Tag: Newbery

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.

Merci Suárez Changes Gears

Merci Suárez Changes Gears--cover on a cell phone propped against a pen holder. On the cover, a girl rides a bicycle.

In Merci Suárez Changes Gears, Merci lives in las casitas–three pink houses in a row in Florida that she shares with not just her immediate family, but also her extended family.

Lolo and Abuela live in the middle house, and much of this book is about Merci’s relationship with Lolo. Just as Merci struggles with a new stage of her life (middle school), Lolo is struggling with a new stage of his life (old age).

This is a beautiful story that reminds me a bit of my earliest five years when we lived around the block from my grandma and grandpa. I wonder what it would have been like to get older there, to be part of their lives as I got into middle school and then high school.

For Merci, it’s not all easy. (But then, is entering middle school ever easy?) But it’s good, and I love taking this journey with her. I love getting to know this creative, confident, athletic character, and all the people who make up her world.

If you’re at all into realistic middle-grade fiction, this is a good one. I’d say it’s better than Because of Mr. Terupt or Micah McKinney and the Boys of Summer (which are both also good books).

New Kid

New Kid--by Jerry Craft The book sits on a chair On the cover, a kid in a gray hoodie and black slacks scribbles in a notebook

New Kid, by Jerry Craft was 2020’s Newbery award winner. Like other Newberys, it is incredibly well-written, and rich in detail. It has well-rounded characters and a tale that tugs on my heartstrings.

Unlike any other Newbery I’ve read, it is also a graphic novel.

The artwork is gorgeous, and I particularly love the art within the art. (This graphic novel tells the story of Jordan Banks, a young artist, so some of the spreads are meant to be Jordan’s work.) I love the way the book explores this part of Jordan’s personality. I’m fascinated by the ongoing argument in his family about what role art should play in Jordan’s education. Jordan’s family (or at least part of it) regards creative endeavors as a sideline in the business of life. Naturally, I relate to Jordan’s frustration with that.

I also relate to Jordan’s struggle with being the new kid in a school despite some obvious differences between our experiences. Jordan’s racial background and the nature of his prestigious private school add complexity to his struggle. In some ways, this story reminds me of The Hate U Give because Jordan, like Starr, has to navigate two very different cultures as he attends a private school far from his neighborhood.

All in all, this is a great book. I strongly recommend it for anyone who likes graphic novels, art, or realistic stories about starting a new stage of life. I’ll be looking for more of Jerry Craft’s books in the future.

Sarah, Plain and Tall

Sarah, Plain and Tall, by Patricia MacLachlan. This is a cover of the book on a computer screen. A woman in a large straw hat and brownish-red sleeveless dress over a white bouse holds a picnic basket. She leads an boy in a similarly wide-brimmed straw hat and overalls, a girl in a blue dress, and a dog, down a winding path through flat fields. There's a barn and silo in the background.

I’ve often heard that Sarah, Plain and Tall is a very good book, but somehow I hadn’t read it before.

It’s a deceptively simple story, short, with easy-to-read language. Despite its simplicity, the story packs a big emotional punch.

Sarah, who is in fact plain and tall, comes from her home near the sea to the Nebraska prairies. She’s supposed to marry Anna and Caleb’s father, but there’s a trial period. She, naturally, misses her home, and Anna and Caleb worry that she will leave them–as their mother left them (quite unwillingly, we’re sure) by dying not long after Caleb was born. It’s a melancholy story, with lots of yearning underneath the surface.

Though this isn’t my favorite of the Newberys I’ve read recently, I like it. I would recommend it, especially for those who like historical fiction and those who struggle with reading but want decent stories. To find more of my book reviews, check out the bookshelf tab of my website. You can also connect on Goodreads or Librarything.

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.

Hello, Universe

It’s easy to see why this book won the Newbery this year.  The kids in this story are quirky, delightfully complex, and easy to believe in and sympathize with.  Even Chet, the stereotypical bully, is not nearly so stereotypical as he first appears.

Don’t get me wrong.  He’s still a bully, and as such, largely unlike-able.  But he has a couple of good points, and you can kind of get where he’s coming from.  He could use a few good friends.

It’s a pity he’s not willing to consider Virgil, Valencia or Kaori as possible friends, because these three, as mentioned above, are wonderful characters, each strong in her or his own right.  They’re the kind of kids I wish I’d known when I was that awkward age between sixth and seventh grade.  Or perhaps I did know kids like this, but was too wrapped up in my own misery to recognize them.

These three, though, manage to look a bit beyond their own borders and make the most of the gifts the universe brings them–the stories, the experiences and the the others that cross their paths.  They grow as people in this short story, and it’s easy to believe that they’ll have what they need to face their tomorrows.