A group of kids must escape a game-maker’s library in order to win the grand prize
This was our last read-aloud for the school year. I selected it because I hoped it would be a fun, exciting story to start the summer. My boys did enjoy it, but I was a tad underwhelmed.
I must say, though, that the ending made up for what I thought was a snoozy middle.
When I finished reading the last couple of chapters, my boys (7 and 8 years old) were literally jumping and rolling off the couch and around the carpet. All the tension and excitement they were feeling was manifesting in these funny physical gyrations, and it was hilarious to watch.
The story premise is great. An eccentric game-maker, Luigi Lemoncello, has built a state-of-the-art library in his childhood hometown, and he invites twelve 12-year-olds to a lock-in at the library. The next morning, they opt into an epic game to “escape” the library and win fame and fortune as Lemoncello spokes-kids.
The clues and puzzles were excellent. I felt like they were difficult enough to warrant the fanfare surrounding the game event. The only thing, though, was that SO much went over my boys’ heads. As the adult, I caught all the allusions and Easter eggs, and I wanted to explain them to my boys, but I refrained, haha.
I felt like the writing and the characters were on the weaker side. Granted, this is a plot-driven adventure story, but I was expecting a bit more in the character department. That would’ve helped support the middle of the novel, which dragged for me.
There wasn’t much “there” there, even for our hero, Kyle. The most interesting character is Charles because he’s a worthy villain, who tries to weasel and fake his way to the top. It’s good to see him taken down a notch—my boys loved it—but he’s also something of a caricature.
If each character could’ve displayed more internal conflict, our interest would’ve skyrocketed. There’s one point at which Kyle is tempted to play video games instead of help his team look for clues, and after a quick pause, he resists the temptation. Had the characters had grown and changed to a greater degree, the book would’ve had more to offer.
Also, the grand prize (being a Lemoncello spokesperson) seemed a little strange. I would not wish fame on these poor kids!
An unlikely crew of young people must save the land from an evil sorcerer
The setting for this story is really refreshing. I haven’t read anything with quite this mix. Here, in the first book in the series, we start in a seaside industrial town. Then, we’re on the road with a circus. Then, we’re in a dark, fantastical wood. Then the open sea. It’s not typical medieval times in Hibaria.
I enjoyed Cora as a heroine, but I think I liked Will more. He was much spunkier, and Victoria was a tortured soul. But Cora makes sense as the protagonist because she has the most growing to do.
I know that authors sometimes fear dumping too much worldbuilding on the reader, but, because Hibaria has such a unique mythos, I kept forgetting certain aspects that popped up later, such as the role of the constellations and Augrind’s backstory.
Even though this is the first book in the series, and it ends with setup for the next book, there was good closure here. No cliffhangers, just a few twists.
I think that kids around 12 and up would enjoy this, and the morals are sterling.
I love Andrew Clements, but this was not a favorite for me or my boys. The book came with our homeschool curriculum, and it sounded intriguing—”two mysteries in one,” says the cover. I think that skewed my expectations. I was anticipating something heavy on clues, puzzles, twists, and gasps.
But this book was very quiet and unassuming. The drama is small, just like the town of Plattsford, Nebraska, where the story is set. The main character, Ted, is a sixth-grader who stumbles upon a family squatting in an abandoned farmhouse, and he does what he can to help them.
The book has gold-standard values, I will give it that. But, everyone in the book seemed to be on his/her best behavior. It would’ve been interesting to have a mischief-maker or a bad guy in the mix to liven things up. There wasn’t enough conflict for me.
The climax of the story is a huge bust—and it’s supposed to be. This made for some interesting discussion. My boys and I were rooting for a magical ending where everyone cheers and the kids hug and the parents cry while the soundtrack swells to a crescendo. The book deliberately bursts your bubble. Asking “WHY?” is a good exercise for kids.
Overall, though, I wouldn’t recommend this to anyone who is looking for a page-turner to keep the interest of a reluctant reader. Good but not great.
This book wins the award for Cutest Romance That Isn’t Cutesie
It was a slow start, but once I got my mental bearings, I was hooked.
The reason that this book started a TAD slow for me is because the author throws a lot at you right away. There’s a deep cast of secondary characters, and there are businesses, locations, and other things that can cause some early “who’s who?-type” confusion. But just push through that, and you’ll be glad you did.
Set in a fictional European city in the late 1800s, the story opens with Quincy St. Claire, owner of The Q, a newspaper that consists entirely of reader-submitted questions. Kind of like the Classifieds, but anything goes. She’s a brilliant businesswoman with a fiercely independent spirit. Quincy doesn’t need anyone or anything in her life except The Q. It’s her meat and drink.
She works for her uncle, who owns The Q. When he dies, his will states that Quincy can’t inherit The Q unless she meets a set of 12 requirements. The catch? She can’t know what the requirements are. The only person who knows (and who will determine if she meets them) is The Q’s lawyer, Mr. Arch.
Quincy and Arch are tossed together a lot due to this “requirement business,” and they combine like oil and water. Their tart banter is a highlight of this book. Ever so slowly, Arch gets Quincey to open up, and she does NOT want to do this. She prefers accounts, data, and machinery. People are way too unpredictable—not a smart investment.
So, you can see where it’s going, but the journey is worth every page. This is a LONG 500+ page book, and Beth Brower doesn’t rush Quincy’s transformation. Thus, we as readers do feel like we’ve made a big investment in this St. Claire woman, and we want to see how things turn out for her.
Overall, this was a great book that I’d recommend to anyone who loves Jane Austen but with way more sass.
An unskilled young boy is forced into a quest where he must face menacing, magical foes
My 7- and 8-year-old boys REALLY enjoyed this. This is the first book in a fantasy series in the tradition of LOTR (the parallels are unmistakable). So, it would be a fun series for kids who aren’t quite ready for Lord of the Rings yet—or, on the other side of the coin, kids who have read LOTR (bless them) and want something that feels similar.
This book is a rescue/quest. Taran, our preteen hero, has just one job: keep the magical pig in her pen. But, when an evil warrior and his minions ride into the vicinity, the pig runs for her life, and Taran runs after her.
The story starts quickly and there’s swift pacing throughout. By chapter two, we see Taran plunge into the forbidden woods after the pig. From there, he meets many friends and foes. He’s tested and transformed. It’s got everything you want in a medieval adventure.
The reason why I gave it four instead of five stars is because the climax was a bit soft, and the ending abrupt. This is the first book in a series, so, hey, there’s more! But as a book in its own right, the ending was a bit wah-wah.
Content warnings: There are the normal swordfights and battles that you’d expect in a book like this. The description of the Horned King (pictured on the cover) may be a little much for sensitive kids. There is one quick mention of the bad guys making human sacrifices (gross). And one of the female foes has a particularly wicked interaction with our main characters…but it’s easily self-censored if you’ve got littler kids listening.
Can a group of 20 French kids protect a group of 10 Jewish kids during WW2?
My two boys were RIVETED to this story. Granted, it starts slow, but by the end, they were hanging on every last word. This book contains five short chapters. You could read the whole thing in an hour or two, and it’d be well worth your time.
The story is simple. Twenty French children have been sent away to live in the safety of a convent during World War II. One day, the nun in charge introduces them to 10 new children, Jews. She tells them that the Nazis want to hurt these children, and they must all keep them safe and hidden. She makes each of the 20 French kids solemnly promise not to betray the 10 Jewish kids—no matter what.
All goes well until the Nazis pay a surprise visit when the nun is away on an errand. What will the children do when faced with this pressure and without any adult protection?
The story is told in the POV of one of the French girls, and this works so well because we’re better able to relate to her dilemma—things get tricky when the Nazis show up, and the kids have to think on their feet.
The book crescendos at the climax, where you’re not sure how things are going to play out, and then everything comes full circle, and you’re glad you read that first chapter, which started off slow, because it makes the ending all the more satisfying.
Content warnings: It’s made clear that the Jewish kids will be in danger if they are caught.
Can one little girl save her neighborhood lending library?
This was one of the read-alouds that came with our homeschool curriculum. It was very quick, and my boys liked it, but it’s not going down as a family favorite.
The most interesting part of this story is the setting in India. A lot of our recent read-alouds have been set in the U.S. or in fantasyland, so this was a nice change, and it gave us a chance to discuss how things are different in other countries than they are here.
The main character is a young girl, Yasmin, who loves to read. She gets a new book every day from Book Uncle, a retired teacher who has a lending library on the street corner outside her apartment complex. When he’s forced to close up shop, Yasmin rallies the neighborhood to make Book Uncle a campaign issue in the mayoral election.
Thankfully, this didn’t get TOO political, and I think that the message here is “If it matters to you, then make it known” versus “Protest anything you don’t like.” With this being a presidential election year, it was a good way to get words like “election,” “campaign” and “vote” into the vocabulary of my very young children.
There were friendship and family issues in the book that helped balance out the focus on politics. And, in the end, readers are warned against putting their trust in political figures, which is something I agree with.
The book is written in Yasmin’s childish voice, and it’s very sweet and appealing for the younger set. It wasn’t too long and didn’t try to be “too much.” Overall, a good book, but not a standout.
A stifled young girl finds freedom and purpose on P.E.I.
I love children’s stories where the little protagonist starts out as an underdog (like Mary Lennox or Anne Shirley) and then has a chance to blossom into who they truly want to be. Jane is just like that.
Jane lives in Toronto under the thumb of her impossible-to-please grandmother. She also lives with her mother, who is a total pushover and won’t stand up to her mother. Grandmother makes life miserable, and Jane is afraid, friendless, and talentless. Who is Jane’s dad and where is he? That’s a mystery, until one day, a letter arrives. From him. Requesting that Jane spend the summer with him on (you guessed it) P.E.I.
Like so many Montgomery books, this one is an ode to the wonders of nature and a free-range childhood. Many passages linger on dewdrops and whitecaps and fenceposts. Montgomery is never too busy to slow down and look at nature.
Jane expects to hate the island and her father, but she instantly falls in love with both. Instead of being told to act like a little lady, Jane gets to decide for herself who she’ll be and what she’ll do. She decides to work, work, work. She delights in all the housework that most modern women can’t stand. Laundry, cooking, gardening. Haha! She finds purpose in caring for her father, her pets, and her plants. Instead of living to please her grandmother, she finds joy in living to serve her family and friends. What a difference!
But will her father and mother ever reconcile? What drove them apart? These are big questions for little Jane, but she must face them.
This isn’t my favorite Montogmery novel, but it’s a charming one. It’s beautiful to see a picture of what a healthy childhood could look like in an idyllic, intimate community.
Content warnings: Jane’s parents are separated. Good to know if you’re reading it with kids.
By now, I know what to expect from Kate DiCamillo when it comes to a book like this. The Puppets of Spelhorst felt a lot like The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane. It’s about a collection of puppets, and things happen to them, and they are changed. Very similar to Edward Tulane, who is a toy that things happen to, and he is changed.
It’s got big-time Velveteen Rabbit vibes, let’s just say that.
This book is charming, and like DiCamillo’s other books, the scope is intimate, but the themes are big. Although the puppets are inanimate, they have an inner life in which they think and communicate with one another (but they can’t move around or speak aloud like in Toy Story).
The big theme revolves around stories and their power. What is a puppet made for if not to tell a story? But the puppets don’t know who they are or what their story is.
All of the puppets start out by defining themselves in terms of what they have (a crown, sharp teeth, real feathers, etc.). But each puppet has a desire for something more (to have a real experience of some kind), and this desire is achieved in a small way by the end of the book. Of course, this led me to ask myself to what degree are we all puppetlike creatures who exist to play a part in a much larger story that we can’t control?
This book uses repetition like the Mercy Watson / Deckawoo Drive books do, and I can see why this might distract or exasperate some readers, but, for me, it slows me down and makes it crystal clear what the author wants me to pay attention to.
I read this book to myself in about an hour. I’m wondering if my boys will enjoy it, too, or if it’ll fly over their heads and leave them wondering what it was all about.
When a collection of strange items is stolen from an international boarding house, Poirot takes an interest in solving the puzzle.
Hercule Poirot is my favorite fussy detective. And Hugh Fraser did a fantastic job of narrating the audiobook version of this novel. It was everything I wanted in a Christie book, and it was a quick win for me, but it just wasn’t my favorite Christie book.
We start with a boarding house filled with 20-somethings from all over the globe. An odd collection of things go missing. Some turn up again. Some are destroyed. Then, people are in danger… What starts off as a puzzle turns into more.
I like the stage: an international boarding house, which is basically like a college dorm full of students from different countries, different backgrounds, and different worldviews. I liked the varied cast of characters, although I can see how they might not sit right in today’s tiptoe political climate. I like Poirot because he’s old-fashioned, and so am I. That’s why I like Mma. Ramotswe, too. There’s a tension between modern ways and old ways, and there’s something inside me that loves to see the old ways win, but not from a pulpit.
The plot was good, but it wasn’t gripping. The characters were what made this book enjoyable for me. I would’ve liked a little MORE Poirot here, actually. His police colleague, Detective Sharp, (I may have the name wrong) got just as much page time, although he’s not as entertaining as my Belgian.
Content warnings: Nothing graphic, but people die and plot, as you’d expect. Some mention of opiate use and the mishandling of drugs. One character has a drinking problem.
A cup-loving small-island girl is forced out of her comfort zone to rescue her true love in a fantasy world where pirates roam the spore seas
Brandon Sanderson wrote this book for his wife, Emily, and he wrote it in secret, without telling a soul except her. He wanted to write something that would entertain and delight her. In his Postscript, he said he wanted to write something free from business constraints and fan expectations. His goal? A fairy-tale-adjacent story that appeals to adults. Something with a similar feel to The Princess Bride and Good Omens.
The result? Pure FUN. As I was reading, I could feel how much fun he was having. The book feels light and effortless, even though it ventures into grave danger and looks into the face of evil. Like Bride, it’s making fun of itself slightly. Like Bride, it doesn’t feel dark. In fact, it’s downright optimistic.
If modern writers can draw any conclusions from Sanderson’s experiment, it seems to me that writing free of business and fan pressures is a great place to start. Sometimes, when I’m reading a book, I can sense the social and political stress that the author was feeling—make sure you check these boxes…definitely can’t say X, Y or Z…just go ahead and sanitize the book of any real meaning, but fill it with messages that have been approved by the culture at large. Kay?
Those books confuse me. But books like this ring clear as a bell. And I absolutely adored Hoid’s narrative voice, and, can I just say, Sanderson is a genius to include a world-hopping character like this in all his books. Talk about giving your fans something to discuss forever and ever amen.
Content warnings: There are the usual things you’d expect with a swashbuckling rescue story, such as death, fights, and such. But there is nothing overly graphic. Very few curses (if any) and no sex.
Oh boy, I’m a sucker for a Regency romance, and this one came on my radar when I learned that Sarah Eden crowdfunded enough money to have this made into a film. That’s impressive. My library had it, so I thought I’d read it.
This is a loose retelling of the Hades and Persephone myth. You’ve got Adam, a duke, who is fearsome and solitary and self-conscious about his scarred face. Then, you have Persephone, who is young and lively and completely devoted to her father and siblings. The result is a classic Opposites Attract story with heavy Beauty and the Beast overtones.
Adam and Persephone agree to marry, sight unseen, each for their own reasons, and they have a bear of a time getting along.
There were times when the Hades and Persephone myth was too on the nose for my taste, but it was neat to see how Eden translated different elements of the myth into the Regency era.
These stories rely on misunderstandings in order to keep the lovers apart, and there were plenty of them here. Adam and Persephone are strangers when they marry, and neither of them will speak plainly or open up. This book almost reached my personal threshold of tolerance for miscommunications, but it wasn’t bad.
In fact, I devoured this book in just a couple of days. It was a quick, wholesome and enjoyable read.
How spicy is the romance? Like three out of five jalapeno peppers. I thought the romance was one of the most tasteful I’ve read. It didn’t feel cheesy, which is impressive. I truly believed that they were falling in love because they wanted to—not because the author told them to. 😊
Some of the best YA fiction deals with this question. Here, Shusterman asks his teen readers to grapple with death in a dystopia where almost nobody dies—unless they’re among the minute percentage of Earthlings who must be “gleaned” in order to keep the global population under control.
Who does this gleaning? Scythes. They are the only human-led organization left on the planet. (A mega-technology called the Thunderhead governs the world.)
Scythes must glean a certain number of people per year, and they must do it without malice or bias. But what if they did it with…enjoyment? There’s no law against it. What if Scythes became the celeb rock stars of the world? What if, instead of being feared, they were worshipped?
Shusterman’s dystopia asks big questions about power and mortality/immortality. There is some fantastic potential for discussion here, but many teen readers will need guidance.
The concept of immortality (or, at the very least, a life that could last a thousand-plus years) is what kept jolting me out of the story. How can we even begin to comprehend a life without an imminent end? We value life because it’s fragile and over too soon. But what if we didn’t value life that way? This part of the story was hard for me to grasp and made it feel a tad distanced.
This book does everything so well, though. The writing stands head and shoulders above. Strong, complex characters. A couple of very spicy villains. The plot is perfectly paced, and the ending is a total knockout.
I can’t say that I love this book, but the execution is flawless.
Did you know how bad communism was in Romania in ’89?
Me neither! I had no clue.
To think—while I was eating Cheerios and watching Care Bears and playing Barbies, these families were living off of chicken feet and tiny potatoes, with only black-market access to anything remotely Western. They couldn’t even get proper medical care without bribing people with packs of cigarettes. Electricity and heat were hit or miss. Eating a banana was something that only happened in your dreams. All the while, one corrupt family in power was living the high life. Oooh, shudder.
I almost wanted to categorize this as “dystopian.” I feel like this will hit home with a lot of young adults simply because it really happened—and can happen again.
It brings to spine-tingling life what happens when dictators have absolute power. It portrays the human dilemmas that regular people were shouldering under this inhumane regime. There was forced privation. Constant suspicion of neighbors and even family members. Who is listening? Who saw? Will they tell on me? Talk about anxiety! Also, zero hope that things will get better.
The structure of the book is perfect for YA. Short chapters propel you forward. Action and mystery and dilemmas at every turn.
I also loved the back matter, showing photos of people, places, and objects that figure into the story. I’m impressed by the depth of research that Ruta Sepetys put into this book.
Great for kids who are starting to read on their own
This short book came with our homeschool curriculum, and my little boys enjoyed it. They easily could’ve read it themselves. It’s perfect for early readers (big font, few words on a page). And it has a strong Christian message.
Our protagonist, Kuri, is a young boy who lives in an African village where missionaries have converted his father to Christianity. It’s customary to pray to the spirits when planting your yearly yams, but Kuri’s father prays to Jesus instead. He gets pushback from the village Head Men, who warn him that the spirits will blight his crop.
The book is about what happens to Kuri and his family. Does God come through for them?
I like that this book shows that, after becoming a Christian, your life isn’t perfect, but you have God to turn to when tough times come. I also really liked how Kuri’s father prays for the Head Men instead of expressing hatred.
This wasn’t overly satisfying in the plot or character departments, but for a Christian kids’ book, it stands above the crowd.
What would happen to a fairy tale princess if she were simply ordinary?
This book came with my homeschool curriculum. I didn’t think my 7- and 8-year-old boys would be interested, so I swapped this one with The Secret Garden, which they loved. That didn’t stop me from reading this tiny book for myself, though.
My copy came with a preface by the author, and I’m glad I didn’t skip it. She says that after going on a fairy-tale-reading-spree, she realized that most of the princesses fit a certain model—beautiful, blonde, blue-eyed, and graceful. This is only to be expected in fairy tales, right? But, the author, like so many before and after her, wondered how the story might change if the princess in question were ordinary. She said that she sat under a tree and wrote the whole thing by hand in one sitting.
This book isn’t exactly a retelling of any single tale (that I can think of). It nods mightily to Sleeping Beauty and Cinderella, but it’s not a spinoff. It stars Amy, the seventh and youngest daughter of a noble kingdom, and she’s cursed with ordinariness.
Because she’s nothing special to look at, the king and queen can’t marry her off. Amy becomes so weary of the endless string of suitors who arrive, take one look at her, and then awkwardly contrive early departures. So, she must figure something out—and that something is her future.
The curse turns into a blessing. Amy learns the virtues of independent thought, hard work, and healthy physical exertion out of doors, all of which (come to think of it) line up neatly with The Secret Garden.
This book is short and takes a tongue-in-cheek approach to fairy tales, mildly mocking them. It reminds me of About the Sleeping Beauty by P. L. Travers. It’s long been fashionable to recast these timeless tales to suit modern tastes, pointing out how sexist and violent the originals are, and aren’t we much better in this day and age? But, we’re not better, and it does no good to scoff at folklore, myth, and fairy tales. But it’s okay to look at them and wonder why. Wonder how and if. What else are they for if not that?
By Soyoung Park Translated by Joungmin Lee Comfort
Character
Plot & Pacing
Writing Craft
Moral Value
Another YA dystopia—is it worthy?
I think that, like most YA dystopias, you’ll either love this or hate it.
Years from now, the world is frozen, and everyone works in power plants to provide the population with the electricity required to sustain life. Everyone works for the power plants, except residents of Snowglobe, a ritzy community sheltered from sub-zero temps by a dome. How can you become one of the chosen few who get to live there? By agreeing to act on TV. Your life is recorded and made into a TV show for the world to see.
If you worked day in and day out at a power plant (riding a bicycle to produce energy) and you got the chance to become a Snowglobe actor, would you take it?
That’s basically what happens to Chobahm, our teenage girl protagonist. But the catch? She’s asked to take the place of a megastar who died. She looks nearly identical to an actress named Goh Haeri, who has achieved Taylor Swift-level fame in Snowglobe. If Chobahm agrees, then her family will receive extra compensation, and she may even get a shot at attaining her lifelong dream of getting accepted to Snowglobe’s famed film school to become a director.
It’s a Faustian bargain with all the teenage trappings that make this book appealing to its target audience. It checks all the boxes for what I hoped to see—mystery, twists, and action.
I did feel like the book could’ve been tighter. I really enjoyed it, but the first and second half were a bit disjointed, with characters from the first half who faded into the background to make way for new characters who took the stage in the second half. I listened on audio, which was a lifesaver for name pronunciation, but I confess that I did have a hard time keeping the characters straight.
Overall, this was a solid YA read, and it was interesting to read this genre set in what I assume is a futuristic South Korea, but I’m not sure I’ll come back for book 2.
Content Warnings (with spoilers): Here are some things that you may want to know before handing this to your teen (or reading it yourself). There is discussion of cloning and its moral implications. There are scenes of violence, but nothing gory or over the top. One character is revealed to be in a same-sex relationship with another character, but this isn’t central to the plot and (I think) becomes more central in the sequel. There are some whiffs of romance for the protagonist, Chobahm, but nothing graphic and no sex scenes.
Lots of potential for discussion here. But not a favorite of mine.
Pearl S. Buck’s novel The Good Earth was a formative reading experience for me in my 20s, so anything with her name on it gets my attention.
This story, however, was…hmm…
I’m not sure exactly what it’s trying to say. What was Buck, a Christian missionary, trying to capture here? I get the sense that she’s not necessarily portraying her own view as a Christian but perhaps giving a snapshot of an alternate cultural viewpoint…
The story (which is very short) takes place in a Japanese seaside village. The fishermen and their families have a deep fear of the ocean, even though it’s what sustains life for them. They know that, at any moment, a storm or tsunami can devesate them and take their lives. They build homes with no ocean-facing windows because they don’t want to…face the fear, I guess? Inland, there’s an active volcano that causes earthquakes. The people know that, between the ocean and the volcano, it’s just a matter of time before disaster strikes. This is true of life, no matter where you live or how safe you may feel.
The characters conclude that living in a dangerous place makes them brave and helps them better appreciate times of peace and happiness. I guess this is true in a general sense. We can see the light because of the darkness kinda thing. I just wish there was a clearer, firmer foundation to build on than what Buck offers here. The ending of the book sees one of the main characters literally building a house on sand. What are we supposed to make of that?
The best element of the story, for me, is when Jiya must decide whether to live with the poor farmers or the rich old gentleman. On the one hand, he can claim a life of safety, plenty, and opportunity. On the other, he can live humbly but also in the midst of uncertainty and possible privation. Most people don’t get to make this choice, but if they did, what would they choose?
When a young woman in regency-era England is forced to flee home, where will she turn?
This is the second Julie Klassen book that I’ve DNFed since the beginning of the year. I tried listening to Castaway in Cornwall on audio first, and then I got bored at the 35 percent mark. I decided to start this one, and I find that I’m forcing myself to go back to the audiobook…I have no desire to continue, so I’m going to just stop.
I don’t know if it’s the audio format or if it’s just not the right time for a regency romance. The books aren’t bad, but I think they’re lacking the conflict and emotion that I’m craving right now.
There are times when a relatively sedate and buttoned-up story is just the ticket. But, that’s falling flat for me at the moment.
Not giving up on you, Jules! I’ll be back.
Content warnings: Nothing graphic, but there was one scene when a man made unwanted advances toward the protagonist, and she got away.
Everyone’s favorite assistant pig-keeper is off on another adventure, but this one will test him to the core.
Dilemmas. That’s why this book is so good. The characters are faced with one impossible choice after another until the very last chapter. My boys and I really enjoyed this second installment in the Prydain Chronicles.
The evil Arwan is gaining power. To stop him, Gwydion gathers a crew of loyal Prydainians to sneak into his fortress and steal the black cauldron—the wicked pot he uses to create undead warriors for his army. Naturally, everything goes wrong, and Taran must learn what it means to make hard choices—all by himself.
This book was better than the first one, and I think it’s worth reading the first book in order to experience this sequel more richly.
This is HIGH fantasy in the same vein as Tolkien. It’s hard to miss the parallels between LOTR and these books. But, these books are much shorter and accessible to a younger audience. My 7- and 8-year-olds wouldn’t be able to read them solo, but they can understand them perfectly well when I read aloud (and clarify some of the high-brow vocab). The books are written in a lofty, grand tone.
Again, this book was great because of the series of difficult choices that the characters faced. I felt like the plot was tight and economical. Overall, YES.
Content warnings: Nothing overly concerning. Several characters die, and one must sacrifice him/herself in one scenario.
How will 10-year-old Esther survive now that her family must move from the city to a farm due to the Great Depression?
What a sweet, heartfelt book! I read it in just over a day, and it’s perfect for kids who love pioneer or homesteading books. It’s the Great Depression, and we see one year in the life of 10-year-old Esther. All she wants is to earn her mother’s love. Her Russian immigrant mom is exacting and superstitious. She scolds easily, worries constantly, and hugs not at all. What can Esther do to make Ma love her?
When Esther’s dad loses his job in Chicago, the family moves to a Wisconsin farm to try country life. How will Esther adjust?
This story has two strong journeys: the outer journey: Will the family make it on the farm? And the inner journey: Will Esther at long last receive her mother’s love? This makes it a simple yet layered growing-up tale.
It is a sweet story, with lots of emotion. I got teary-eyed a few times. I appreciate how the book doesn’t villainize the city or the country. I also love how there is a faith element. The family prays and goes to church. Ma and Pa also carry a lot of superstitions from the Old Country, and it’s interesting to see how that’s handled.
The reading level is low, so younger kids should be able to tackle it. The plot touches on many universal “kid dilemmas” that anyone can relate to, and it also opens a window to a distinct time in history and how people lived back then.
I got this book recommendation from this list of page-turners.
Content warnings: Nothing graphic or overly scary. However, one character has a medical emergency that requires hospitalization. One character chokes on food.
After hearing Sarah MacKenzie from Read-Aloud Revival (I love her) interview the author, I was ready and rearin’ to love this book, and maybe my expectations were too high. I liked it but did not love it. Now, I do love the premise: There are portals to other worlds. They exist, just like in fairy tales. All we have to do is find them. That’s a common childhood fantasy, right? But the execution felt a tad off for me.
The protagonist is young Eva, an American who travels with her mom to visit her Grandmother in England for the first time ever. Soon, she realizes that her regal Grandmother was once a queen in fairyland.
Positives: Complex female relationships—whoooo-wheeee. Women. We can be weird. We don’t always treat each other right, and this book is packed with strong females who all seem to have fraught relationships with one another. This didn’t detract from the book at all and was one of the highlights for me.
Negatives: The writing wasn’t as immersive as I’d hoped. The pacing of the plot did drag a bit for me. I found myself wondering more than once, “Where is this going?” Eva was always finding clues and making little discoveries, but they all seemed a tad disjointed. I couldn’t see how the story was building to any sort of climax. The chapter-ending Ternival tales (fictional excerpts from a book of fairy tales) were a little hard to follow. It was a lot of new information to keep track of.
Thank you to NetGalley and WaterBrook for an ARC of this book in exchange for my honest review.
Content warnings: I wouldn’t hesitate to let any teenager read this. There’s nothing graphically scary or violent, and there is a sweet romance but it’s very much a side note until the end, and even then, there’s just a hint.
An awkward orphan girl is adopted by a big family who lives on a tiny lighthouse island
What a delightful story. Like Anna Rose Johnson’s debut, this book has that classic, vintage feel. What’s more, Lucy Landry is Anne Shirley reincarnated. She’s dreamy and inattentive, but it’s obvious that her behavior is a coping mechanism, and so, even though she makes us cringe, we FEEL for her.
This is one of those stories where the young protagonist is plopped into a completely new life. Think Sara Crewe, Mary Lennox, and, of course, Anne. Lucy Landry has lived primarily alone with an elderly caretaker. When she’s adopted by a couple with six children who live on a tiny lighthouse island, she’s utterly unprepared for the chaos and conflict. I’m glad that the author didn’t shy away from this conflict. It was HARD for Lucy to fit in, and this constant tension made the story interesting.
I loved the mystery of the long-lost necklace that’s woven through the story. While this is a subplot and not the point of the book, it adds a layer of interest to liven up the main plot, which is Lucy’s transformation. Plus, finding the lost necklace gives Lucy a goal and deepens her connection to her past.
This book is short and easy to read. It’ll appeal to kids (and adults) who want a quick win.
Also, Lucy deals with some debilitating fear. Since so many kids struggle with fears, this is another touchpoint that will appeal to anxious kids without triggering them (I think).
And a huge WOO-HOO to the depiction of a homeschooling family. This is rare! (But spilling stuff all over our school supplies is, sadly, not. Haha.)
Thank you to NetGalley and Holiday House for a digital ARC of this novel.
Content warnings: Lucy is afraid of sailing on the water. The book shows her getting anxious about the prospect of (and the reality of) getting on a boat. She and one other character freeze up in panic, but it’s not depicted as a detailed panic attack. Mentioning this just in case it’s relevant for your youngster.
When a young spy needs to redeem herself in her boss’s eyes, she finds herself tested in twisty ways
I needed something different. I saw that this popular thriller was high on twists and low on sex and violence, so I gave it a try. I’m NOT much for thrillers, but about once a year, I’ll pick one up. I never seem to love them, so take my review with a grain of salt.
Here’s what appealed to me: I knew this was going to be a plot-driven book. I wasn’t expecting much in the way of character arc, and, turns out, there wasn’t much of one. The plot was interesting and did deliver some twists and turns that I enjoyed and didn’t see coming. It was fast-paced and short. A nice palate cleanser.
I could’ve done with MORE character, especially from the lead.
I won’t spoil the end, but…I had issues with the note it ended on. It didn’t have good resonance, even though it is discussable.
Content warnings: The book didn’t rely on graphic scenes for shock and awe. So, no graphic violence or sex. The main character is living with a man. Some deaths occur. There was the usual foul language that you’d expect, but it was moderate—not minimal but not everywhere. Of course, this is a worldly book, so it comes with, well, worldliness.
This book is really more of a short story. I can’t remember how this tiny paperback came to me—my LFL? Pearl S. Buck’s novel The Good Earth was a formative reading experience for me in my 20s, so anything with her name on it gets my attention. This story, however, was…hmm…
I’m not sure exactly what it’s trying to say. What was Buck, a Christian missionary, trying to capture here? I get the sense that she’s not necessarily portraying her own view as a Christian but perhaps giving a snapshot of an alternate cultural viewpoint…
The story takes place in a Japanese seaside village. The fishermen and their families have a deep fear of the ocean, even though it’s what sustains life for them. They know that, at any moment, a storm or tsunami can devasate them and take their lives. They build homes with no ocean-facing windows because they don’t want to…face the fear, I guess? Inland, there’s an active volcano that causes earthquakes. The people know that, between the ocean and the volcano, it’s just a matter of time before disaster strikes. This is true of life, no matter where you live or how safe you may feel.
The characters conclude that living in a dangerous place makes them brave and helps them better appreciate times of peace and happiness. I guess this is true in a general sense. We can see the light because of the darkness kinda thing. I just wish there was a clearer, firmer foundation to build on than what Buck offers here. The ending of the book sees one of the main characters literally building a house on sand. What are we supposed to make of that?
The best element of the story, for me, is when Jiya must decide whether to live with the poor farmers or the rich old gentleman. On the one hand, he can claim a life of safety, plenty, and opportunity. On the other, he can live humbly but also in the midst of uncertainty and possible privation. Most people don’t get to make this choice, but if they did, what would they choose?
Lots of potential for discussion here. But not a big favorite.
Reading this at night as a fabulous yet decidedly middle-aged mommy who is worn-out tired by the end of the day…I will admit that I found myself nodding off during the first half of this book.
But the second half is worth it!
It’s been a long time since I’ve read a kids’ book with such a grand payoff at the end. I almost don’t want to write anything more so that you can enter this book as blindly as I did.
Now, I will say that the first line of this book is a knockout, but after that, I was a little disoriented and unsure where it was all going. It took me a few chapters to get my bearings and figure out which characters were important. This book isn’t nearly as disjointed as Everything Sad Is Untrue, Nayeri’s debut. It’s much more cohesive with a linear plot and all that. It just took me a bit to sink in.
The plot picks up greatly after we learn that Samir, who is not the protagonist, is being pursued by several colorful bounty hunters. What could be a tense chase is rendered by Nayeri into a thumping frolic along the Silk Road.
I’m a sucker for a solid theme, and this book has one. Friendship and family—what are they, and is life worth living if you have none? What are friendship and family worth, and what would you trade them for? The worldview is not overtly Christian, but there is good moral soil here.
HOWEVER, this book does not shy away from the truth that people are complex. For example, Samir is kind and loyal, but he’s the folkloric version of a used car salesman, exaggerating and outright lying on the regular. Most characters are a mix of good and bad, which makes them interesting, but some young readers will need guidance here.
Content warnings: Samir is almost assassinated six times, but these encounters are not overly gruesome or graphic. As long as your kids are mature enough to understand what a bounty hunter is, then they’ll be fine. Some parents will want to know that a mix of faiths are shown here, and none with great reverence. Samir often lies that he belongs to a certain religion so he can butter up a customer. I find this good material for age-appropriate discussion with kids.
This book has been on my radar for a while simply due to the title. That title. I didn’t realize the phrase comes from a poem by William Sharp (Fiona MacLeod): “Deep in the heart of Summer, sweet is life to me still, But my heart is a lonely hunter that hunts on a lonely hill.” That’s something right there.
This book is something, too. But, in many ways, it’s a mess. This is one of those beautifully written, literary books that gives you a lot to think about, that stirs your emotions—but that also feels like a bucket of odds and ends that the author shakes, and it’s noisy and interesting, but we’re not sure exactly what it all means.
The book is not what I’d call entertaining. Not in the same way that To Kill a Mockingbird is entertaining, apart from everything else it brings to the table.
I’m perplexed by the paradox of this book. On the one hand, there are strong themes that you don’t have to be an English major to sniff out. But there’s a striking lack of coherence. Again, like a bucket filled with objects that clearly symbolize certain things, but they’re just crashing around in the bucket, and what does it mean at the end of the day?
As the title suggests, this book explores the theme of loneliness. John Singer is a deaf mute living in an ordinary mill town in Georgia. He’s the hub of the story. He attracts the other four main characters to him. These people pay separate but regular visits to Singer because they like to talk with him—or TO him. They believe he understands them. They’re lonely and desperate to offload their thoughts, feelings, dreams, and convictions on another human being and be understood. But, we know, through the narrator, that Singer doesn’t actually understand them. They just think he does. And they rely on him to listen. They imagine him to be who they want him to be.
Each of the four supporting characters represents different parts of American society. Mick represents the poor whites (she’s also young and coming of age). Dr. Copeland represents the “Negro race” as he puts it. Biff represents the establishment—capitalist, white working man. Blount represents the communist malcontent. The book is described as a parable because each of these characters is representative of larger ideas and societal problems.
Mick stands out as, by far, the most sympathetic and sweet, followed closely by Biff, who is thoughtful, fair, and observant. I love when Mick describes her “inside room.” It’s the inner space where she can dream and be creative. She dreams of learning music and composing songs, and she even tries her hand at writing some songs. But she doesn’t share this dream with anyone. It’s her own “inside” secret that she cherishes. The second-to-last chapter when she describes how, after a long day’s work at the mercantile, she cannot manage to get into the inside room anymore—that’s heartbreaking.
Portia’s good-faith attempts to make peace with her father are exquisitely written. Blount and Copeland’s rage-fest where they’re agreeing but disagreeing—it was perfectly rendered. There’s so much here, but it felt very meandering, like you’re not sure exactly where the story is.
I did not love this book. It was a slog. But that doesn’t mean there isn’t a lot that will stay with me.
By J.I. Wagner Translated by Tracy Phua Illustrated by Cindy Foehlich
Character
Plot & Pacing
Writing Craft
Moral Value
At the end of each short chapter, there’s a clue to solve that moves you a step closer to uncovering a mystery.
That made me curious enough to give this book a try with my 7- and 8-year-olds. They have short attention spans, so we read one to two chapters per day, and we had fun solving the little clues. Some were easy and satisfying, but others were tough enough to flex our mental muscles.
The story is written from the POV of Timmi Tobbson, average kid. He has two friends, Lilli and Marvin. One summer day, they realize they need to help save Lilli’s grandpa’s house from getting repo’ed. This leads them on a wild goose chase through many crazy locations in their historic town.
The fun thing about the clues is that you must look closely at the illustrations that appear at the end of each chapter, and those pictures give you clues to help you answer the accompanying “clue question.”
The concept of this book is just wonderful. The clues and illustrations are very well done. The writing and story elements were not quite as strong. We do have the second and third books in the series, so my boys will see how the series unfolds if they choose to read these independently. I won’t be continuing the series as a read-aloud.
Wow. I inhaled this trilogy, and I’m very picky when it comes to my teen dystopias. This series has a lot in common with The Hunger Games, but it’s much less depressing. In fact, it is incredibly life-affirming. But it’s most definitely for teens—no younger.
So, we’ve got a strong female lead, who lives in a futuristic society that’s tried to rid the world of inequality by making people the same—as “same” as they can get them. All aspects of life are controlled by the powers that be. Our young, female protagonist works as a Breeder. Her job is to birth babies for the new world. You already recognize a slew of elements from other popular YA books, right?
Well, something happens to our main character, Pria. She begins to feel discontented with her “perfect” life. She begins to ask questions—gasp! This puts her in danger, and she must face the truth about her society and the role she plays within it.
The strength of this series is the plot and pacing. It’s tight and effortless to read. There is a satisfying character-driven B plot.
Honestly, if you’ve got a thing for YA dystopia, this series is a really great choice!
The most astonishing thing about this reading experience is that I consumed this novel almost entirely at night, in the dark, right before bed. For someone who scares easily, I’m mighty proud of myself.
A man and his boy (never named) are trying to survive after a cataclysmic civilization-ending event (never explained), and they spend the novel dodging bad guys (cannibals) and figuring out how to not starve or sicken to death.
This book asks the question: Can we still be good even when everything around us is bad? Having just finished reading a lot of fairy tales, this question is not unfamiliar. Fairy tales ask this question over and over. Under what circumstances, under what pressure, do we compromise our integrity, stretch the bounds of morality, allow anger to rage, and succumb to despair?
The boy repeatedly asks his father, “We’re still the good guys, right?” Since they’re barely clinging to the bottom rung of Maslow’s hierarchy of needs (basic survival) and there’s nothing higher to live for or aspire to…it’s important to the boy that they’re “good guys.” This is all the boy can hope for in life beyond simply existing. Which begs the question: Are people born with an innate sense of right and wrong? I believe so.
The Road is a journey with no destination. There’s no safe harbor for the characters to aim for. Every time they stumble upon a good place, they can’t stay long. Someone might find them. There’s always this sense of impending tragedy. Every time the man left the boy somewhere, I had to quickly skim ahead just to make sure he was okay.
The book also asks “What’s the point of continuing to live?” These characters live in a world that’s bad beyond anything that I’ve ever experienced. Why not just give up and find a peaceful place to starve or freeze to death? I’m glad that this book takes a life-affirming approach, for all its bleakness.
This is my second Georgette Heyer novel, and I went into it blind. I enjoyed this old-timey Regency romance for the most part, although there was a saggy bit in the beginning-middle, which I pushed through, and I’m glad I did. This book illustrates the age-old truth: you don’t know what you got till it’s gone.
The first few chapters race along because the setup is superfun: A rich, young, and hunky lord decides (on a whim) to marry a childhood friend of his. She’s young, like 16, and he’s not much older, like early 20s. They don’t love each other, but they’re chums. They’re marrying for convenience. The Viscount Sherry gets his full inheritance bestowed upon him when he marries, and our sweet young heroine (aptly named Hero) agrees to be his wife to avoid the woeful fate of becoming a governess.
After they get married, Hero proves that she has no idea how to be a proper lady, but Sherry can’t be bothered to teach her. They are both so young, and they just wanna have fu-un. Sherry is a bit of a wild boy, flirting and gaming. Hero is a fun-loving, ready-for-anything teenager.
The beginning-middle of the book shows Sherry having to clean up after Hero’s many social fumbles—taking the grownup role for the first time in his life. Hero realizes how much she loves Sherry, but Sherry is oblivious to this. Hero wonders if he regrets marrying her, and she never asks him, so she’s left to stress over it.
The book title probably comes from the traditional poem “Monday’s Child.” According to the poem, Friday’s child is “loving and giving,” and that is exactly what Hero is. She is not an Amazon or a Matriarch or any power-archetype. She’s entirely at Sherry’s mercy, yet, through her love and goodness, she saves him.
Sherry is not—ahem—politically correct, shall we say. This whole book, in fact, is delightfully incorrect in so many ways. Sherry is flawed. He doesn’t appreciate Hero and treats her like a possession. His nickname for her is “Kitten”—barf! Even after his transformation, he’s not exactly fighting for her right to be prime minister or anything like that. But he does teach her to drive, so there’s that.
