Reviews written by Francesca Amendolia

Philip Pullman has a new book out in the United States: TWO CRAFTY CRIMINALS, and my one sentence review is: it’s a real treat.

The text was first published in the UK in 1994 as two separate books: Thunderbolt’s Waxwork and The Gas-Fitters Ball, and this newly published version includes both stories, making them available to a US audience for the first time. The stories recount the adventures of the daring boys and girls of the New Cut Gang, a group of late 19th century London kids who manage to solve a couple of mysteries with a bit of derring-do, some funny misadventures, and a whole lot of cor-blimey love-a-duck heart.

Okay, so that Dick Van Dyke sampling of London English is completely unfair of me, as I suspect Philip Pullman would bite through his own pen rather than write such a hackneyed cliché -- yet there is a fair bit of dialect in the book. Characters say “et” for “ate,” “gorn” for “gone,” “yer” for “your,” and so on. Happily, it never gets in the way. Just the opposite, really – the (mis)spellings in the dialogue create a strong sense of place and time that adds to the book’s charm.

Martin Brown’s line drawings are simple, but funny, and add a touch of whimsy to the book. The stories themselves are fairly whimsical as well. Without trying to recount the (quite complex) plots, at various points these intrepid kids make a waxwork dummy and try to sneak it into a local museum; invite the Prince of Wales to a dance; track down an incriminating Swedish match and, not incidentally, solve a couple of quite serious crimes. Philip Pullman really is a quite extraordinary writer. His plots are inventive, his characters unique and believable, and his settings richly detailed.

If I were to mutter anything critical at all, it would be that in both cases, the stories start off a little slowly. My pre-existing love for all things Pullman ensured that I would persevere come what may, but another reader might not press on, and that would be a shame. So it may be that these books will find a ready readership among slightly older children, but they would make superb read-alouds as well, and would give parents and children a chance to talk about those many historical elements modern kids might not be familiar with.

There are heaps of middle-grade books about girls falling in love, and good thing too, since it’s an important piece of the growing-up puzzle. CRUSH, by Gary Paulsen, offers a rarer (and wonderful!) point of view – that of a boy in love for the first time. From my old-lady perspective, it’s a charming insight into how a boy might process this new experience, and the tween girl in me is gratefully surprised to know that boys are also apt to tie themselves in knots for love.

CRUSH picks up where Liar Liar left off. Kevin has noticed and fallen logical head over illogical heels in love with Tina Zabinski. Of course, Kevin being who he is, nothing is simple to begin with, and if there's a way to make things more complicated, he'll find it. So instead of just asking Tina out, as his buddy JonPaul advises, Kevin decides to observe, evaluate and study the concept of romance as played out by his parents, by his sister, by his friends, by his thrice-married aunt… indeed, anywhere but in his own life. He explores the relationships around him, hoping all the while that he will discover the magic ingredient that will make it possible for him to sweep Tina off her feet, instead of simply dissolving into incoherent goo whenever he’s near her. Hilarity (as they say) ensues, but the hijinks never drift into the unbelievable, and never exchange truth for laughs. The story is funny, but it’s also achingly true.

Perhaps that is the single best descriptor of CRUSH (and a great deal of Paulsen’s other writing). It is true. And because it is true, it matters. You root for Kevin, even when he’s getting in his own way. You believe him when he tells you that he’d make a good boyfriend, and you turn pages, hoping that this will be the moment he comes to his senses and just talks to the girl he likes.

Gary Paulsen makes his reader wait until the very last sentence in the book for resolution, and yet the ending is so utterly satisfying that you don’t mind. Instead, the very act of closing the book is like a sigh of pleasure, a closing of tired eyes at the end of a full day. Things are perfect in that moment. All is well.

As an adult reader of books for children, I spend a fair amount of time thinking about voice and audience. I don’t want to read a middle-grade book written for me, the adult who has learned to be cynical, grumpy and analytical. I don’t want to read a middle-grade book that winks at me about how poorly educated modern children are. I want to read a book that doesn’t give a darn about the grown-up who might be reading it. I want to read a book aimed at the heart, soul and mind of a child, a book splashing in puddles without worrying about wet socks, a book sneaking up the attic stairs to find the ghosts, a book utterly certain that the world will end if the boy falls in love with the wrong girl.

FACING THE HUNCHBACK OF NOTRE DAME is narrated by a very grown-up grown-up: a peevish, intelligent, germaphobic janitor at Kingscross University. His frequent asides include vocabulary-building definitions of the more complex words used in the text, critical comments upon the characters and story, advice and insight about how to write a book, and expressions of disgust about dirt and germs. He is a character-narrator, rather than an authorial voice from outside the fictional world created in the book, but even still, his intrusions were so terribly adult and finicky-maiden-auntish that they served only to distance me from the story. They were an insulating layer between the reader and the story, and kept me from growing attached to the twins, or any other character.

The narrative itself however (as distinct from the narrator) is quite good fun. When Quasimodo suddenly appears in their uncle’s abandoned attic lab, twins Olivia and Linus realize they have discovered a magical portal that allows fictional characters to enter the real world. The remainder of the book is about what happens in the few days Quasi (as they decide to call him) is in Kingscross, and the obstacles they face when they try to send him back.

The central idea - bringing characters to life - is a truly intriguing one, especially for those of us who live half our lives in fictional worlds. Who wouldn’t want to meet Lucy Pevensie, Ozma of Oz, Bilbo Baggins or Katness? I certainly would. I’m not sure I would be quite so interested in Quasimodo or Ishmael (from Moby Dick, which is apparently what the next book will focus on). On the other hand, that could be an admission of my limited tastes.

Also, the book raises questions about narrative fate: must Quasimodo, for example, love the unworthy Esmerelda, or can he learn enough in our world to change his future? These are serious questions, about self-determination, fate and character, but they are not probed. Olivia wants Quasi to make a better future for himself, but doesn’t stop to reflect on what that might mean to the story as Hugo wrote it, or all the books ever written which reference that text, or all the thousands of readers who learned to love the innocent, desperate, loving hunchback just as he was written, tragedy and all.

FACING THE HUNCHBACK OF NOTRE DAME has a lot to recommend it, but I am not sure a younger reader would go to the trouble of working past the narration to find the story.

For the title alone, you should pick this book up. I mean, honestly. How often in life do you get to answer the question, “What are you reading?” with such a beautifully surreal title? Not often enough.

WARRIOR SHEEP DOWN UNDER, by Christine and Christopher Russell, maintains its commitment to surreal humor throughout. Five sheep sail down under, bungee jump, consort with kangaroos, interfere in cricket and finally, rescue the damsel they presumed was in distress. They also thwart the villainess, despite believing her to be their “fairy god-tingy” for most of the book, and save the farm to boot. It is, truly, one kooky thing after another, and just when you think things could not possibly get kookier – they do.

I admit, however, that for me, the joke wore thin pretty quickly. I love the idea of warrior sheep, and the five sheep have clearly embraced their destiny, even if they are consistently wooly in their approach. Of course, they are sheep. Wooly is where it’s at. So perhaps I am asking too much when I wish the pretty girl sheep was not so worried about her hair and nails, or that the dread-locked sheep was not the rapper.

Yet WARRIOR SHEEP DOWN UNDER remains a light, fluffy read, and if it didn’t quite knit together for me, neither did it unravel. Just the sort of book to make a young reader giggle.

THE RUINS OF NOE, by Danika Dinsmore, is the second in a trilogy called Faerie Tales from the White Forest. The story began in Brigitta of the White Forest (which I reviewed here) about a young fairy who does not receive destiny markings on her wings at the expected time – unlike her friends – and thus does not know what role she is intended to have in her society. When her world comes under attack, however, it is she who must save it, and in the end, is marked as having one of the highest possible destinies, that of an Elder.

When THE RUINS OF NOE opens, Brigitta has spent some time as an Elder Apprentice, and is not exactly impatient, but nor does she feel settled. Soon, her own lack of inner peace is reflected in the White Forest more generally, and she is called on once again to head out on a quest to find answers to the troubles that plague the faeries. This time, however, she has a much older and more powerful companion – the High Priestess Odelle, and thank goodness, because they find far more danger and unhappiness outside the White Forest than they had anticipated.

I cheered as Brigitta rose to the challenges before her. Like the first book in the trilogy, this story took its time getting going, but once in gear was fast-paced and engrossing. Brigitta is an engaging heroine, resourceful and just arrogant enough to get herself into interesting trouble. It is a slightly darker book than the first, which felt appropriate. As the heroine grows older and more certain of who she is, the forces she must overcome grow stronger too (much like Harry Potter). It also expanded the world created in the first book, extending the mythology and exploring the forces that make the world tick.

I have a marshmallow soft spot for fairies of all kinds, and the faeries of the White Forest are no exception. I am eager for the third book, not least because this volume did leave a few tantalizing ends dangling.

-- How do you carve an elephant?
-- Get a block of marble and take away everything that doesn’t look like an elephant.

I’ve always loved that joke, and not because it’s funny, because it isn’t. I love it because it’s beautifully, simply and totally true – while also being no help whatsoever. Yet I think about it a fair amount when it comes to how to craft a story. Finding the story is like finding the elephant. You have to keep carving and keep carving until you’ve rid the story of all the bits that are not the elephant.

Some books seem a bit like the sculptor (that is, the storyteller) didn’t quite finish. Sometimes, when this happens, the story is clearly beautiful – complex, interesting, intriguing, funny – but there are just these bits of rough marble hanging around, sort of clouding the clean lines of the story. This was my experience of THE TRAVELING RESTAURANT, by Barbara Else.

I loved the imagination underpinning this world. I loved the humor, the characters, the way magic lurked almost, but not quite, unseen. I loved the quest, and the delightful descriptions of all the meals and foods cooked up on the ship, the Traveling Restaurant. I appreciated both the satisfying inevitability of the ending, and the suspenseful circuitousness of the route the tale took to get there. I also liked Jasper, the hero. I liked his unflappability, and his affection for his baby sister, which was such a defining character trait.

I did, however, have a hard time keeping track of the central thread of the tale. I felt sometimes like there was perhaps one character too many, although I’m not quite sure who I would axe… the orphan girl? The pirate king? The wayward uncle? Really, each character taken on his or her own was a treat. It was just that all of them together were sometimes a mob.

This might be unfair, however. I actually (I confess) had much the same reaction to Peter and the Starcatchers, which in some ways this book called to mind. It has some of the same appealing elements – strong, young characters; magic hovering at the edges, like something in your peripheral vision; pirates and sea voyages. Enemies and islands. It is a satisfying, busy (really busy!), lively adventure, and one that will appeal to boys and girls alike.

In SUMMER OF THE WOLVES, two girls (Diana and Stephanie), who have just recently become step-sisters, set off for a family vacation at a ranch. They barely know each other, and are very different. One is outdoorsy, the other less so. One is interested in boys, the other, not so much. Yet they both harbor fears about the continuing affection their divorced parents; they both long for, and yet resist, connection. In the end, they come together to rescue two trapped wolves (misguidedly, as it turns out), and they stay together to deal with the consequences.

The most striking thing about this book is that the first-person narration alternates, chapter by chapter, between the step-sisters. This was also what I liked best about it. The basic plot is interesting enough, and I especially enjoyed reading about Diana’s growing connection to Copper, a young (and somewhat unpredictable) horse at the ranch. Yet what was most profoundly enjoyable was to be able to experience this world through the eyes of both girls, to understand them both, and to root for them as they learn to understand each other.

To experience this story from the perspective of only one of the two would be painfully limiting. Really, one of the main points of the story is that we must all learn to see things from another point of view if we truly wish to be connected. To see inside another’s head is one of the great gifts of any story. This story offers two gifts, and I suggest you accept them eagerly.

There’s something especially intriguing about picture books that focus on an artist. Picture books ought to be intensely visual, rewarding in both word and image – and when the illustrator is given the expanded license to explore not just the experiential world, but the creative world of another artist, well, magical things can happen. Think of Linnea in Monet’s Garden, for example.

So it is with IT JES’ HAPPENED, a biography of folk artist Bill Traylor, an ex-slave living in Alabama who one day just started drawing – at the age of 85. Don Tate creates a beautiful narrative of a man who held within himself all the pictures and images of a long, full life, and you get the sense that one day, the pictures just spilled over. And Bill Traylor started drawing, with whatever and on whatever came to hand. Illustrator R. Gregory Christie alludes to both the energy and simplicity of Bill Traylor's art in his marvelously vibrant, purposefully 2D illustrations. I especially love Bill Traylor's beard as painted by Christie, the incredible cotton-ball fullness, and the thin, angular limbs, so full of motion and purpose.

This simple – and simply beautiful book – explores Bill Traylor’s life and art, which is reason enough to read it. However, it strikes me it does something else important. It points out that the simple things an ordinary person (or child) observes in the course of an ordinary day are still the stuff of art. That art need not be created in the classroom or in Rome or somewhere with an ocean view. Art can be created right this minute, right here, with whatever you have to hand. You just have to let it happen.

Soybeans, or edamame, are not a particularly exotic foodstuff in the United States these days, but as recently as the 1950s, they were grown only as feed for livestock. Yet for thousands of Chinese immigrants, they were a rare and welcome taste of home. AUNTIE YANG’S GREAT SOYBEAN PICNIC by Ginnie Lo tells the story of a small soybean picnic (just a couple of families and a couple of quarts of soybeans taken from a local field) and how it grew to become a huge annual event, with hundreds of families gathering to eat thousands and thousands of soybeans.

The book is richly detailed, but not overwhelmingly so. The narrator, a young girl, plays with her cousins, helps her mother and auntie cook, and eats more dumplings than anyone else! There’s also a scattering of Chinese vocabulary, with a small guide at the back.

Beth Lo's illustrations are especially fascinating. They’re actually painted on plates, and then photographed. So the illustrations are round, ever so slightly concave, and of course, they reflect the central idea of the book: a shared meal. Also, they’re beautiful and fun to look at and explore.

The story is slow at times. It is much more about sinking into a different moment, a different culture, than it is about racing to find out what happens. The plot, such as it is, is gentle. However, the illustrations and cheerful narrative voice create a child-sized world for a curious reader to explore.

When a book is based on a true story – and what’s more, a story from the author’s own childhood – I am instantly suspicious. Such stories often have great personal meaning, but they don’t necessarily translate to a winder audience, because real life is so rarely narrative ready. In this case, however, the story is pitch perfect, and one well worth sharing with a class, or a child, perhaps with a bowl of edamame to snack on while you read.

There is no crying in baseball.

What there is in baseball, however, is narrative. There is heroism, teamwork, character, courage, perseverance, skill and endurance. And so it is with PLAY BALL, the new graphic novel written by Nunzio Defilippis and Christina Weir and drawn by Jackie Lewis. Like lots of other great baseball stories (Field of Dreams, The Natural, A League of Their Own, The Pride of the Yankees, Bull Durham...) you don't even have to like baseball to love the book. PLAY BALL is, to some extent, a sports story I suppose, but far more than that, it's a story about a girl who just wants real life to play fair.

I loved the stark black-and-white art which both evoked newspaper comics and suggested something about the lack of grey area in how too many people think about gender. Dash, the protagonist of this story, is a girl, yes, but she’s also a tremendous athlete, and doesn’t want to play what she describes as a “watered-down” version of baseball. She wants the real deal, and has the talent and determination to do it. For her, this is not a feminist stance or political maneuver. She simply loves the game, and wants to do what she is best at.

At its core, the story is about allowing people to be who they are. Arica, Dash’s sister, is more typically girly. She wants to date baseball players, not be one. Dash needs to learn not to despise her for that, while Arica needs to learn to let Dash choose her own path. The shadow of an absent father, one whose lack of interest is clear to us, if not always to Dash, also speaks of the need we all have to see the people we love clearly – rather than seeing them as we wish they were.

So the story in its most basic form is: Teen girl at new school wants to play baseball (not softball) and despite disapproval of sister, peers and school, makes the team. Saying more would give away the rather satisfying (as in, I actually got teary) ending. So while there is no crying in baseball, for me at least, there was a bit of crying in PLAY BALL.

HADES: LORD OF THE DEAD, the fourth in an ongoing series of graphic novels about the Olympians, is just as appealing as all the others have been. While the writer/artist includes plenty of information about both Hades, the god and Hades, his domain—the Underworld, information never gets in the way of a rip-roaring tale of abduction, romance, blight, fury, death and love. Love especially, both the love of a mother and daughter, and a more grown up love, the love Hades has for Kore, whom he will rename Persephone.

Really, this rendition of the myth is as much the story of Persephone (Proserpina) as it is the story of Hades. Perhaps even more so, but as George O’Connor points out in the Afterworld, who wants to read a book called Kore? What O’Connor has done is take the myth of Persephone and turned it into a coming of age story. Her enforced separation from her mother is what finally allows the girl, Kore, to become a woman, Persephone. In this version of the legend, she is not tricked into eating pomegranate seeds, and thus condemned to spend six months of twelve in Hades with her kidnapper. Rather, she chooses to eat them, not just accepting her new relationship with the god of Death, but embracing it.

The graphic-novel/comic book format really suits these Olympians, these larger-than-life figures. What are the gods, if not superheroes? Their epic struggles, expansive emotions, their violence and passion, all seem to find a clear expression in the artist’s capable hands.

This bright little picture book will appeal to the youngest readers, especially those who have guinea pigs, or a fondness for small animals...and frankly, what child isn't fond of small animals? The charming illustrations incorporate photos of the intrepid Valentino in a variety of amusing situations, including weight-lifting and (my favorite) doing his laps complete with flippers and goggles.

I do wish the author had not chosen to write the story in rhyming couplets. It's a format that is surprisingly hard to pull off, and in this case, the author didn't quite manage it, which actually makes the book harder to read aloud. I suspect it would have been just as easy -- in fact, easier -- to tell this tale in straight prose, and often that's a better choice.

Still, the illustrations are fabulous, with lots of little details to enjoy and the story of Valentino's escapades and eventual happy ending will satisfy the 4-and-under set.

We had a couple of Brian Wildsmith picture books when I was very small. They have since disintegrated, but his art lingers in my pre-verbal memory like something mysterious and magical. Whenever I see his illustrations now, like fireworks they light up those moments locked in my hindbrain when I could not explain what I saw or how it made me feel, but I saw it and felt it nonetheless.

Perhaps I experience his art in this way because of those memories, but I think there is something unique and powerful regardless about the mingled delicacy of line and mushiness (that’s a technical term) of color. Oh the color! The intensity of it, the way it overlaps and mixes and bleeds. The butterflies and moths!

THE BREMEN TOWN MUSICIANS might be a familiar tale, but it is a charming one. A number of animals, all told they are too old to be of any use anymore, set off to become musicians instead. They never do get to Bremen, but they prove they are far from useless, and live happily (if quietly) ever after.

What sets this version apart from others is, of course, Brian Wildsmith’s art. Each spread has so much to explore, so much detail to linger over and discuss with a small reader. The world illustrated here is far bigger than the confines of one simple tale, which happily echoes the point of the folktale – that things (and people and animals) have surprises in store for anyone willing to take the time to see them.

Okay, first I'd better 'fess up. I love *Ferris Bueller's Day Off.* I loved it in 1986 when I was (mumble-mumble) years old, and I love it now. In fact, I’m a fan of pretty much everything by John Hughes. Which means I was even more of a sucker for Kimberly Pauley’s CAT GIRL'S DAY OFF than I had expected to be (and I was ready to love it). Three quirky friends, a nice, smart love interest, the making of a movie about a teen who decides to recreate Ferris Bueller's Day Off… all that plus a shape-shifting villain and a cat with attitude? Seriously. It was like I had died and gone to YA heaven. In Chicago. With lots of cats.

So here’s how it is. Natalie Ng's family are all Talented. Her super-genius younger sister can vanish like a chameleon. Her beautiful older sister can levitate objects and knows if someone is lying. Even her dad has a supersensitive nose. Middle-kid-to-the-nth-degree Nat has a Talent too, but it's seriously Grade B, as in B-oring. She can speak to cats.

This is not a gift Nat particularly wants anyone to know about, fearing social death and everyone calling her Cat Girl. Her best friends Oscar (outrageous gay side-kick) and Mellie (gorgeous movie-star-to-be) know, but that's it. Yet when a celebrity-gossip blogger is kidnapped – replaced, her pet cat screams, by an imposter – it’s only Nat who understands. You know at the start that the three friends will end up saving the day, but along the way there are twists, turns, surprises, a startling number of cats – and a story that kept me reading (and giggling) without pausing for breath or bathroom breaks.

The characters were similarly both familiar and surprising. Nat on the one hand fits the mold of the odd-girl heroine, but she never became a stock character. She felt powerfully real – so real I truly cared what happened between her and (*sigh*) Ian, and I really wanted her family to see her in a new light. Oscar and Mellie likewise – in the hands of a lesser writer, they both could have been clichés, but Pauley infused them with full, rich lives and selves. I ended up wishing they were MY best friends, and that I didn’t have to leave them behind when I turned the last page. The urban-fantasy element—that some humans have Talents (not superpowers, Nat’s mother insists)—was utterly believable, and never needed dull exposition to justify its existence.

The (dare I say zany?) madcap adventures in Kimberly Pauley's truly delightful new book are Hughes-ish in the best possible way, happy ending and all. I can’t imagine finding a better beach book this year, but if I were you, I wouldn’t wait until summer to read it.

When Courtney Crumrin and her social-climbing parents come to live with mysterious Great-Uncle Aloysius in his dusty, dark gothic mansion, she realizes almost immediately things are not what they seem. In the shadowy corners of her new home lurk… things. Creatures. Danger.

First published in 2002, this ongoing independent comic has just been released in a newly colorized version, a move which might – one hopes! -- broaden its appeal and bring it to a wider audience. This is a series that deserves wider recognition. Ted Naifeh mixes the grotesque and the comical in both storyline and illustration, somewhat in the vein of Neil Gaiman. The result is COURTNEY CRUMRIN Vol 1: The Night Things, a darkly funny graphic novel about a girl who seems doomed to be an outsider no matter what world she walks in.

Dark is right. While Courtney herself manages to get through most adventures unscathed, no happy endings are guaranteed. For example, a nerdy student from her new school tries to befriend Courtney, but instead is eaten by a monster, and is never seen again. When the baby she is watching is switched for a changeling, Courtney goes after the stolen child but finds that recovering it is no easy matter.

The illustrations have a sort of corrupted Manga feel, but don’t think Manga too hard or you’ll get it wrong. Think more – cute, but skewed. In this, the drawings match the text (and, not incidentally, the theme) beautifully. Although the colorization is unobtrusive and pleasing, these drawings would do equally well in black and white since the stories seem to be about contrast: the seen and unseen, the acceptable and unaccepted, above and below, human and demon. Dreaming and waking.

We live in a world that has more to it than we dream of in our philosophy, and a big part of growing up is both learning to see that, and learning to deal with it. In this, Courtney is just another adolescent finding her way. Courtney accepts her lack of popularity in the neighborhood, and at school (while not exactly embracing it) and slowly learns that she is far more like her odd uncle than she is like her own parents, a discovery which frees her to start making her own choices. If those choices are sometimes unfortunate, well, what teen doesn’t make mistakes? Courtney deals with her own messes, and for that alone she is a heroine worth loving.