the camp. I like the tiny hints of supernatural–happenings that are just a touch too convenient–but not so far out of the ordinary as to be unbelievable. It’s a surprisingly realistic book for an old-style fable that centers on a curse.

Like all the best old-fashioned fables, this story has a great ending, but the really wonderful part is the journey to get there. I’d highly recommend this if you still read middle-grade books at all.

Hoot

They call this type of fiction realistic–and I guess it is, if you use “realistic” to mean that any given event in the story could conceivably happen in the world as we know it. There’s no magic, and no not-yet-invented technology.

On the other hand, I often found my plausibility stretched (the kid with good, involved parents disappears for an afternoon, and isn’t even grounded afterward?)

Still, I found the story engaging, and I wanted Roy to succeed–to fit into his new school in his new town, to get out from under the bullying jerk who has it in for him, to find the intriguing young man who runs by the bus stop barefoot, and eventually to save the endangered owls who are threatened by a pancake franchise.

It’s fun to participate in Roy’s journey toward achieving these things. The characters are well-drawn, the setting immersive, and the voice delightfully humorous. For me, this would have been a love instead of a like if I hadn’t frequently found myself thinking, “no way would that ever happen.”

Because of Mr. Terupt

One of the advantages of tutoring in English is that I sometimes get the chance to read books for young people that I hadn’t heard of before.

This one is fun. It features an unconventional teacher and his students–several of whom narrate the book.

The multiple narrators annoyed me a bit at first–I didn’t have a strong sense of whose story it was. But I came to appreciate the different voices, the different views–and the way each student was affected by this remarkable teacher.

I think many of us have a teacher like this in our lives–someone who inspires growth in both our heads and our hearts. My own was Mrs. Legato (eighth grade history). This story reminded me of her and also helped me think about how young people are profoundly affected by the people who teach them.

All in all, it was a pretty good book, sometimes funny, and occasionally poignant. I’m not sure I liked it well enough to go on to the sequels, but I’m glad to have been introduced to it.

flying in a cage

Ivory hears music in everything–in birdsong, and wind chimes, yes, but also in the noise of traffic and the rhythm of a dishwasher.

There is also music in her heart, making sense of the world and her feelings–much more sense of these things than she can make without it.

I liked this look at Ivory’s world, though I found it difficult to get into the story-in-verse form at first. Perhaps that is a good thing, though–it helped create a sense of disorientation that might be a bit like what Ivory felt all the time.

All in all, a good story, well told.

Micah McKinney And The Boys Of Summer

This was a fun read that reminded me of all the intense emotion of going into middle school.

Micah may have more serious issues in her life than most young teens, but most will relate to her difficulties adjusting to the way her body, her life, and her relationships are changing.

I liked the realism of this piece, and the young voice. It reminded me a bit of Judy Blume, in good, modern ways. Micah has some heavy stuff to deal with, including her mother’s death, but I feel like she’s handling these things in a healthier way at the end of her summer than at the beginning. And the friendships she develops–with kids her own age and with older teens–are one of the highlights of this story.

Look Both Ways in the Barrio Blanco

Jacinta and Miss learn a lot from each other in this sweet and sometimes sad foray into the life of a young woman and her “amiga.” At the beginning, neither one understands much about the others’ world, and that lack of knowledge leads to sometimes funny and sometimes heartbreaking problems.

This was a good story (though I got somewhat annoyed at the highlighted vocabulary words–and I believe I would have been even more annoyed by them when I was the target age for this story–I was very touchy when I felt people were talking down to me back then).

Despite that, I found this story enlightening. Reading it as an adult, I’m reminded that in life, good intentions are often not enough. Fools rush in…

Way too often, I’m a fool.