Harry Potter's Highest Priority

Harry Potter has become as much a part of our autumns as crunchy leaves, pumpkin carving, and Halloween costumes. When my boys are grown and think back on their childhoods, I know they will fondly remember the cozy evenings we spent immersed in the wizarding world of Hogwarts. And that makes me happy.

It's quite possible that Aaron and Max will remember this year's installment, Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, better than any of the others. It was maybe the most enjoyable readaloud experience we've ever had, and that's saying something. They begged me to read it every night. They folded laundry if it meant I would read a little more. We spent Sunday afternoons reading just one more chapter. And they even woke me up on a Saturday morning to see if I would read before they had to start on chores. 

This was quite the contrast to last year. The fifth Harry Potter took us nearly five months to read, and it was something of a slog--a pleasant slog, but still a slog.

Not so with this sixth book. We blazed through it. The chapters melted away, one by one. There wasn't a moment of pause or drag. The story just flowed in that magical way that sometimes happens.

When we read the final line and closed the book, we felt immense satisfaction but also a keen sense of loss. We experienced withdrawals for several weeks after finishing. Sometimes Aaron would come into my room and open his mouth to start to ask for Harry Potter before remembering that there wasn't anymore left to read.

It was the first time I have been sorely tempted to just jump into the next book. I'm sure I wouldn't have met any resistance from Aaron or Max if I'd suggested it. But these books are as much about the ambiance and feeling of fall as they are about the stories themselves. We've created this experience, and it would be such a shame to break it for the final book. Plus, I know that the anticipation and excitement will only grow between now and next September.

I felt bad for the readaloud that followed this one. It probably didn't matter which book we chose, it wasn't going to be able to compete. The boys were completely unenthusiastic about it. It took us a good eight chapters before we were into it, and even then, it felt like we read aloud out of habit more than for the sheer pleasure of it. 

The one disadvantage of reading a book well after your peers is that many things have accidentally been spoiled for you (and in case you haven't read this book, this is your warning that I will be sharing spoilers here), including the biggest plot twist--that of Professor Dumbledore dying at the hands of Professor Snape. That moment has become a part of culture. Spoilers are unavoidable. 

But somehow, knowing that it was going to happen did not make it any less dramatic or heart-stopping when Snape raised his wand on top of the tower and uttered the fateful words. My eyes had skimmed ahead, and I had seen it before I actually read it aloud. It took my breath away, and I told the boys, "I can't read the next part. I just can't." I decided I was actually grateful many different people had spilled the ending many years ago. I think it might have been too traumatic otherwise.

Even though we knew the way the book would end, there were still many points of the plot that we knew nothing about, including who the Half-Blood Prince was. We discussed possibilities and mounting evidence, but we were still surprised when it was finally revealed.

Besides the pleasure I derived from reading this book, I also had a rather profound, maybe even spiritual, moment while reading.

During one of Harry's lessons with Professor Dumbledore, they visit a memory of Professor Slughorn's. It is incomplete and altered, but Dumbledore is convinced that the true memory will "undoubtedly be [the] most crucial piece of information of all" in understanding Voldemort. Dumbledore gives Harry the charge to find out the real memory from Slughorn. He emphasizes the absolute importance of this in their quest. Nothing else is of higher priority.

Harry doesn't doubt Dumbledore, but he doesn't have any great ideas for how to get Slughorn to trust him. And meanwhile, Draco Malfoy is definitely up to something. Harry can't figure out what it is, but it completely consumes him. He obsessively studies the Marauder's Map to track Malfoy's movements. He thinks about it all the time. He gathers evidence and comes up with all sorts of possibilities.

At their next lesson, Dumbledore asks, "Have you managed the task I set you at the end of our previous lesson?" Harry says that he asked Professor Slughorn about it, but Slughorn refused to give it to him. 

And then, Dumbledore says something that easily cuts down every single excuse: "And you feel that you have exerted your very best efforts in this matter, do you? That you have exercised all of your considerable ingenuity? That you have left no depth of cunning unplumbed in your quest to retrieve the memory?" 

Harry actually had been devoting that kind of effort, ingenuity, and cunning into a task, but it was not the one that Dumbledore had given him. Harry knew what the most important thing was. He even believed it was the most important thing. But something else won his attention because it was the thing that made his own prideful emotions flare up, and he couldn't let go of it.

With a start, I realized how many times I am just like Harry. I know what the important things are. I don't need to be convinced. But I don't give priority to them. I subconsciously know that those things will still be around whether I pay attention to them now or later. So I put them off in favor of more tantalizing endeavors. 

For Harry, it probably also had something to do with the fact that he felt unequal to the task. If he didn't try, then he hadn't failed yet, and that would give him more time. It is the same for me. I am crippled by the worry that I won't fulfill my highest objective, and so I would rather not think about it right now.

It has been almost a month since we finished this book, and I am still thinking about this part. I can't get Dumbledore's question out of my head, "May I hope, then, that you will give this matter higher priority from now on?" He could just as easily be asking that question of me. And I am determined to accept his challenge.

I know that this book is many people's favorite in the series, and it might be mine as well. Certainly a book that can be entertaining, compelling, and thought-provoking should be given the highest praise. I love that J.K. Rowling delivered some of her finest work towards the end of the series, and I couldn't have asked for a better reading experience than sharing it with my boys.

The False Prince by Jennifer A. Nielsen

I used to try to make an effort to read at least some of the same books as my kids. But lately, I haven't had much of an interest in their reading material. For most of fourth grade, Maxwell's favorite series (along with its multiple spinoff series) was Warriors. In case you couldn't guess, action packed drama involving warring cat clans is definitely not my thing. 

Aaron is a much more eclectic reader than Max, but this summer he has either been reading books that I recommended (which I've already read) or long-winded fantasy series (also not my thing).

As part of our summer reading program, the boys could earn a book after twenty hours of reading (ten hours for Clark). For the first two months of summer, Aaron was literally earning at least one book every week. At one point, we kind of ran out of ideas, so I had him look through this excellent list of adventure books from Erica at What Do We Do All Day (seriously, all of her lists are good, but this one is a particular gold mine). He selected The False Prince, and after reading through the summary, I said, "Hey, that actually sounds like a book I might like, too." 

Luckily, knowing that his mom might be interested in the same book as him is not a turnoff for Aaron. Once he was done with it and confirmed that it was very good, I checked out the audio and gave it a listen. 

Although his life is not luxurious in any way, orphan Sage is quick on his feet with an even quicker mouth, so he gets by just fine. But one day, just after stealing a ham, his life makes an abrupt turn when a man named Connor, one of the country's regents, stops by the orphanage and handpicks Sage for a secret project.

After a great struggle with some complaining and insults thrown in, Sage finds himself in the back of a wagon with three other boys: Vladimir, Tobias, and Roden. They exchange what little information they know, but it is soon clear that the four of them were chosen for a role that only one of them will ultimately fill. Connor gives each of them the chance to leave before he reveals the full plan, and when Vladimir accepts the offer, Connor has him shot in the back before he even leaves the campsite. The other boys quickly realize this isn't a game, and Connor will stop at nothing to get what he wants.

And what does he want? To save the kingdom of Carthia from war and destruction. The king, queen, and prince have just been murdered, leaving no heir to the throne. There was a second son, Jaron, who was  supposedly killed by pirates four years before, but his body was never found. Connor has evidence that Jaron actually did die, but he plans to take advantage of the hope the country still has that Jaron is alive. 

And that is where Sage and the other boys come in. Connor takes them to his estate for two weeks where he trains them in all of the arts, graces, knowledge, and traits of Prince Jaron. At the end of the testing period, he will choose one of them to be presented as the long-lost Prince Jaron and ascend the throne as the rightful king of Carthia. 

I listened to an interview with Jennifer Nielsen about writing this book, and she said that once she had the character of Sage firmly in her mind, everything else fell into place. She said that Sage became this living, breathing person for her, and she would think about him constantly and what he would do in various situations in her actual life. 

When I heard the way she talked about Sage, it suddenly made sense why the story worked so well for me. It was because Sage was so convincing--even with his conflicting actions and attitudes. He was 100% believable, and I think a lot of that had to do with Jennifer Nielsen's relationship with him: it was affectionate and personal and very intimate. He wasn't just some character that she dreamed up to execute a certain idea. She took the time to get to know him--his layered complexity that made the story so rich and thrilling.

I'm so glad she took the time to get him right because if Sage hadn't clicked for me, the whole story would have fallen flat. As it was, I enjoyed the whole thing very much and thought it had some good twists and turns.

This one is the first book in the series, but I can't decide if I want to read any of the others or not. I honestly kind of liked it as a standalone novel. I don't want to spoil anything, but I'm worried that Sage won't be as fascinating or exciting of a character in subsequent books, and since he was the reason why I loved this book so much, I just don't want to risk ruining that. 

I would place this book solidly in the 10-14 age range, but a younger child could enjoy it as a readaloud, and I obviously still enjoyed it very much as an adult. 

Alvin Ho: Allergic to Girls, School, and Other Scary Things by Lenore Look

When we wrote up our plans and goals for this summer, all of the boys agreed that they definitely wanted to have a family book club again. As usual, the book selection was left up to me, and it was particularly tricky this year since we had a new member of the club (Clark!!). 

I needed something that wouldn't be too long or daunting for him but also not completely juvenile for the rest of us. Something with slightly larger text and pictures while still having some substance. After digging around for a bit, I finally settled on the first book in the Alvin Ho series. These books have been around for more than a decade, but amazingly, none of my kids had read them. 

Alvin lives in Concord, Massachusetts (a city that could only be improved if it had a volcano) with his mom, dad, older brother, and younger sister. He is, in his own words, "afraid of many things." Heading into second grade fills him with the severest kind of dread. In preparation for the big first day, he makes sure his PDK (Personal Disaster Kit) is fully stocked with all of the necessities: you know, things like band-aids, garlic, dental floss and escape routes. Just in case. 

On his first day, all ability to speak evaporates, so when a girl named Flea offers to be his desk buddy, he can't say no . . . or yes. Flea is cool because she wears an eye patch and one of her legs is shorter than the other, but she is still a girl, and girls are one of the things that Alvin is most afraid of. 

Clark was quite anxious about finishing this book "on time" even though I assured him over and over again that he could take all the time he needed, and we wouldn't have book club until he was finished. He took his commitment to book club quite seriously. As it was, it ended up being Mike who was the last one to finish, which thrilled Clark. 

We kicked off our book club with popcorn and cinnamon bears and the invitation for everyone to share a favorite moment from the book. There were many to choose from:

• the time that Alvin's older brother, Calvin, encourages him to try getting a little taller by hanging from a tree branch . . . but then accidentally forgets about him, and Alvin is, of course, afraid of heights.
• the chapter where someone in Alvin's class gets the chicken pox, and Alvin goes over to his house to infect himself with it (you might think that Alvin would be afraid of getting sick, but he is more afraid of going to school, so getting sick provides the perfect out). 
• the moment where Alvin takes his dad's beloved Johnny Astro retro toy (it's a real thing--check it out!) to school and accidentally breaks it ("if you break it, you might as well plan your funeral").
• the silent psychotherapy session that ends abruptly when Alvin starts yelling Shakespearean curses at his therapist.

But my personal favorite was a rather tender part. It happened right after the unfortunate incident mentioned just above. His dad picks him up from the therapy appointment, and Alvin fully expects to get into trouble. But instead, his dad takes him out for ice cream. Alvin says, "Usually we go to Brigham's to celebrate a birthday or a good report card, but never before for cursing a grown-up." But when Alvin questions the choice, his dad simply says, "Therapy is rough, right?" Then he admits, "I had a rough day too. So we need to stick together, and we need some ice cream." Alvin totally breaks down, but his dad is patient and understanding. They have a good heart-to-heart on what it means to be a gentleman, and Alvin's dad tells him that Rule No. 2 involves never cursing or insulting others. Alvin's dad takes the time to listen and teach, and as they leave the ice cream store, Alvin says, "It was the best time I ever had with my dad." 

I didn't know it when I chose this book, but there ended up being so many memorable parts and quotable lines--things that will probably end up becoming inside jokes for our family, such as, "I'm sorry that it's a weird book and that you're a weird girl." When Mike was reading it, I often heard him chuckling, and since I'd already read it myself, I always had to ask what he was laughing at so I could laugh about it, too.

Even though we discussed very deep, book-clubby questions, such as, "Why do you think it was so hard for Alvin to apologize to Flea?" and "Have you ever overcome one of your fears?" we mostly just sat around and relived all of our favorite parts, quoting and laughing about them all together. It was one of those perfect moments where I looked around and had the thought, This turned out exactly like I wanted it to. The camaraderie, the shared laughter, the tasty snacks, the unity of coming to a discussion with the same amount of preparation--6-year-old and 38-year-old alike. It was just delightful. 

After we were done, I checked out several of the other books in the series because I have a feeling that even if we don't have a formal discussion about it, our family needs more Alvin Ho in our lives.

(Oh, and just a PSA, if you read it, be sure to not skip over Alvin's glossary at the end. That thing is gold.)

 

 

Sweep: The Story of a Girl and Her Monster by Jonathan Auxier

Have you ever read a book and, upon finishing it, thought, Where is all the praise for this book? Why has no one been talking about it? Why has it not won any awards?

That's how I felt after reading this book. It was so beautifully written, well-researched, and brilliantly crafted that it seemed like it must have somehow been tragically overlooked the year it was published.

I personally took notice of it, not because anyone else had mentioned it, but simply because it was written by Jonathan Auxier, and I have been a major fan of his ever since reading Peter Nimble and His Fantastic Eyes several years ago.

But even with this selling point, it still took me over a year to pick up a copy because the title didn't interest me. I didn't think I had much use for a book about monsters.

Little did I know that the "monster" was only one to those who didn't know him. To Nan, he was a golem, birthed from a little piece of glowing char she'd had in her possession for a long time.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. Nan is a climber in 1875 London. She works for Mr. Wilkie Crudd, better known as "The Clean Sweep." Her job is to clean people's chimneys, not by pushing a broom up into them à la Mary Poppins, but by pushing herself up into them. Because of her small frame, she can go where no adult can--small shafts that are literally no bigger than a 9-inch square (I feel a little ill just writing that out).

Nan hasn't always worked for Wilkie Crudd. When she was very young, she moved around London with her Sweep. He was tall and thin and quietly protective. He told stories and invented possibilities and made even bad things seem exciting. Under his hand, she learned to read and think for herself. But one day he disappeared, leaving behind only his hat and a warm piece of char.

Nan keeps thinking her Sweep will come back, but in the meantime, her only option is to climb chimneys and collect soot.

But then one day, the unthinkable happens. While Nan is crawling through a tiny tunnel in a school for young ladies, she gets distracted by a conversation going on in one of the rooms below. She doesn't pay attention to her position, and she gets stuck. When a climber gets stuck, there are only a few options, and none of them are pleasant.

The one that Nan's rival, Roger, decides to try is called the Devil's Nudge, and it involves lighting a fire in the hearth under her. The idea is that with the right motivation, Nan will do anything, including breaking her own bones, to free herself.

But something happens when Nan is stuck inside that flue--something that Nan can't explain or even figure out for herself. The little piece of char she has carried in her pocket for years ignites and blasts her out of the chimney, and when she regains consciousness, she realizes that everyone thinks she's dead, and her char has turned into a little baby golem she affectionately names Charlie.

Together, they hide away and make an unusual, but very pleasant, life for themselves. No one but Nan's friend, Toby, knows about Charlie, and that's probably for the best since it only takes a few weeks before Charlie is no longer the size of a pebble but a big and lumbering (but just so naively adorable) golem.

But of course things don't stay happy and comfortable. Nan finds out that Wilkie Crudd doesn't believe for an instant that she died in that fire ("Nan Sparrow, felled by the Devil's Nudge? Maybe another climber, but not [her]"). And as she attempts to hide from and outsmart him, she learns more about golems. Miss Bloom, a teacher from the young ladies' seminary, tells Nan that golems are created for a purpose and that "once a golem has fulfilled its purpose, it must die."

This story was the perfect mix of history, fantasy, and emotion. If one of those elements had been removed, it wouldn't have worked, but blended together, they were a magic combination.

I learned so much about the tragic life that was the reality of so many children during the Industrial Revolution.  At the back of the book, Jonathan Auxier shared a few historical facts and said, "By some estimates, the average life span of a climber was just five years." Five years. He talked about how horrific this was, especially given the fact that a mechanical brush had been invented almost a century before, but many homeowners didn't want sweeps to use it, "claiming that the brushes did not do as thorough a job as young climbers."

These dire facts might have overwhelmed the story if not for the fantasy aspect. Charlie lightened up the story considerably. Not only were his little questions and statements so innocent and funny ("Oh yes, you are doing privacy"), but knowing that he would protect Nan at all costs made it seem like the story would somehow turn out right. It was also fascinating to learn about the history of golems within the Jewish tradition.

But what really made this story jump up to the next level was that it had this undercurrent of love and compassion and hope. By the end, I cared deeply for Nan and Toby and Miss Bloom and Newt and, of course, Charlie.

At one point, Nan and Toby were eating amaretto ice on top of a roof (yes, there were still some very idyllic moments, in spite of the hardship). Nan confided her fears regarding Charlie: "I'm afraid . . . What if I can't protect him?" Toby answered, "That's what it is to care for a person. If you're not afraid, you're not doing it right."

I read this book out loud to my kids, and although it was a little bit difficult for 6-year-old Clark to follow, it was a completely immersive experience for the rest of us. We were wrapped up in Nan and Charlie's adventures, and as we got to the climax, we literally could not pull ourselves away from the story.

During one particularly tender moment, I couldn't keep the tears from leaking. Maxwell looked at me and said, "You're crying. You're actually crying." I've cried at the end of many other books, but for some reason, he seemed to take more notice of it this time. He has brought it up a couple of times since then ("Mom actually cried at the end of that book"), and I think it was maybe the first time he realized the power of a good story and how much it can make you feel.

Toby told Nan, "We save ourselves by saving others," and that was true for so many relationships in this book: the Sweep to Nan, Nan to Charlie, Miss Bloom to Nan . . . as well as one beautifully unexpected one that I won't spoil by sharing. But if there's one lesson I hope my kids took away from Nan's story, it was exactly that: We save ourselves by saving others. Isn't that so completely true?

The True Confessions of Charlotte Doyle by Avi

If an award was given for "worst cover ever," this book would probably be a top contender. I passed over it many times as a kid at the library because it looked rather dull. I guessed it was about a girl traveling across the ocean. Her voyage looked happy, even pleasant. Look at her serene expression, her hair blowing gently in the breeze, her crisp and frilly outfit. I assumed her "true confessions" were about a secret love interest or some other silly nonsense.

Nothing could be further from the reality of this book.

How about mutiny, murder, and hurricanes on the high seas instead?

Charlotte Doyle has lived most of her life at Barrington School in England, but the time has come for her to return home to Providence, Rhode Island. As such, her father booked her passage on a merchant ship, the Seahawk. The circumstances are not ideal for a refined young woman, but two other families will also be sailing on the ship, so Charlotte will not be alone.

But when she arrives at the dock in Liverpool, she finds out that neither family will be able to make the voyage after all. Not only that, but Charlotte can't even find a porter who is willing to take her trunk to the ship because the name Seahawk has an instant negative effect on everyone who hears it.

With a deep sense of foreboding, but no other alternative, Charlotte boards the ship. Her fears are not allayed: Her cabin is small and cramped, the sailors are coarse and frightening, and she doesn't know how she'll ever maintain proper decorum through such a long journey. One sailor, Barlow, warns her: "You're being here will lead to no good, miss. No good at all. You'd be better off far from the Seahawk." In addition to that, the ship's cook, an old black sailor by the name of Zachariah, offers her a dirk, and you know things can't be good if someone think you may need a knife to protect yourself.

It is also obvious from the very beginning that there is quite a bit of dissatisfaction and unrest among the crew, and it seems to be directed toward the captain, Andrew Jaggery. But Charlotte thinks the captain is the only civilized human on board (besides herself, of course), and she is determined to stay close to him in spite of the warnings from the rest of the crew.

Things come to a head when Charlotte accidentally finds a round robin in the crew's quarters--a type of symbol that signifies unity before a mutiny. Captain Jaggery reveals his true (ugly) colors, and Charlotte instantly switches loyalty, casts away her restricting dresses, and joins the crew.

I don't think my boys would have ever decided to read this book on their own, but it worked perfectly as a readaloud. It had plenty of suspense, adventure, and yes, unfortunately, blood to keep them extremely interested. Almost every chapter ended with a cliffhanger, which made it nearly impossible to find a good place to stop reading each night. They never wanted me to quit in the middle of a chapter, but every time I got to the end, they said, "Mom! You can't stop there! You know you can't stop there." As the climax approached, we had no other choice except to keep reading.

I will say that in spite of the thrilling adventure in this book, I came away severely disappointed by one thing (spoiler ahead):

I kept waiting for the crew to rise up in defense of Charlotte. I had it all worked out in my head: Captain Jaggery would attack her, and just as her fate seemed inevitable, they would rush to her aide in a display of true friendship and loyalty.

But the moment never came.

At first, it was understandable. They were trying to protect Zachariah because he had been one of their mates for years. But even once it was clear that Zachariah was innocent, they remained stoic and impassive, paralyzed by doubt and fear.

Perhaps it was the author's intent to give Charlotte the full spotlight at the end--to demonstrate that a girl doesn't need any help from a bunch of rough and tumble sailors. But even though it made Charlotte look awesome, everyone else (except perhaps Zachariah) was disappointingly weak, and I wouldn't trust any of them for friends in the future. Plus, we're supposed to think that these men who couldn't be bothered to give Charlotte even so much as a nod of encouragement were all of a sudden going to be totally supportive of her becoming captain of the ship? I couldn't buy it.

It was one of those times where I wanted to take the book and rewrite the climax. It could have been so much better. It's not all about girl power. There needs to be a sense of camaraderie and loyalty as well, and that was missing.

(Spoilers over.)

Overall, we all loved it, and the parts that didn't meet our expectations gave us lots to talk about. It was a little advanced for Clark who was rather a fair weather listener. He was always in and out of the room, which meant he sometimes asked questions about the most obvious things: "Who's Captain Jaggery?" (The other boys: "What do you mean, who's Captain Jaggery?!?!?! Only the most evil captain to ever sail the seas.")

Our copy had a slightly updated cover. And even though it still might not be the most tantalizing, that dirk behind Charlotte's back does give you a clue that it will be about more than just salty winds and blue skies.

Two Recent WWII books: The War I Finally Won and Salt to the Sea

Not that anyone is looking for more World War II books to read, but if they were, these two are definitely topping my list right now.

The War I Finally Won by Kimberly Brubaker Bradley

I loved The War That Saved My Life so much that I immediately put the sequel on hold (and if you know anything about me and my track record with sequels/series, then you'll know what high praise this is). I've heard some readers say they liked this one better than the first one, but if I was forced to choose, I think I'd put my vote with the first one.

That isn't to say there was anything wrong with this one. Just, to me, it seemed like the story kind of stalled out a bit. It still has most of the same characters: Ada, Jamie, Susan, Lady Thornton, and Maggie, with the addition of Ruth (a young Jewish woman who has come to study math with Susan). In many ways, Ada's story has come full circle as demonstrated in this scene where she is riding Maggie's brother's horse, Oben: "I kicked again. I whooped. His speed increased until his stride began to feel as smooth as rushing wind, as effortless as flowing water. I moved with him, effortlessly. On the day I was evacuated, I'd looked out the window of our train and seen a girl galloping a pony, racing the train. Now I was that girl, galloping, laughing, my head thrown back, the wind tugging my hair. I'd become the person I'd longed to be."

But "becoming the person she'd longed to be" came with a price, which was that Ada was gripped with an intense need to control everything and keep anything bad out of her life--a task that is impossible at the best of times, let alone during a war.

She was also confronted with the question of, "If I've already become who I want to be [the girl riding the horse], what comes next?"

It's those two things (Ada's internal anxieties and her hopes for the future) that really drive the plot of this book. But even though big things happened (the Thorntons experienced a tragedy, Susan became very ill, Ada helped warn the village about a bombing), the pacing itself felt slow. To be fair, it wasn't any slower than the first book, but I think the difference was that in the first one, I was getting to know the characters at the same time, but here I already knew the characters really well, so the quiet moments dragged.

That said, I think it's partly the slow pace that makes Ada's growth seem so authentic. Her problems are not solved overnight. She has opportunities where she gets the best of her demons and other times when they get the best of her, but her overall motion is upward and forward. This quote from the end might sum it up best:

"I'd known the right thing to do, and I'd done it. I'd helped take care of Lady Thornton the way she'd helped take care of me. I'd stood in the steeple while bombs and even an airplane had fallen past me out of the sky. I'd felt afraid but I hadn't come undone. My foot would never be all the way right, but I could walk and climb and run. My feelings might never be all the way right either but they were healed enough.

There were many things I liked about this book--it was definitely a worthy and satisfying sequel (and there is even a sweet moment of closure for Susan at the very end). But I guess what I'm trying to say is that it maybe matched the first one a little too well in tone and pacing and drama, so it didn't have quite the same impact on me.

Salt to the Sea by Ruta Sepetys

This book is evidence to my suspicion that no matter how many books are written about World War II, we will never run out of new material for another one. More than anything, I think that attests to the sad reality of how vast and all-encompassing that war really was.

This story centers around four characters: Emilia (a young Polish girl) Florian (a secretive Prussian), Joana (a Lithuanian nurse), and Alfred (a German private). As the war neared its end, thousands of Eastern Europeans fled before the Russians. These four characters boarded the infamous Wilhelm Gustloff for a short voyage across the Baltic Sea.

Infamous, except that I'd never heard of it before hearing about this book. If that's you too, then here are a few facts: the Wilhelm Gustloff was torpedoed in the Baltic Sea on January 30, 1945. It was carrying over 10,000 people, nearly 9,400 of whom perished in the frigid waters (and an unbelievable 5,000 of those losses were children). To give you some comparison, the Titanic lost 1,600 lives and the Lusitania lost 1,200. The sinking of the Wilhelm Gustloff dwarfed these other tragedies in every way, but for some reason, it has not been given the same amount of attention.

Set against this horrific backdrop, the stories of these four people were fascinating and heartbreaking. I listened to this book, and the audio used four different narrators, which made it easy to differentiate between the characters right from the beginning. As is so often the case with stories told from multiple points of view, this one was rich and multi-layered as I witnessed the same event from different perspectives and pieced together all of the details.

The writing is exquisite. Even simple sentences like this one, "She held her breath in one hand and her suitcase in the other," vividly meshed together the physical and emotional details. I also loved this one, which gave a stark image of the effect of the war: "War had bled color from everything, leaving nothing but a storm of gray."

In the midst of this terrible tragedy, the writing had a way of bringing in little forgotten details that just made my heart twist. For example, as Emilia is traveling through the woods, she often sings a little nursery rhyme from her childhood: "All the little duckies with their heads in the water, heads in the water . . . " Later, as she looks over the water at the destruction all around her, the nursery rhyme, once innocent, comes back unbidden with frightening accuracy, only it is no longer referring to ducks.

Two characters deserve special mention: the shoe poet because I loved him so much and Alfred because he was so unbelievably awful.

The shoe poet, as everyone referred to him, might have been my very favorite. He was a man without guile who had a keen sense of observation and shared his wisdom through shoe metaphors (hence, the nickname). He was especially kind to the wandering boy, a young child who had come unmoored from his family. I loved their trusting and loving relationship in the midst of so much despair.

Then there was Alfred who was an egotistic narcissist but also a bumbling idiot (depending on the point of view at the time). I loved the other three main characters so much and felt a connection with each one. But even in his pathetic wretchedness, I couldn't drum up even the least bit of sympathy for Alfred. I had to wonder if this was what the author intended or if I was at least supposed to feel somewhat sorry for Alfred or if she purposely created an unlikeable character because she knew we would need someone to hate.

I'm always on the lookout for the title of the book to be embedded in the story somewhere. It usually sheds some light as to why the author chose it for the title and makes it more poignant. In this case, the title came from Joana as she drifted in the middle of the sea: "I wanted my mother. My mother loved Lithuania. She loved her family. The war had torn every last love from her life. Would she have to learn the grotesque details of our suffering? Would news make it to my hometown . . . ,  to the dark bunker in the woods where my father and brother were thought to be hiding? Joana Vilcus. Your daughter. Your sister. She is salt to the sea."

I'm grateful that I have yet another book to add to my list of worthwhile and appropriate young adult novels. Because even though the subject matter is dark and heavy, the actual content was quite clean and sensitive. I'll leave you with this final bit of wisdom from Emilia, which highlights the resiliency of the human spirit and that even in the darkest moments, we can find the good: "Nature. That was something the war couldn't take from me either. The Nazis couldn't stop the wind and the snow. The Russians couldn't take the sun or the stars."

Three Recent Re-reads: Princess Academy, Their Eyes Were Watching God, and From the Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler

I've had the pleasure of re-reading a few excellent books over the last couple of months. Rereading is so great, especially when you have a horrible memory like I do and can basically enjoy it like the first time all over again!

Princess Academy by Shannon Hale

When I suggested this as our next readaloud, my boys balked a little at the title. With the word "princess" in the title, it does tend to come across as a little bit girly. But having already read it twice myself, I assured them they had nothing to fear.

But . . . it turns out . . . I had forgotten how slow-paced this book is. It didn't seem slow when I was reading it to myself. But when I was reading it to three boys who just couldn't wait for the bandits to arrive, suddenly Miri's repetitive thoughts on whether she would rather stay on Mount Eskel or move to the palace and become a princess seemed rather dull and boring. I caught myself thinking, Oh no, Miri, not again. Do you have to agonize over your feelings for Peder one more time? 

Over the years of reading aloud to my boys, I haven't shied away from books that might be seen as being more traditionally for girls. Consequently, some of our favorite books have starred female protagonists, such as The Penderwicks, Ramona, and Pippi Longstocking. But I can also recognize that there are certain themes and subjects and plots that my boys are just more naturally drawn to. And daydreaming about what it might be like to be a princess isn't one of them. (In all fairness though, it isn't really a matter of girl vs. boy as much as just a matter of taste. For example, I don't enjoy books with fantasy creatures in them; that doesn't have anything to do with the fact that I'm a girl, but rather, that's just my personal preference.)

But we held out for the promised siege, and it was worth the wait (although, I have to say, I don't remember being so incredulous about Dan's demise when I read it the first two times . . . tiny Miri was able to hold onto a root with huge Dan hanging onto one of her legs???? No way. I'm sorry, but no way.)

So all's told, it was a bit of a let down. It pains me to say it, but it was. I still liked the writing (how about this wisdom from Doter: "Unhappiness can't stick in a person's soul when it's slick with tears"), but the story was a bit of a drag. This is why I'm sometimes afraid to reread a book I loved in the past. You just never know how it's going to strike you on a reread.

(For a more positive review, read the one I wrote back in 2012.)

Their Eyes Were Watching God by Zora Neale Hurston

I read this book for the first time in 2013, but when it was selected for my book club's "classic" month, I knew I would need to reread it as I could remember almost nothing from before.

I purposely held off reading my review of it because I wanted to be able to experience it this time without being influenced by my 2013 self. (I will probably finally go back and read it after I finish writing this review.)

What I found was that bits of the story immediately came back to me as soon as I began listening. I remembered Janie's three husbands (Logan, Jody, and Tea Cake) before I was re-introduced to them. I knew each one would be flawed but that the last one would be the best. And Janie saved her best self for the end as well. According to Tea Cake, "God made it so you spent your old age first with somebody else and saved up your young girl days to spend with me." I thought that was so sweet.

This time I was struck by the characters of the three men: Logan's biggest fault was that he was old and boring, something that wasn't exactly under his control. Jody's was that he wanted all good things to be credited back to him, no matter the cost. And Tea Cake's was that, for all of his love, he was still a bit immature. (I had forgotten the two big scenes that really highlight this weakness: the time he spends all of Janie's money having fun while she is home worrying; and the night he physically hurts her to prove to the world how much he loves her. Tea Cake was so likeable, and it was hard to see him make stupid choices, but they made him more real.)

Incredibly, I had forgotten how the book ends until I was literally right there, in the room with Tea Cake and Janie, both of them with a gun in their hands. Sometimes I am annoyed with my poor memory, but in moments like this, it means I get the full emotional impact all over again.

The other thing that surprised me was how little phrases from the book pinged with recognition inside me, like this one: "She stood there until something fell of the shelf inside her." I couldn't have quoted it, but once I heard it again, it registered as something I'd heard (and loved) before. The writing is just so good.

I'm guessing I shared this in my review the first time because I think it's one of the most beloved quotes from the book, but it's worth sharing again because it sums up the theme so beautifully: "Love is like the sea; it's a moving thing. But still and all, it takes its shape from the shore and changes with every shore it meets."

If you've somehow missed reading this classic, I highly recommend it.

From the Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler by E.L. Konigsburg

When Mike and I decided to go to New York for our anniversary, I had a sudden longing to revisit Claudia and Jamie's adventures. Originally, the Met was on our itinerary, and I thought it would be so fun to have this story in my head while we walked through the museum (even though many of the referenced landmarks are no longer there). Even though we ended up needing to cut it due to lack of time, this story still made an excellent companion on the flight there and back. I had forgotten how much I loved it.

I actually never read this book as a child. I know we owned a copy, but frankly, the cover did absolutely nothing to make me want to read it. (I actually just looked it up to see if it was as bad as I remembered. It was the 1976 edition, and yes, it was.) I had no idea what I was missing, but finally as an adult in 2009, I read it for the first time, and it was marvelous.

Claudia Kincaid feels unappreciated at home and decides it would be best to run away so her family realizes how much they would suffer without her. She carefully and methodically makes plans: She settles on a place (the Metropolitan Museum of Art), a time (on her way to school), and a companion (her middle brother Jamie--mostly because he has enough money to fund the entire grand scheme). Once they are well settled in a 16th-century bed, Claudia decides she can't go home until she has done something noteworthy, and figuring out if the Museum's newly acquired angel statue is really an early work of Michelangelo seems like just the thing.

One of the best parts of this book is the relationship between Claudia and Jamie. They start out as two normal siblings with plenty of arguing and bickering and not a lot of shared goals. But gradually, things come into alignment until something clicks. Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler explained it this way:

"What happened was they had become a team--a family of two . . . Becoming a team didn't mean the end of their arguments, but it did mean that the arguments became a part of the adventure, became discussions not threats. To an outsider, the arguments would appear to be the same because feeling like part of a team is something that happens invisibly. You might call it "caring." You could even call it "love." And it is very rarely indeed that it happens to two people at the same time, especially a brother and a sister who had always spent more time with activities than they had with each other."

The other really masterful part of this story is Claudia's subtle, almost invisible, transformation. When she runs away, she really gives no thought to her parents. She wants them to be sorry she's gone, but she doesn't have any idea about the mental and emotional anguish she will put her parents through when she and Jamie suddenly vanish without a trace (and, as a side note, I couldn't help thinking that even in 1967, this story was probably somewhat unbelievable. But in 2019? It could never happen. Those two kids would have been found within hours of leaving). But then it becomes more about making some sort of impact or contribution before she goes home so her time will be well spent. But eventually, she realizes that she can go home and still be plain, sensible Claudia Kincaid and that that will enough (especially once she has the secret of the statue secured). In the words of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler: "Happiness is excitement that has found a settling down place."

Even though we didn't get to visit the Met, there was still something about being in New York with this story bumping around in my brain that just made it so much more special and fun. Also, it put me in an E.L. Konigsburg sort of mood. I need to read some of her other books.

What have been some of your recent rereads? Did your opinions change or stay the same?

All Rise for the Honorable Perry T. Cook by Leslie Connor

This book. I had a friend recommend it to me a couple of years ago. I hadn't heard anything about it before, and I didn't hear anything else about it after that. But something made me keep it on my to-read list, and I kept circling back around to it until I finally had time (thank you, no reading goals!) to listen to it.

And, friends, this book. I loved it so much. I think it might end up being like Navigating Early for me where you might not love it as much, but then please don't tell me about it because it will make my heart hurt if you don't.

The story grabbed me right away because it was so wildly different from anything I'd ever read before: Perry Cook has lived all twelve years of his life at the Blue River Co-Ed Correctional Facility. It's an unusual arrangement to be sure, but Warden Daugherty is one to think outside the box, and it has worked out quite well for everyone. And now his mom is about to get paroled, which means the two of them are making plans for life outside Blue River.

But then everything comes grinding to a halt. The district attorney, Thomas Van Lear, looks over Perry's mom's case and is disturbed to discover that Perry has been living at a jail for all of these years. Not only is he concerned for Perry's safety and well-being, but he also wonders if Jessica has truly served out her sentence by being granted special treatment to raise her son. In a quick turn of events, Jessica's hearing is put on hold and Perry is removed from the facility and placed in the Van Lear home temporarily. It rocks Perry's world and feels unjust. Even realizing that his best friend, Zoe, is Van Lear's stepdaughter doesn't make things better. He misses his mom and his many mentors and the life he has always known.

But he tries to remember Big Ed's advice: "'Win-win.' That's Big Ed's . . . motto for being a successful resident. The first win means you count all small, good things that happen to you every day . . . The second win means you do things that bring victories to others. I've heard Big Ed say it at least a hundred times: No matter where you live, you have a community of some kind, and you can be a contributor." And so that's exactly what Perry does. And as he looks for the good and listens to the experiences of the residents for a school assignment, he realizes that there's always more to someone's story than you might think at first glance, and if he can help others to see that, then maybe, just maybe, he can use that to reunite with his mom on the outside.

See? Different, right? And you might think that a boy living in a correctional facility wouldn't be believable, but it totally was, and I just loved Perry so much from the get-go. And I liked that he was who he was because of the environment he was raised in: people had made mistakes but they were trying turn around their lives and make things right, and they passed on a lot of wisdom in the process.

One of the things I really appreciated in this book was that Mr. Van Lear was not a clear-cut bad guy. You kind of wanted to hate him because he was so insensitive and rigid, but at the same time, he was doing what he truly thought was right, and you couldn't blame him for that. I think it takes real talent to create a believable character you can be sympathetic towards even as he continues to hurt the main character.

I also really liked that there were a few short, infrequent chapters told from Jessica's point of view. It's fairly unusual to get an adult's perspective in a middle grade novel, but it worked and added just a little more depth to the story.

In the midst of all of Perry's anxiety about his mom and his new situation, there was a little secondary plot between Perry and the school bully, Brian Morris. And again, just like with Mr. Van Lear, Brian wasn't one-dimensional. Even as he was being mean to Perry, he was showing another side of himself, and when things finally resolved between them, it wasn't hard to accept.

I did end up having one issue with the plot, and it was fairly significant because it involved Jessica's sentence and Perry's father. I won't go into detail here because there was a bit of a mystery that I wouldn't want to ruin. But I will say that in spite of some rather gaping holes, I still loved this book. I can't explain myself. I don't know why with some stories, a similar oversight would have been unforgivable, but here I was completely willing to turn a blind eye and extend my belief. It doesn't make sense, but I think it must have something to do with the characters. I loved them all so much that I guess I was fine with an unresolved issue here and there. Reading is like that sometimes. In this case, I connected with the characters, and it made all the difference.

Content note: There is some mild swearing. And also, some of the subject matter might initiate some mature questions.

Review x 2: The War That Saved My Life and Betsy and Joe

Guess what? The following books were both ones I picked on my own, for pure pleasure, with no expectations or strings attached. It felt so good, and I enjoyed both of them immensely.

The War That Saved My Life by Kimberly Brubaker Bradley
This book rekindled my love for middle grade novels. It was just so good, and I immediately put the sequel on hold, which is saying something since I'm not usually one to want to read the next book so quickly after the first. But I just really want more of Ada and Susan.

I also thought I was kind of tired of World War II books, but apparently I'm not. Ada's story begins just as Great Britain is on the cusp of joining the war against Germany. Having been confined to a one-room apartment her entire life, it is a beginning, both literally and figuratively, for Ada when her mam decides to send her little brother, Jamie, away to the country with the other school children to avoid the bombs that London is anticipating. Ada decides to leave with him. She doesn't ask permission; she just goes.

For years, Ada's mother has told her that she is worthless, disgusting, and embarrassing because she was born with a club foot. She doesn't deserve to be seen or educated. The cupboard under the sink is the place for her. For a brief few hours, as the train takes them far away from London, Ada puts that behind her as she exhilarates in her freedom. But it all comes rushing back when she and Jamie, grubby and unpleasant and her with a bleeding, throbbing foot, are not chosen by a single adult, and the teacher has to call up and force Ms. Susan Smith to take them.

The character development in this book is phenomenal. Ada's feelings are so complicated. She quickly falls in love with Susan's pony, Butter, and learns to ride him on her own. She makes friends with Lady Thornton's daughter, Maggie, and their stable hand, Fred. But her relationship with Susan is fraught with all of the feelings. She knows Susan didn't want them, and so any overtures of compassion and love from Susan are rejected. She reminds herself often that this is a temporary situation, and she won't let herself get used to Susan's attention. She has horrible flashbacks where all of the details of her previous life in London overwhelm her and make her frantic for escape. She is desperate for her mother's approval and constantly thinks, Maybe if she sees me doing [fill in the blank], then she will love me.

But slowly, her wounds heal, and she becomes capable, strong, and healthy. For Susan's part, having the children in her home begins to heal her of her own deep grief. Susan is wise and forward-thinking and reacts to the children's anger and rejection in a way that is both insightful and commendable. Ada has a complete meltdown on Christmas Eve, triggered by a gift from Susan--a beautiful green velvet dress. Instead of going to the Christmas Eve services at the church as they had planned, Susan wraps Ada up tight in a blanket and holds her until she is finally exhausted from her crying. The next morning, they go down for presents, but Jamie is sure Ada won't get anything because she was "bad" the night before. Susan says, "Not bad. Not bad, Ada. Sad, angry, frightened. Not bad." But Ada thinks, "Sad, angry frightened were bad. It was not okay to be any of those." The way that Susan was able to define Ada's outburst as actual feelings instead of making a blanket diagnosis was beautiful and touching.

This book won a Newbery Honor in 2016, and so I feel like I'm a little late getting to the party. But I'm here now, and this is going on my list of must-recommend reads.

Betsy and Joe by Maud Hart Lovelace
If pressed to choose a favorite Betsy-Tacy book, I think I would have to pick Betsy and Joe. Rereading it did nothing to change my opinion. I love this book so much.

For one thing, it has all the best scenes with Joe. You spend all of the high school books hoping for more of Joe, and you're finally rewarded in this, their senior year. By this point, he is set on Betsy and doesn't try to hide it. For her part, Betsy is thrilled. She spent the whole year previous wishing for Joe's attentions, and now she has them. Only problem is, Tony, who has always been like a brother to Betsy, now cares about her in a new way. Betsy is so happy to have Tony staying close to home and not jumping freight trains to hang out with older boys that she can't tell him she doesn't care for him in that way. But having two beaus is exhausting and anxiety laden, and eventually, Joe's pride can't handle it anymore: Either she goes with him exclusively or she doesn't. And without giving Betsy a chance to explain, he sticks out his chin in that defiant way of his and leaves her to Tony, which breaks her heart.

This series is closely tied to Maud Hart Lovelace's own life, and it makes me happy to think that all of the high school drama and festivities (the essay cup, the senior picnic, the dances), as well as the lovely home life (singing around the piano, sandwiches on Sunday, letters from Julia) were based on truth. (The one thing that isn't true? Maud and her future husband, Delos, didn't even know each other in high school, so even though Joe's character is based on Delos, their friendship with one another during that time is fictionalized.)

When Joe finally swallows his pride and Betsy finally realizes that she only wants Joe, it is in his aunt and uncle's general store in a tiny rural town. (Coincidentally, it was in this same general store that Betsy first met Joe nearly four years before.) Betsy has spent the week with friends, and her hair is straight and plaited instead of curled and puffed. Joe says, "Do you know, I like your hair straight," and Betsy thinks "if he had looked through all the poetry books in the world, he couldn't have found a better compliment." I could read this scene over and over again. I love it so much.

My other favorite scene is when Betsy is perfectly miserable on Christmas Eve because things have just fallen apart with Joe, but she chooses to put on a happy face and put her whole heart into all of the family traditions. In reflecting on the day, she says, "'It's a wonder I braced up for Christmas Eve. I'm glad I did.' She knew she had helped the family, and as a matter of fact, she had been happy. That, she realized, was because she had stopped thinking about herself." I think it's this one scene that makes the reader see how far Betsy's character has come over her four years of high school. She is willing to set aside her own personal misery for the good of the family, and that's admirable.

I don't know if I'll continue reading the series. To be honest, I kind of like to keep Betsy and Joe at this magical age where they're right on the brink of adulthood and madly in love with each other. The next two books lose a little bit of that because they have to grow up. But I might read Carney's House Party, one of the companion books to the Betsy-Tacy series, which I never read when I was younger.

What I Read in August

Well, hey there. My posts seem to be getting fewer and farther between. That's what happens when you start adding in other activities and hobbies and responsibilities. Something has to give. But I still love keeping a record of the books I'm reading, and so I'll continue to hold my place here on my corner of the internet by popping in a few times each month.

In August, I only managed to read three books, which surprised me. But I think that's because I had several others that I thought I was going to finish before the end of the month but didn't (although one of them I literally finished on September 1st). Here's a little recap:

1. A Rambler Steals Home by Carter Higgins
This felt like just the right book for the last days of summer.

Derby Clark and her family are drifters. They travel around in their camper, stopping for short stretches of time and working odd jobs. But they always come back to Ridge Creek, Virginia every summer for the baseball season. They open up shop right outside the stadium and serve up hamburgers and fries all season long. They have friends there (June and Marcus and even Betsy) and warm familiarity. But this summer, something just doesn't feel right, and Derby has to dig deep to find out what it is and then figure out how to fix it.

I thought this was a sweet book, and I thoroughly enjoyed it except for one thing: for the life of me, I couldn't keep track of information--who the various characters were, why they were doing such and such, or what had happened in the past. I felt like I was constantly flipping back through the book to recall bits of details, only to find myself questioning what was going on yet again. I don't think this had anything to do with the writing. I'm taking full responsibility for my confusion. For whatever reason, I just must not have been completely engaged when I was reading, and it showed.

I loved this thought from Derby's dad, Garland, towards the end of the book. Derby had just confessed to a bit of dishonesty, and Garland said, "Well, Derby, sometimes big hearts make bad decisions." What a great dad, right? He highlighted the good ("you did this because you have a big heart that loves other people) while still admitting the mistake ("it wasn't a great decision"). And I think that's kind of the theme of the book: how to strike a balance between helping someone without hurting someone else. And Derby gets there in the end.

2. The Penderwicks: A Summer Tale of Four Sisters, Two Rabbits, and One Interesting Boy by Jeanne Birdsall
After having several failed attempts at introducing some of my favorite books too early to my boys (most notably, The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane), I've been holding off on The Penderwicks. But finally, this summer, I decided to give it a try.

Not only did my kids love it more than I thought possible, but I was reminded why the Penderwicks and summer are a match made in heaven. This story takes all of the joy and magic and feeling of summer and compresses it all into one perfect book.

Now, to be completely honest, this actually is not my favorite Penderwick story. That award goes to the third one (although number four is a worthy contender, and I haven't read the last one yet). My love for the Penderwicks definitely deepens with the series (they really are a little bit bratty in this one, and, much as I hate to say it, I think I might have reacted similarly to Mrs. Tifton if I had four girls and a dog constantly trouncing through my gardens after I'd asked them not to). However, it was delightful to go back to the beginning of the series and see things from a new angle.

But back to why it's a perfect book even if it's not my favorite: because you can't completely nail summer and not have it be perfect. I'm sorry, that's just the way it is.

And my kids adored it. It was funny and adventurous and a little suspenseful, and it had a truly despicable villain.

We finished it on the first day of school, and I don't think I could have planned a better ending to our summer.

3. To the Lighthouse by Virginia Woolf
Every year, I make one or two reading goals that are specifically designed to push me outside my comfort zone, become acquainted with famous authors, or help me become more well-read.

This year, one of those goals was to read a book by Virginia Woolf, an author who has long been on my to-read list. My reason for choosing To the Lighthouse was perhaps a silly one. I think Mrs. Dalloway or A Room of One's Own are probably Virginia Woolf's most well known novels, but I was listening to a podcast one day that mentioned that knitting played a part in To the Lighthouse, and it immediately piqued my interest because of my current knitting obsession.

But other than that little knitting reference, I had no idea what I was getting into, and, oh wow, it was hard. For those of you who love Ms. Woolf, I applaud you. But honestly, I struggled with this one. In fact, after listening to the first few chapters twice, I gave in and pulled up a chapter-by-chapter summary just so that I could make sure I wasn't missing subtle nuances which might prove to be crucial to the storyline later on. It was extremely helpful, especially at one juncture where a rather life-altering occurrence is mentioned in one nonchalant sentence, and I had to confirm that what I thought happened actually had happened (it had).

I don't even really know how to sum up the story. There really isn't much of one. Mr. and Mrs. Ramsay have eight children; every summer they stay in their home on the coast where they are bombarded with visitors. Mr. Ramsay needs constant sympathy and praise, which Mrs. Ramsay is sometimes inclined to give him and sometimes not. His children hate him. The lighthouse becomes a metaphor of sorts when their youngest son, James, wants to visit it, and Mrs. Ramsay offers hope that maybe they can go tomorrow, and Mr. Ramsay dashes it, saying that the weather will be bad. (And, if you're wondering, Mrs. Ramsay does indeed knit on a pair of socks, which she intends to gift to the little boy who lives at the lighthouse.)

There was just a lot of this character thinking about that character, first in a positive way and then in a negative way and switching without warning to the past or the imagined past or the future or the imagined future and then introducing a completely different character but maybe just for a sentence or two (but maybe several pages) before rushing back to where it was before and where it was before that. Is it any wonder I was so confused?

The only thing I really knew about Virginia Woolf's writing before reading this book was that she was unabashedly feminist, and that came through quite strongly, both in things that Mrs. Ramsay thought about others and that others thought about her. I'll just give you one little taste because it amused me:

[Mr. Ramsay sees his wife reading a book]: "He wondered what she was reading and exaggerated her ignorance, her simplicity, for he liked to think that she was not clever, not book learned at all. He wondered if she understood what she was reading. Probably not, he thought. She was astonishingly beautiful."

In spite of not enjoying this book, I can totally see why Virginia Woolf is the focus of many college classes. There was a lot to unpack with this novel, and I could have easily found a dozen themes to write about in an assigned paper. And I think if I really had the opportunity to study and cross-analyze, I would like it a lot more. But am I going to create that opportunity for myself? No, I think I'll just bid this one a happy farewell.

What have you been reading lately? Do you assign yourself books or do you let your whims guide you?

What I Read in January

So, like I said in my previous post, my plan this year is to write monthly recap posts of the books I've finished rather than long, single reviews. I have to admit though, it's rather embarrassing to have it be so blatantly obvious that I only read three books this month. I can do better than that, but here they are nonetheless.

1. Ordinary Grace by William Kent Krueger
This was our first book club pick for 2018 (I mentioned in my last post that my book club votes between three books for each month, so in case you're wondering, the other recommendations for January were When Crickets Cry by Charles Martin and Winter Garden by Kristin Hannah).

I listened to this on our recent road trip to Arizona, and it was nice to be able to devote a chunk of time to it because I couldn't stop listening. The story is told by Frank Drum, and it's his recounting of what happened during the summer of 1961 forty years before when he was thirteen years old. He begins by saying that the summer brought with it many deaths (there was some debate at book club about how many he said and which ones counted in that tally), but one of the deaths is particularly personal and tragic, and the rest of the novel is crafted a bit like a mystery, trying to put the events leading up to it in chronological order and identify possible suspects.

But it's also just about Frankie himself because that summer changed him and made him grow up in a hurry. I mentioned at book club that my favorite relationship in the book was the one between Frankie and his younger brother, Jake. One of my friends said, "Oh, so you like mean older brothers?" And it's true that Frankie does and says a lot of stupid things to Jake, but I guess it felt realistic to me, and underneath it all, I could see that their friendship and love for one another ran deep.

I will caution that the content on this one is a bit dark (it involves a murder), and there is some language as well as immorality (although not explicit). But overall, I found the story to be redemptive, and it made for an easy and thought-provoking discussion at book club.

2. Brighty of the Grand Canyon by Marguerite Henry
It gives me a strange kind of rush to find the perfect book for a trip or holiday or even just a time of life. So you can imagine how happy I was when my sister-in-law, upon hearing that we would be making a stop at the Grand Canyon on our way to see friends in Phoenix, said that we should read Brighty of the Grand Canyon before we went.

It couldn't have been more perfect. I had never been to the Grand Canyon, but as we read, I felt like I could see the warm colors of the canyon and sense the rocky trail beneath my feet and feel the cold wind whipping around the rim. And then, we were there, and it was exactly as I pictured it--so much so that I half expected to see a little gray burro making his way up the canyon wall (and then, by lucky chance, we actually did see a mule caravan crest the top of the rim and parade past us, which was pretty amazing). It was absolutely magical for me, and I think it was for my kids as well.

But even if we hadn't been able to go from the pages in a book to real life natural wonder, we would have still enjoyed this story immensely. It begins with a murder, which made me nervous (I was reading it to my kids, after all!), but it was not graphic, and it was very fulfilling to see the murderer get his due at the end.

Most impressive to me was the way Marguerite Henry cast Brighty as the main character and kept the story interesting while still maintaining Brighty's authenticity as a donkey (in other words, not giving him a lot of human characteristics to help keep up the pace). Everyone, even three-year-old Clark, fell in love with Brighty, and we were all sad for the book to come to an end.

3. Echo by Pam Munoz Ryan
I decided to listen to this one, rather than read it, because the audio version had garnered such high praise from listeners and critics alike (including an Odyssey Honor, which is given to outstanding audio productions).

The story is multi-layered, beginning with Otto Messenger, who accidentally stumbles into three sisters who are trapped in this world because of a curse. They claim that his harmonica is the key to freeing them to return home. The story (and the harmonica) then travel to Friedrich in Germany in 1933, Mike in Pennsylvania in 1935, and Ivy in California in 1942. Each time, it brings light and hope when things feel desperately dismal and scary. And eventually, it ends up in just the right place, at just the right time, and, click, a door is opened.

For the most part, this is a historical fiction novel, but it has just one teeny tiny magical element, and that made me feel a little off balance but in the most delightful way. Friedrich, Mike, and Ivy are talented and courageous and unique. I found myself feeling sad as each story ended only to be excited as I became immersed in the new story. And then the ending tied everything together in a really beautiful way.

Oh, and the audio was definitely the way to go on this one: different narrators for each story and lots of music throughout, which, for a book all about the magic of one harmonica, seemed absolutely perfect.

Did you read anything good this month? Tell me!

Review x 2: The Hundred Dresses and The Moffats

I've had two of our readalouds from the summer patiently waiting to be reviewed, and since they both happen to be by Eleanor Estes, it makes sense to review them together.

The first one is The Hundred Dresses. Sometimes I choose books for our readalouds that I feel like I should have read as a child but didn't. This was one of those.

But even though I had seen it listed on a handful of lists and heard it mentioned by various friends, I must have never actually read a synopsis of it because it was completely different from what I was expecting.

It's about a little girl, Wanda Petronski, who moves to a new town and school. Almost immediately, the other children tease her because of her different last name and the fact that she wears the same dress day after day after day (in spite of her claims that she has one hundred dresses).

But the story is told more from the perspective of Maddie, who doesn't instigate the bullying but doesn't stop it either. Afraid that if she speaks up, the tables will turn and she will be the one who is picked on, she quietly stands by and lets it happen to Wanda. Her conscience is forever pricked when Wanda eventually moves away, and she never gets to reconcile what she didn't do with what she should have done.

This story touched a tender spot in my memory because I have been Maddie. I was in second grade, and I can still remember the boy's name, although I won't mention it here. His clothes and hair and general appearance were always unkempt and his glasses were taped together. Most of my classmates were not nice to him. And although I don't remember ever saying anything mean to him, I never stood up for or defended him either. I have regretted it for twenty-five years.

One of the mottos at my kids' elementary school is: "Be an ally. Don't stand by." I think this is so important because the majority of kids aren't the bullies; they're the Maddies. And if the Maddies would call out the bullies and befriend the tormented, it would reverse so many of the problems.

Written in 1945, this short story (I wish it had been longer!) was ahead of its time and contains a poignant message that is extremely relevant today.

The second book we read by Eleanor Estes over the summer was The Moffats.

Even though this was our first time reading this story, it immediately felt familiar because we've read so many books with a similar structure and feeling: Starring a happy, loving family (in this case, the Moffats, made up of Sylvie, Joe, Janey, Rufus, and, of course, Mama) with each chapter a self-contained adventure. (The Saturdays, The Railway Children, All-of-a-Kind Family, and Meet the Austins would all fall into this same category.)

It has all of the charm of an old story while losing nothing in terms of adventure and escapades. We loved the chapter where Janey marches behind the chief of police, copying his every move, until the neighbor boy tells her she could be arrested for that, and so she spends the rest of the day hiding in a bread box.

Another favorite was when Rufus accidentally plays hooky on the first day of kindergarten. It wasn't his intent to skip class (he's been dreaming about going to school like his older siblings for years), but when another little boy sneaks out of the classroom, Rufus feels duty-bound to bring him back, and things escalate from there.

Some of the chapters were a little more serious, like when Joe is sent to buy coal with the last money they have until Mama finishes an order of sailor suits (she's a seamstress). (At one point, Janey asks, "Are we poverty stricken?" and Mama answers, "Not poverty stricken, just poor." They're always pinching to make ends meet.) When Joe arrives at the coal yard, he reaches into his pocket for the five-dollar bill and can't find it, and my boys and I spent the rest of the chapter in agony with Joe as he desperately searches for that money.

But even though the book is fairly episodic, there is a running thread throughout, which is the fear that their beloved yellow house on New Dollar Street is going to be sold.

There are three more books in this series, and I think we'll eventually read the rest (although Aaron already beat us to one of them and read Rufus M. on his own soon after we finished this one). They're the kind of books that could be spaced out and revisited whenever we feel like we need a cozy, comfortable read.

James and the Giant Peach by Roald Dahl

I've always been a little wary of James and the Giant Peach. When I was still quite young, maybe six or seven, my mom read it aloud to me. She disliked it so much that she swore off Roald Dahl forever after, and I didn't read another Dahl novel during the rest of my childhood. (As a side note and in my mom's defense, she didn't ban any of my siblings and me from reading Dahl--in fact, we owned The BFG and maybe Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, too--but she certainly didn't encourage us.)

As an adult, I decided it was time to give him another try. I think I started with The Witches (loved it), then moved onto Matilda (loved it), followed by The BFG, Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, and Danny the Champion of the World. I loved all of them. But always, I avoided James and the Giant Peach.

Finally though, I decided it was time. My love for Roald Dahl was secure, and I felt like I could handle a high level of weirdness. (Plus, we were running out of new Dahl novels to read aloud.)

I stepped cautiously into the first sentence: "Here is James Trotter when he was about four years old." It wasn't scary at all. I moved onto the next one: "Up until this time, he had had a happy life, living peacefully with his mother and father in a beautiful house beside the sea." That didn't seem bad either. In fact, I was already deeply intrigued.

With growing confidence, I finished the first chapter--all about how James' parents were tragically eaten up by an angry rhinoceros, and he was sent to live with his despicable Aunt Sponge and Aunt Spiker who never let him do anything except chop wood.

It was weird and bizarre and slightly morbid . . . exactly what I'd come to expect and love from Roald Dahl.

We flew through the rest of the story: James meets an old man. The old man gives James a white paper bag with little green things in it. James trips on his way home. The green things go flying. The green things wriggle into the ground. The next day, a peach is growing to ginormous proportions. James goes inside the giant peach. The peach breaks off the tree. The peach rolls down the hill and over the two horrible aunts. James is off on an adventure with a handful of giant bugs.

The giant bugs were immediately endearing to my kids (have the words "giant bugs" and "endearing" ever been used in the same sentence before?), who have a soft spot for all things creepy crawly, and even though I'm not as much of a bug lover, their personalities were all so unique (and I got to do fun voices) that I loved them, too.

I'm glad I was finally brave enough to revisit this book. I didn't dislike it. I wasn't weirded out by it. I actually loved it. So I guess the thing I took away from it is that my mom and I have different senses of humor and different tastes in books. And that's something I can totally appreciate and respect.

Do you have a favorite Roald Dahl novel? Or are you like my mom and would rather avoid him?