Louis Sachar: The Cardturner

High school junior Alton Richards is gearing up for a bummer summer. Dumped by his girlfriend (for his best friend, no less), with no money and no job on the horizon, he is bullied by his parents into driving his ailing (and extremely wealthy) great uncle Lester to his bridge club. Alton’s parents are determined to stay on dear old Uncle Lester’s good side in case he kicks the bucket any time soon. Alton is more than just a chauffeur, though—he is his uncle’s ‘cardturner’. Uncle Lester is a brilliant bridge player, but he’s blind as a bat, and Alton is in charge of telling him what cards he holds and playing the cards Lester tells him to play. Along the way, Alton meets a host of interesting characters, all of whom are avid bridge players—including a distant cousin (of sorts), who is young, pretty, and is rumored to be crazy as a loon. Before he knows it, Alton finds himself fascinated by the ins and outs of this complicated game. But when his uncle’s health takes a turn for the worse, bridge quickly becomes the least complicated part of his life.

Subjective Appeal: Award-Winning Author, The Wild World of Card Games

The subjective appeal of a novel like this is not always immediately obvious. There are no dragons here; no princesses to be rescued or aliens to be annihilated. There are no vampires or werewolves or scrappy teens fighting for their lives. There isn’t even much teenage angst or romantic drama. Alton is just an ordinary boy living an ordinary life. Fortunately, Louis Sachar is not an ordinary writer. With the same flair for storytelling that won him such acclaim in Holes, he creates characters we care about and makes their relatively uneventful lives interesting. Don’t get me wrong—the story is perfectly acceptable. But it is the skill of the storyteller that really makes this book.

Of course, for the juvenile card sharp, the subject matter of the book may itself be a draw. Young poker aficionados or fans of euchre, Go Fish, gin, blackjack, or any of a host of other card games may jump at the chance to read a book centered around a deck of cards—and learn a new game along the way. In the wake of role playing games, board games, and video games, the number of individuals devoted to a simple 52-card deck may be dwindling, but doubtless there are still a few out there. And for the rest of us, Louis Sachar’s writing is more than good enough to draw us into the less-than-scintillating subject matter.

Developmental Value: Cross-generational Comaraderie and an Introduction to Bridge

It is not surprising that a book about bridge involves a lot of older characters. In fact, seventeen-year-old Alton spends precious little time with his peers—the bulk of his summer is spent surrounded by retirees, his kid sister, his ‘crazy’ pseudo cousin, and other atypical companions for a teenage boy. Though he is at first less than enthused by the prospect of hanging out at the bridge club four days a week, Alton learns to appreciate the company of those outside his age bracket, and the most engaging characters he meets are well into their golden years.

While his parents’ interest in Uncle Lester begins and ends with the contents of his bank account, Alton is in awe of his great-uncle’s incredible skill and memory. Crotchety Uncle Lester refuses to let his blindness keep him from the game he loves, and can remember not only every card in his hand, but every card played over the course of a whole tournament, and even hands he played decades previously. The other players recall the halcyon days when bridge was an enormously popular pastime, even among young people. Alton listens to their stories (particularly the curious stories of Uncle Lester’s former partner, the infamous Annabel, and the mystery surrounding her disappearance), pays attention to their advice, and benefits from their wisdom. He learns about partnership, trust, and the ability to let go of mistakes (an absolute must for any successful card player).

In a culture where youth and beauty are prized above all else and like calls to like, this cross-generational camaraderie and respect are a welcome change—and may serve to encourage young readers to seek out and truly value those older, younger, or simply different than themselves. A book about a boy who spends his summer playing cards with old people might not seem like bestseller material. And indeed, it is unlikely to become one. There is nothing here to seize the public consciousness with quite the frenetic fever (and fervor) that tends to accompany modern bestsellers. This is, quite simply, a really good book. And given the subject matter, this is itself a testament to Sachar’s ability as a writer.

In another bold—and risky—move, Louis Sachar has decided to introduce his young readers to one of his most beloved pastimes: the game of bridge. Sachar is under no illusions here; he knows full well that this is an enormous undertaking and will require loads of explanation. A book like this could easily be boring (if the author explains too much) or confusing (if the author explains too little). Louis Sachar somehow manages to avoid both landmines. His explanations are just long enough to communicate the necessary information, and the light and even humorous tone keeps the reader from getting bogged down in dry details. This is no treatise; Sachar makes sure the reader understands just enough to appreciate the events as they transpire. But he does it well, with a skill and self-awareness that many a science fiction or other more ‘technical’ fiction writer would do well to imitate.

He even offers readers the option of skipping much of the explanation for a much more concise ‘bottom line’. Lengthier explanations are set off by tiny images of whales (in a clever homage to the description-heavy Moby Dick) and the ‘bottom line’ is enclosed in an easy-to-spot summary box. The end result is a book that is accessible (and enjoyable) for longtime bridge players and newcomers alike. I suspect this book will draw more than a few new players to the game of bridge. And in this internet age of sound bytes, commercials, and dwindling attention spans, a little more bridge playing may be just what the doctor ordered.

If you enjoyed this review why not share it on Facebook or Twitter? The “Like” and “Share/Save” buttons below make it easy. If you have some feedback on the review, leave a comment; we’d love to hear from you! For more of Alexis’s reviews, check out her lit blog quantum meruit.

Books for Boys: Legacy

Eighteen-year old Lucas Moore hasn’t had the best life. He and his mother live in a beat-up trailer in the aptly-named nowhere town of Perdition, Arizona, where she waits tables in a diner and he works as an auto mechanic—when he’s not out drinking or getting into a fight. He never finished high school. He’s never known his father.

Then one day, a strange man shows up in Perdition. And he’s fixated on Lucas. It turns out that this stranger is none other than the well-known billionaire Clayton Hartwell, who moonlights as the vigilante superhero known as the Raptor.

And Lucas is his son.

You see, Hartwell is dying, and now he wants Lucas to take up his mantle and protect the crime-ridden Seraph City once he’s gone. But Lucas isn’t so sure he wants that life. That is, until his trailer park is razed to the ground, and his mother is killed.  Heartbroken and outraged, Lucas agrees to accompany Hartwell to Seraph City and start his superhero training. But the more time he spends with Hartwell, the more he starts to wonder about the choices he’s making. A mysterious call from a well-informed stranger sends Lucas digging into Hartwell’s past, and what he finds forces him to ask some very difficult questions about good, evil, and the real role of a superhero.

Subjective Appeal: A Graphic Novel, Minus the Graphics

This is a classic superhero story. I’m not saying it will become a classic; it’s simply not that memorable. But it has all the classic superhero ingredients. A young slacker (Green Hornet); the onset of inexplicable physical changes (Spider-man); a long-lost father who reveals the hero’s true identity (Superman); a billionaire with a secret (Batman); a jaded superhero who’s willing to use questionable means to achieve his supposedly ‘good’ ends (Watchmen); a superhero with severe physical limitations (X-Men); flying suits (Iron Man); botched science experiments (The Hulk); super powers (pretty much all of them); crime syndicates (ditto) . . . this reads like an amalgam of tried-and-true superhero stereotypes. There’s even a hint of romance involving a sweet, supportive, smart (and conveniently attractive) girl. Not so much romance that it detracts from all the generic superhero action, of course, but just enough to keep things interesting for the teenage boy who is increasingly aware of—and intrigued by—the opposite sex.

Fortunately, these clichés are popular because they work. While this is by no means a terribly original work of fiction, it likely ticks enough of the superhero boxes to hold the attention of fans of the genre—particularly those who might previously have avoided traditional novels in favor of the more accessible and visually stimulating graphic novel.

Developmental Value: Coping with a Flawed Father and Unmet Parental Expectations

While the book itself is rather lackluster, the story, as mentioned above, includes a lot of the elements that make graphic novels attractive to young readers—particularly young male readers. For the reluctant reader, therefore, this might be an excellent compromise: all the fun of a graphic novel in regular old novel form. And at just over 200 pages, it’s shorter than many graphic novels (though of course they’re mostly pictures).

As for the subject matter, Lucas learns rapidly that just because someone is a parent or is in a position of authority—or even because someone is a superhero—doesn’t mean he’s right. [SPOILER ALERT] Hartwell/the Raptor has become so ends-oriented in his crime-fighting that he’s determined to do whatever it takes to stop or reduce crime—up to and including the deliberate manufacture of a whole slew of offspring/potential replacements that he’s all-too-eager to dispatch when they prove to be disappointments. And when he finds he can’t succeed in creating Lucas in his own image, he’s perfectly willing to destroy the civilian population to spare them the misery of living in a world where crime runs rampant.

In the face of this attitude of evil-means-for-‘good’-ends, Lucas has some very difficult choices to make. Teens will likely identify with the pitting of heroic self against mistaken (and possibly crazy) parents. While most teens’ parental conflicts won’t involve confronting an off-the-rails superhero, Lucas’ approach to the situation, and his ultimate decision to pit himself against his father, could be the catalyst for excellent discussions on the fallibility of parents and the correct response to inevitable parental mistakes whether real or perceived.

Then, too, there’s Hartwell’s expectation that Lucas will follow in his footsteps—a situation all-too-familiar to many teens. He wants Lucas to be like him, to do what he does, to care about the things he cares about. As Lucas learns more about his father, he realizes the many differences between them and has to come to grips with his own identity as distinct from his father. Again, Lucas’ circumstances are a bit extreme, but the underlying issues border on universal. Sometimes fathers (or mothers) do seek to replicate themselves in their children instead of helping their children learn and grow and decide for themselves who they will be. Lucas’ struggle could serve as a springboard for conversations about those expectations—which expectations are reasonable and should be honored, and which expectations are perhaps a bit unrealistic or unfair and need to be adjusted.

As you can see, there’s a lot of good stuff here—fodder for important and helpful conversations wrapped in a package that is will likely be attractive to reluctant readers. It’s unfortunate that the product itself is so mediocre, but then not every kid’s book needs to be an instant classic. There’s a lot to be said for a book that simply appeals to kids, even it’s not a literary masterpiece.

If you enjoyed this review why not share it on Facebook or Twitter? The “Like” and “Share/Save” buttons below make it easy. If you have some feedback on the review, leave a comment; we’d love to hear from you! For more of Alexis’s reviews, check out her lit blog quantum meruit.

Perfect Book for Teenage Girls: Warped

It was just a bit of tapestry. A very old tapestry, tucked into a crate of old books that Tessa’s dad bought at an auction. But Tessa is fascinated. The image—a wild, beautiful unicorn—is so vivid . . . and so are her dreams. Then, when Tessa pulls a loose thread on the tapestry, her whole world starts to unravel. Will, a handsome—if haughty—young nobleman, has been yanked out of the sixteenth century and plopped down in her room in the middle of modern day Portland, Maine. His fate is somehow tied to the tapestry, and he needs Tessa’s help.

Inexplicably drawn to this stranger, Tessa agrees to help him, and the next thing she knows, she’s immersed in a centuries-old conflict between ancient enemies—and both of them want the tapestry. With the Fates on one side, threatening her family and all she holds dear unless she does their bidding, and a powerful witch on the other, determined to destroy anything that stands in the way of her quest for eternal life, Tessa must find a way to protect the ones she loves.

Subjective Appeal: A Fairy Tale for All Ages

It is a truth universally acknowledged that little (and not-so-little) girls love unicorns. In fact, the only thing little girls like more than a unicorn is a handsome young prince with a slight streak of arrogance but also, when push comes to shove, a good heart.

This story has both. Ok, yes, Will (whose surname is ‘de Chaucy’ of all things—a generically ‘landed gentry’ sort of name if ever I’ve heard one) is technically the son of an earl, but let’s be honest: any title of nobility will work in a pinch. He’s occasionally brusque, and haughty, and understandably old-fashioned in his ideas, but he’s also brave and strong and daring and did I mention handsome? That Tessa starts to fall in love with him will come as a surprise to precisely no one.

Prince Charming De Chaucy is not alone, however; there are other fairy tale tropes here, as well—a wicked witch, enchanted animals, evils snakes, dragons, castles . . . even the three Fates, who weave the tapestry of human history. Though much of the action is set in twenty-first century New England, Will and Tessa do take a quick side trip into a land that looks remarkably like sixteenth century Cornwall, so Tessa gets the comfort of jeans and sneakers and running water and the glamour of billowing skirts, bodices, and castles.

All of this adds up to a fun and frothy fairy tale romance with plenty of danger and action and relational angst along the way—perfect for the not-so-little girl and the little girl that, more often than not, still lives inside her.

Developmental Value: A Not-So-Wicked Stepmother and a Knight in Shining . . . Petticoats?

In addition to the usual fairy tale ingredients, this story does include a stepmother—or a stepmother-to-be, at any rate. Tessa’s mother is dead, and Tessa is both coping with the loss of her mother and adjusting to her father’s girlfriend, Alicia. Although initially wary of Alicia (who is nothing like Tessa’s mother), Tessa comes to understand that Alicia is good for her father—that she makes him happy. And she’s no leech: Alicia is a successful CEO whose business sense invigorates the family business (by capitalizing on the coffee craze and turning the used bookstore into a bookstore-cum-café). And she seems to genuinely care for Tessa’s dad. By the end of the story, Tessa is able to respect Alicia, and can view her father’s upcoming wedding with acceptance and even peace. In a culture filled with blended families, this is a welcome example of accepting new family members, whether stepmothers, stepfathers, stepbrothers, or stepsisters.

The ‘evil’ stepmother is not the only fairy tale figure turned on its head here. While Will may be a handsome nobleman, he is no knight in shining armor; more often than not it is Tessa who saves the day. It is Will, not Tessa, who is in distress, and for much of the book Tessa is the ‘knight’ determined to figure out what happened and to protect him from danger. Not that she’s all that good at it, mind you, but of the two of them, she wears the ‘knight’ hat more frequently than he does, and in the final confrontation, Will is effectively out of commission while Tessa engages with the wicked witch and pleads with the Fates on Will’s behalf. Thus, unlike so many fairy story females, Tessa is not merely part of the scenery, a prop to be used and manipulated by the major actors in the story. She is herself an actor, and she participates enthusiastically in the action around her. This enjoyable blending of the traditional fairy tale with a more modern perspective on female independence (and competence) will allow readers to enjoy their happily ever after story while encouraging them to act with confidence instead of passively waiting for their dreams to come true.

If you enjoyed this review why not share it on Facebook or Twitter? The “Like” and “Share/Save” buttons below make it easy. If you have some feedback on the review, leave a comment; we’d love to hear from you! For more of Alexis’s reviews, check out her lit blog quantum meruit.

Horror Books: Rotters

Sixteen-year-old Joey Crouch used to be fairly happy. He and his mother enjoyed life in Chicago. He had a best friend. He played the trumpet. He wasn’t popular, but he wasn’t so unpopular as to be a target for abuse by those higher up the social ladder. All in all, life wasn’t bad. Then one day, everything changed. His mother dies, and Joey is uprooted from his life in Chicago and sent to live in rural Iowa with a father he’s never met.

Through a series of unfortunate circumstances, Joey rapidly becomes ‘that kid’—the butt of every joke, victimized (emotionally and physically) by teachers and students alike. His new home is no better. The house is a mess, and it reeks to high heaven. His father is largely absent, wandering in and out of the home at odd hours and after long intervals, leaving Joey to fend for himself. But that’s not the worst of it. Eventually, Joey becomes curious about his father’s unorthodox activities, and discovers, to his horror, that his father is a ‘digger’—one who robs the graves and coffins of the dearly departed.

Joey is initially disgusted, but his hunger for social contact, for some kind of family, leads him to seek acceptance from his father the only way he knows how: by joining him in his chosen profession.

Thus begins Joey’s sordid and grotesque adventures as a grave robber. His father teaches him all he knows, and Joey comes to find a certain confidence in his ability as a ‘digger.’ However, when they meet up with his father’s ‘colleagues’—particularly a deeply disturbed, odd looking man known as ‘Baby’—things get very dark very quickly and Joey’s struggle for social survival morphs into a struggle for physical survival. As Joey comes face to face with human depravity (including his own), he learns that the living can be far more rotten than any corpse.

Subjective Appeal: The Allure of the Grotesque

The subjective appeal of Rotters is rather limited, as it is something of an acquired taste. And rightfully so. Some, fascinated by the morbid or the macabre, may be attracted to this meditation on the fleeting nature of life. We are all just worm food waiting to happen, after all. Others may relish the social rebellion—the plundering of graves is a violation of the oldest societal norms, and the young adult thirst for self-determination, adventure, and independence may thrill to this ultimate disrespect of humanity and disregard for authority. Still others may enjoy the sheer horror of it. Dead bodies, putrid stenches, rotten flesh, dirty bones—on some level, we enjoy being grossed out, and the excavation, looting, and desecration of decomposed corpses certainly feeds into that mentality.

Kraus not only acknowledges this fascination with the grotesque, this tension between attraction and revulsion; he counts on it. This is no romanticized tale of the life of an outlaw—this is not an Indiana Jones-like quest for missing artifacts, and the protagonists do not explore dry and musty (but largely clean) graves from the distant past. Joey and his dad are up to their eyeballs in decaying human remains, rancid odors, and revolting bodily fluids. Over and over again, we are reminded that they can never really be rid of the smell—the stench of death (as a stand-in for conscience) follows them wherever they go.

Admittedly, Kraus is a capable writer. He tells the story well. The characters are complex and well-drawn, and the plot is interesting. Kraus is particularly adept at creating in his readers the desired emotions—when Joey is humiliated by bullies, we feel the hot flush of embarrassment. When he butts heads with his utterly unfit (and unfeeling) father, we share in his frustration. We share his rage at the injustice of his life, and we spiral downward with him as he struggles to maintain some semblance of control over his increasingly incredible circumstances. Credit must be given to Kraus for so effectively immersing his readers in this deeply uncomfortable story.

Then again, it is just that: an uncomfortable story. It gets dark very quickly and it stays dark for the duration of the book—dark and disturbing. Thus, despite the excellent writing, I suspect most readers would not enjoy this book. I know I didn’t. Fortunately, the subject matter itself will likely weed out many of those who would be most disgusted with this deliberately disgusting book, while those attracted to the promise of grotesquery implied in the premise will not be disappointed.

Developmental Value: Solidarity and Perspective

Honestly, the quest for objective value in a horror book like Rotters is something of a challenge. This is a dark book about awful people doing awful things—and protagonist Joey is no exception. Hope is all but absent and role models are few and far between. Still, in the teenage wasteland of high school, there is comfort in knowing that you are not alone in your suffering—we are all in this boat together, and we all suffer. Then, too, there is the fact that very few people will face circumstances quite as horrendous as Joey Crouch’s. Functionally orphaned, ostracized, abused, and alone, Joey endures real suffering, on an emotional, physical, and even spiritual level. Just as there is comfort in knowing that adolescence is hard for everyone, there is, I suppose, some comfort in the reminder that things could be so much worse.

Sadly, Rotters does not offer readers any help beyond the shallow comfort of commiseration. There are no lessons for coping with hardship, no advice for the struggling, no offer of hope for those tempted to hopelessness. Joey Crouch is far from a lesson in how to endure well the trials of life and adolescence—he participates in his father’s illegal (and revolting) activities, and his response to the bullies he encounters is essentially to bully them back even worse, exacting a cruel and quite unsettling revenge that even his tormenters might hesitate to employ. He even voluntarily joins forces with the unhinged (and maniacal) grave robber ‘Baby’, desecrating corpses with the intention of terrorizing the living. He lives a life completely outside the law—outside the rules of society, both formal and informal. And while he endures some horrific events in the course of his grave robbing adventures, he receives no real recompense for the wrongs he commits.

At the end of the day, this is an extremely well-written and unpleasant horror book, with no admirable characters, no real lesson, and not much in the way of substance or redeeming value. Given the darker nature of the story, I would be disinclined to recommend Rotters to younger readers—the book is billed as being appropriate for ages 14 and up, but I would not recommend it to anyone under 15 or 16. Then again, I don’t know that I would recommend it to anyone of any age.

If you found this review helpful why not share it on Facebook or Twitter? The “Like” and “Share/Save” buttons below make it easy. If you have some feedback on the review, leave a comment; we’d love to hear from you! For more of Alexis’s reviews, check out her lit blog quantum meruit. 

Fantasy Book: The Death of Yorik Mortwell

It’s not every day you come across a book where the hero dies in the first chapter.  But in The Death of Yorik Mortwell, that’s exactly what happens to 12-year-old Yorik Mortwell, orphaned son of a gamekeeper at Ravenby Manor: he dies. Fortunately for the readers, Yorik does not pass quietly into the great beyond, but returns as a ghost.

Upon his return, he is greeted almost immediately by the spoiled and curiously powerful silver-haired Princess and her peculiar (and ailing) friend Erde, who live in an enchanted glade on the grounds.  After briefly considering exacting vengeance on his killer, Yorik  realizes that something dark and deadly is stalking the manor grounds and the house itself, while the Princess’s friend Erde seems to be wasting away into nothing.  Yorik quickly loses his taste for revenge, and is consumed with concern for Erde and for his still-living younger sister Susan, a servant in the Ravenby House.  He is determined to defeat the Dark Ones—but what are they?  Where did they come from?  Why are there so many?  And what is one little ghost boy to do against such dark forces?

The story is punctuated with grimly comedic illustrations, which are decent enough but cannot survive the invited comparison to the master Edward Gorey.

Subjective Appeal: Grim and Gruesome Fantasy with a Light Heart

The front flap of this book notes that it will be popular with fans of Edward Gorey (to whom the author and illustrator clearly owe a debt), Lemony Snicket, and Neil Gaiman’s inimitable The Graveyard Book.  An impressive statement, that, but the book manages very nearly to live up to it.  By starting with the death of the main character, there is immediately a sense of the grim tone that so endeared A Series of Unfortunate Events to its readers.  And Yorik is not the only one to meet such a fate.  Neither of the Ravenby children survive the story, and Yorik’s father dies before the book even begins.  Yet the story never becomes self-pitying or morose—Yorik picks his ghost self up and starts back to work, unfazed by his transition to the world of the no-longer-living.  This dark flavor has a certain charm that makes the book quite appealing to many children’s morbid sensibilities.

Then, too, the somber mood highlights the fantastical elements of the story.  In addition to Yorik’s ghostly self, we meet an otherworldly Princess—imperious and rather snotty, she is capable of almost limitless magic in the confines of her glade, but unable (or unwilling) to cross its borders.  She has been imprisoned there for reasons she refuses to divulge.  Her odd moon-faced friend Erde, dripping with mud, has an equally fantastic and mysterious history, and even has a few powers of her own.  Talking topiary animals converse with Yorik, while the Dark Ones haunt the manor, whispering evil into the ears of anyone who will listen—that is, until the kennelmaster’s demon-dogs chase them into the night.  The story rises to an amusingly anti-climactic showdown between good and evil, and a female heroine provides the ultimate resolution!

All of this adds up to a delicious spooky and morbid tale that never loses its buoyant, childlike spirit.  And with a [SPOILER] happy ending to boot, all but the most sensitive readers will be able to enjoy the thrills and chills without any actual distress.

Developmental Value: Death and Sin

With a ghost for a main character, it’s hardly surprising that this book says something about death.  Here, death is presented as a common reality—three of the major characters are dead, as is the hero’s father, and two more characters (and more than one dog) meet untimely ends along the way.  This normalizing of death may be extremely encouraging to young readers, as it shows them that loss is a part of life—like stubbing your toe or going to the dentist. There is also, for these characters, some sort of life after death, and the dead can still do good or evil in the world.  With concepts like this percolating in the background (and occasionally the foreground) of the story, it could easily be a catalyst for important conversations about death, grief, morality, and what comes after death.

Perhaps even more important, however, is the focus on sin and guilt.  We see three different responses to wrongdoing—one from the side of the wronged party, and two contrasting responses by the wrong-ers.  In Yorik, we see a picture of what to do when someone has wronged you—that is, forgive. Although he is originally inclined to punish his killer, he rapidly abandons this plan in order to pursue other, more important goals—in this case, the protection of his still-living sister and, by extension, the Manor where she works and all its inhabitants.  By letting go of his anger, he is able to roam freely over the grounds in a way his vengeful self could not.  Later, in a series of direct confrontations with his killer, Yorik verbally extends forgiveness, realizing that his killer was, like so many others, a victim of the Dark Ones’ lies.

Yorik’s killer is, in turn, a cautionary tale—he knows he has wronged others, and is unable to respond to his guilt correctly.  He killed Yorik out of fear of exposure for previous wrongs, and is now plagued with guilt both for his original transgressions and for Yorik’s death, and is consumed with fear that he will be discovered.  He responds to his guilt with despair and violence, and is unwilling to accept the forgiveness offered him (much to his own—and others’—detriment).

The Princess likewise struggles with guilt for her own ‘unforgivable sin’, but her response is much healthier.  Throughout the course of the story, she is gradually convinced that forgiveness is possible, even for her ‘sin’.  She apologizes for her wrong, demonstrates repentance, receives forgiveness, and is reconciled to her punisher. Her revelation—that is, that forgiveness is possible and should be sought—proves vital to the climax and resolution of the larger story.

All of which provides an excellent structure for discussing sin, confession, reconciliation, and forgiveness.  Children learn that hiding wrongdoing is a recipe for personal disaster, that confession is good for the soul, that forgiveness is always possible, and that they, in turn, should forgive others.  With such a great set of life lessons wrapped up in an eerily entertaining story, I couldn’t help enjoying this little book.

If you found this review helpful why not share it on Facebook or Twitter? The “Like” and “Share/Save” buttons below make it easy. If you have some feedback on the review, leave a comment; we’d love to hear from you! For more of Alexis’s reviews, check out her lit blog quantum meruit.

Here’s what you’ll find inside:

• Practical tips on picking great books for kids of all ages—infant through young adult.
• Guidance on what makes books attractive and developmentally valuable for children.
• Analysis of themes, illustrations, stories, and the use of humor in children’s books.
• Philosophical reflections on the role of children’s books in the development of character.
• A comprehensive list of online resources for finding excellent children’s literature, including book lists, sources of professional book reviews, and children’s literature blogs.

For those of you who end up downloading and reading it, I would be especially grateful for your feedback on it, whether encouraging or constructively critical; just leave it below in a comment on this post.  I’d like the book to be as helpful as possible for parents, teachers, and anyone else concerned with getting good books into the hands of children; your feedback will help me to achieve that goal.

Finally, if you think the book would be helpful to anyone you know, please tell them about it or pass the digital copy of it along to them.  Better yet, share it on Facebook or Twitter; the “share” button below makes it easy.  Again, the download page is here if you are interested.  Thanks!

Summary: A Children’s Counting Book

Clare Beaton’s One Moose, Twenty Mice is a counting book to help with learning numbers for preschool.  It begins with the following statement/question: “One moose, but where’s the cat?”  Each subsequent page continues the pattern established on the first page.  For example, the second and third pages say, “Two crabs, but where’s the cat?” and “Three ladybugs, but where’s the cat?”  The pages continue counting up in the same way until the last page, which says, “Twenty mice, and here’s the cat!”

The illustrations are scenes of colorful stitched fabrics (mostly felt), ribbons, buttons, sequins, and beads that depict the numbers and animals mentioned in the text.  Importantly, in each scene (except the last) the cat is hiding somewhere.  In the last scene the cat is finally in full view, chasing twenty white mice!

Subjective Appeal: Engaging, Funny, Excellent Illustrations

Several factors give this counting book subjective appeal for toddlers and young children.  First, the narrative structure is very inviting.  The repetitive refrain, “…but where is the cat?” on each page plays several roles.  Since there is a (semi-) hidden cat on each page, it prompts the child to hunt for the cat.  And who doesn’t like hunting for objects in illustrations? (Wheres Waldo anyone?)  Hunting for and finding the cat also gives the child a sense of accomplishment and naturally causes her to linger over each page.  The repetition also gives young children a sense of what is coming, and thus of security and mastery.  Finally, the refrain builds anticipation about the end of the book: “I just know we’ll see the cat in the end!”  This building anticipation keeps the child enjoyably focused on the book and creates forward motion, just like a good story would.

Second, the illustrations are beautiful and unusual.  The colorful combinations of fabrics, beads, buttons, and other bric-a-brac vary beautifully on each page.  And the artwork is so creatively and excellently done that it makes you want to examine every detail.  The illustrations are nicely integrated with the text, both supporting and embellishing it.

Third, the book is plain funny.  For example, there are several pages where the hidden cat is positioned in ways that make children (and adults!) chuckle.  On the page for the number eight, all you see of the cat is a green eye peeking through the lower loop of the eight.  On the page with 12 fish, the cat is staring into the fishbowl longingly, as if about to go fishing.  The end, of course, is the real punchline: kids giggle to see the cat in full chase—claws extended, smile on her face—as the mice scatter.  On the very last page she is sleeping contentedly (I guess she caught one…).

Developmental Value: Educational and Creative

In addition to these elements that give the book subjective appeal, the book also has obvious developmental value for young children and toddlers.  First, of course, the book is educational: after all it is a counting book.  In addition to providing an opportunity to learn the numbers up to 20, the book refers to 21 kinds of animals—some familiar, and some not.  For example, while the cat, mice, horses, and ducks are likely familiar from other barnyard tales, the moose, crabs, parrots, and dolphins might well break new ground.  So, if you are interested in helping preschool kids learn numbers and animals, this book is great.

Second, the repetitive rhythm of the book makes for good language learning.  This sort of repetition helps children to recognize and articulate specific words, especially via sentence completion.  By the end of the book, my guess is that if you simply read, “Nineteen elephants,” your toddler would chirp, “but where’s the cat?”  The second time through she’ll be chirping the whole way.

Finally, the book illustrations are incredibly creative.  As such, the book encourages a child’s standards for evaluating creativity—a developmental benefit in itself.  Moreover, I can imagine a parent or teacher using the book as an exemplar and a springboard to creative arts and crafts work with his children or students.

In sum, I highly recommend One Moose, Twenty Mice.  It is a creative and educational children’s counting book with an engaging rhythm and a great sense of humor.  It is a perfect way to help preschool kids learn their numbers and animals.  I encourage you to add this book to your home library.  If you do, please support our work by purchasing the book through the links in this post.

If you enjoyed this review why not share it on Facebook or Twitter? The “Like” and “Share/Save” buttons below make it easy. If you have some feedback on the review, leave me a comment; I’d love to hear from you. Thanks!

Children’s Fantasy Novel: The Door in the Forest

Daniel Crowley cannot tell a lie.  For most of his life, this inability has been a fairly manageable annoyance.  Now, as soldiers move into the small town of Everwood, it’s become downright dangerous.  There’s a rebellion in the City, and the soldiers—especially the unsettling and erratic Captain Sloper—are determined to root out any sympathizers.

This is particularly bad news for Daniel’s friend Emily Byrdsong, a newcomer to Everwood and granddaughter of the town witch.  There’s something mysterious about the Byrdsong family—Emily’s parents haven’t been seen since their arrest for participating in the rebellion, Grandma Byrdsong has a curious fondness for bubble baths, and they live in a house where the rules of time and space don’t seem to work quite the way they do in the rest of Everwood.  Captain Sloper is suspicious of the Byrdsongs, and is determined to use Daniel’s honesty to expose them . . . and the rest of the town.

But the Byrdsongs aren’t the only mystery in Everwood.  There is an island on the edge of town where no one ever goes.  Indeed, no one has ever been there.  Not that people haven’t tried.  The waters teem with venomous snakes . . . snakes with faces eerily reminiscent of those who tried to breach the island’s barriers.  Some say it is protected.  But by what?  And against whom?  Armed with a cryptic, ancient map, Daniel, Emily, and Wesley—Daniel’s kid brother—are determined to explore the island.  Will they be able to solve the mystery before Captain Sloper destroys the island—and the town—in his crazed quest?

Subjective Appeal: Magic, Magic Everywhere

When it comes to fantasy literature, the charm is in often in the details, and Townley fills this tale right to the brim: an obese old woman who reads the future in bath bubbles, a magic pearl necklace, windows to the past and future, a boy who cannot lie, snow leopards you can ride, cryptic maps, riddles, a mustachioed villain, the aforementioned human-faced snakes, and a seemingly impregnable island . . . this book is a veritable cornucopia of precisely the sort of delightful touches that are relished by lovers of fantasy, whether young or old.

As you can see, there’s kind of a lot going on here.  At times, the story feels a bit scattered, as if Townley had difficulty weaving all these admittedly wonderful elements into a unified whole.  But then, the plot isn’t really the point—it’s just a vehicle for showcasing the glittering gems of Townley’s creativity.  While this book does not rise to the level of a literary masterpiece by any stretch, Townley has still created an interesting and appealing work of fantasy that manages to be fairly original.  He builds on the foundation so ably solidified and expanded by Rowling without creating a mere imitation or knock off.  The story is unique enough to avoid direct comparison with the great Harry Potter, but fans of the series will find much to enjoy here.

Developmental Value:  Death, Heaven, and the Third Amendment

In the course of their explorations, Daniel, Emily, and Wesley discover that the island is a sort of earthly paradise.  Not really earth, yet not quite heaven, it is a land where anything is possible.  Here Emily is temporarily reunited with her dead mother, and here she learns the importance of returning to the real world to live her life and carry on the secret family legacy.  This treatment of death as separation and of the afterlife as a place of wonder and joy paints a comforting picture for young readers who may be all-too-familiar with the reality of death.  Whatever the reader’s own experiences of loss may be, this book undoubtedly addresses some very difficult issues with tact and sensitivity, and could be a springboard for important discussions on the subject of What Happens When You Die.

In a rather surprising twist, Townley alternates between the ethereal mystery of the otherworldly island and the real-world dangers of military occupation and gives equal weight to both.  He does an excellent job highlighting the many evils of quartering troops: the effect on the town’s supplies, the risk of theft and violence, and the constant fear of retaliation at the slightest hint of resistance.  Let’s be frank—the Third Amendment isn’t exactly front page news these days, and kids and adults alike may have difficulty even remembering which essential right this oft-overlooked amendment preserves.  For a generation functionally ignorant of this particular peril (and I include my own generation in this category), it’s quite a worthwhile reminder.  And kudos to the Third Amendment for doing such an effective job all these years!

The blend between the political and the fantastic is not always seamless—the juxtaposition of tanks and magic pearls can be a bit jarring. Even more irksome is Townley’s refusal to clearly identify his setting.  Are we in America?  Some other country?  A fictional land?  Is it the past?  The future?  We get enough familiar detail to imply some semblance of modern Western culture, but the details don’t quite match up.  There are contradictory hints all over the place, and I for one found myself distracted by the desire to figure out where (and when) this story is supposed to take place.  But then, younger readers may not be so driven to nail down details of setting, and so are likely to simply enjoy this children’s fantasy novel for what it is:  a fun and fantastic romp through a mysterious and exciting world.  Wherever it may be.

If you found this review helpful why not share it on Facebook or Twitter? The “Like” and “Share/Save” buttons below make it easy. If you have some feedback on the review, leave a comment; we’d love to hear from you! For more of Alexis’s reviews, check out her lit blog quantum meruit.