Angela Leeper

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In Samantha M. Clark’s debut, a young boy awakens on the shore of a deserted island: He knows that he’s not safe and has nowhere to take shelter, but he can’t recall his name or how he arrived. He’s also not aware that a silent narrator is watching and awaiting his every move. Hoping to find safety, and perhaps even rescuers, the boy sets out on a journey along the island’s surrounding line of trees. With only a blanket for armor, he pretends to be a knight as he tries to protect some of the island’s small creatures and outrun a scary, green-eyed wolf. But a bullying voice inside the boy’s head constantly reminds him that he’s just a coward and constantly chides, how can a coward be a knight, protect others or even save himself?

The mysterious island slowly seems to provide the boy with clues to his identity, such as his mother’s singing, visions of his little brother, fabric scraps and pink tiles. Piecing together his past is a puzzle for the boy and readers alike. In the process, his journey across the island becomes a modern-day allegory of the powers of fear, resilience and hope. It’s not until the haunting end that the boy, and readers, finally learns how he came to the island and a difficult choice he must make regarding his fate. While The Boy, the Boat, and the Beast can be a quick read, this debut novel should be savored for its atmospheric setting, ominous tension and the beautiful way it brings light to the darker parts of childhood.

In Samantha M. Clark’s debut, a young boy awakens on the beach of a deserted island: He knows that he’s not safe and has nowhere to take shelter, but he can’t recall his name or how he arrived. He’s also not aware that a silent narrator is watching and awaiting his every move. Hoping to find safety, and perhaps even rescuers, the boy sets out on a journey along the island’s surrounding line of trees. With only a blanket for armor, he pretends to be a knight as he tries to protect some of the island’s small creatures and outrun a scary, green-eyed wolf. But a bullying voice inside the boy’s head constantly reminds him that he’s just a coward and constantly chides, how can a coward be a knight, protect others or even save himself?

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In the middle of a city sits a giant fishbowl, the only home a whale named Wednesday has ever known. Like the day of the week, Wednesday is always in the middle of everything, with busy people and traffic constantly circling her. Even the sun, moon and stars circle her every day as she watches the world go by.

But Wednesday discovers that if she leaps high enough out of the water, she can see a calm blue on the horizon; “Her heart leaped, too, when she saw it, though she didn’t know why.” Hoping to catch a glimpse of that marvelous blue once more, Wednesday jumps over and over again. The crowd thinks she is performing tricks, of course, and claps in merriment.

In Whale in a Fishbowl, Troy Howell’s gentle metaphor about animal captivity illustrated in a muted palette by Richard Jones, Wednesday begins to question her existence when a little girl named Piper tells the whale she doesn’t belong in a fishbowl. But where would Wednesday go? “You belong in the sea!” Piper declares. Although Wednesday is uncertain about what a sea might be, she leaps higher than ever before—with an illustration that spills out onto a fold-out page—and causes the fishbowl to topple over. Grays give way to brilliant and bountiful blues as the whale swims out of the city. In a new home, now in the middle of the sea, Wednesday finds her song, and someone else just like her, for the first time. Even the youngest of readers will understand Wednesday’s plight and heartrending need for freedom and companionship.

In the middle of a city sits a giant fishbowl, the only home a whale named Wednesday has ever known. Like the day of the week, Wednesday is always in the middle of everything, with busy people and traffic constantly circling her. Even the sun, moon and stars circle her every day as she watches the world go by.

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No one likes moving, especially Geraldine the giraffe. It doesn’t help when her mother reminds her not to be a drama queen or when her father suggests that moving will be “a Grand Adventure.” Back in Giraffe City, Geraldine was just Geraldine. But as the only giraffe at her new school, she feels like “That Giraffe Girl.”

Never shy before, Geraldine now hides behind trees and basketball poles during lunch and recess. But one day, Geraldine discovers someone else in her lunchtime hiding spot: a girl named Cassie with a long, twisty braid who identifies herself as “that girl who wears glasses and likes MATH and always organizes her food.” As Geraldine and Cassie hide and hang out together, they realize that they’re not so unusual.

In her debut picture book, Elizabeth Lilly’s unpretentious illustrations depict Geraldine’s range of emotions through her spirited, wiggly neck. As Geraldine and Cassie gain confidence and new friends just by being themselves, Geraldine begins to stand a little taller. To readers, Geraldine will always stand out humorously among her new classmates, but she also fits right in with them, playing, dancing and hiding (in a game of hide-and-seek).

Although Geraldine is a giraffe, her experience will resonate with any child who’s ever had the difficult task of moving and starting over with new friends.

 

This article was originally published in the July 2018 issue of BookPage. Download the entire issue for the Kindle or Nook.

No one likes moving, especially Geraldine the giraffe. It doesn’t help when her mother reminds her not to be a drama queen or when her father suggests that moving will be “a Grand Adventure.” Back in Giraffe City, Geraldine was just Geraldine. But as the only giraffe at her new school, she feels like “That Giraffe Girl.”

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Lucy can’t remember the moment when lightning struck her four years ago, but now the 12-year-old has a gift for numbers. Her favorite is pi, and she can recite the digits to the 314th decimal place. While her doctors call her condition acquired savant syndrome, Lucy just knows she’s a reclusive genius with obsessive-compulsive disorder who’d rather hang out in online math chat rooms than leave her house.

After finishing all of her homeschool requirements needed to graduate, the tween thinks she’s ready for online college. Her perhaps even wiser Nana, who’s raised her since Lucy’s mother died, thinks differently. In Stacy McAnulty’s electrifying debut middle grade novel, Lucy unwillingly heads to seventh grade. She knows it’s going to be a long year, but when a school service project at a local animal shelter forces the math whiz to interact with other socially awkward kids, she begins to solve a problem that seems to defy logic—making friends.

And when a dirty dog with its own special condition needs saving, Lucy feels a bolt of kindness and empathy as she finds she has other gifts besides math. Filled with numbers—including a concluding math section on pi and Fibonacci facts—the ups and downs of middle school and gentle humor, this story of Lucy’s struggles and newfound answers will resonate with anyone who’s ever felt like an outsider. And hasn’t every middle schooler?

Lucy can’t remember the moment when lightning struck her four years ago, but now the 12-year-old has a gift for numbers. Her favorite is pi, and she can recite the digits o the 314th decimal place. While her doctors call her condition acquired savant syndrome, Lucy just knows she’s a reclusive genius with obsessive-compulsive disorder who’d rather hang out in online math chat rooms than leave her house.

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With her purple skin and oversize eyes, Moon may not look like a typical girl. But with her stuffed backpack, piles of schoolbooks and a perpetually lengthy to-do list that includes homework, soccer practice, trumpet lessons and math tutoring, she’s as overscheduled as most American kids. Moon wonders what it would feel like to be free, but she can’t find that answer in any of her textbooks. One night, after seeing a shooting star zip by her bedroom window, Moon heads outside, hoping to glimpse more, and meets a white wolf.

In her first book as both author and illustrator, Alison Oliver introduces readers to a new world that’s “Strange. Exciting. Wild.” As Moon rides atop the back of her new friend, the pair glows against the inky, nighttime backdrop of Oliver’s mixed-media artwork. In the forest, Moon learns how to pounce, play and howl alongside the wolf’s pack. She also learns how to be still, how to listen and how to feel, and she becomes mindful of something she had lost—happiness.

When Moon hears her mother’s call to return home, she takes all she’s learned with her and shares her “wolfy ways” with her classmates. In an age of media saturation, overscheduled commitments and less time for play, her story is a breath of fresh air in more ways than one. Moon reminds us all that sometimes the best use of time is simply doing nothing.

 

This article was originally published in the May 2018 issue of BookPage. Download the entire issue for the Kindle or Nook.

With her purple skin and oversize eyes, Moon may not look like a typical girl. But with her stuffed backpack, piles of schoolbooks and a perpetually lengthy to-do list that includes homework, soccer practice, trumpet lessons and math tutoring, she’s as overscheduled as most American kids. Moon wonders what it would feel like to be free, but she can’t find that answer in any of her textbooks. One night, after seeing a shooting star zip by her bedroom window, Moon heads outside, hoping to glimpse more, and meets a white wolf.

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When Coretta Scott King Award winning-author Patricia McKissack passed away in 2017, she left behind a legacy of more than 100 children’s books. In the posthumously published Who Will Bell the Cat?, McKissack revisits a thought-provoking fable. When Marmalade—a cold, sick and hungry tabby cat—seeks shelter in a barn one winter evening, the resident mice take pity on her and nurse the cat back to health. Despite the care she received, Marmalade begins to terrorize the mice as soon as she’s feeling better.

Scared but not deterred, the mice convene, and Smart Mouse offers a solution: Put a collar with a bell around Marmalade’s neck, and the sound will warn them of her approach. But who will bell the cat? Many mice try and fail—Wee Mouse, Tiny Mouse and Teeny Mouse narrowly escape—and even the nearby Rat Pack is no help. While the mice are devising their next plan, four humans move into the house next door. Realizing they don’t have to be friends with the humans in order to seek their help, the mice strategically drop the collar where a little girl can find it. Soon, she finally succeeds and fastens it around Marmalade’s neck.

Illustrator Christopher Cyr’s digital art plays with chiaroscuro to make this tale deliciously ominous. Marmalade’s luminous eyes shine menacingly in the barn’s shadowy corners, while diffused sunlight radiates around the scheming—and later victorious—mice. But what to do about those humans? McKissack lets the mice—and clever children—ponder this dilemma on their own.

 

This article was originally published in the April 2018 issue of BookPage. Download the entire issue for the Kindle or Nook.

When Coretta Scott King Award winning-author Patricia McKissack passed away in 2017, she left behind a legacy of more than 100 children’s books. In the posthumously published Who Will Bell the Cat?, McKissack revisits a thought-provoking fable. When Marmalade—a cold, sick and hungry tabby cat—seeks shelter in a barn one winter evening, the resident mice take pity on her and nurse the cat back to health. Despite the care she received, Marmalade begins to terrorize the mice as soon as she’s feeling better.

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Centuries before the #MeToo movement entered the cultural landscape, there was Artemisia Gentileschi.

Born in Rome at the turn of the 17th century, Artemisia was introduced to painting by her artist father after she showed more talent than her brothers. She became a masterful Baroque artist in her own right, with paintings that reflected feminist concerns and employed an eye-opening realism during a time when art—like the entire world—was dominated by men. In her debut novel, Blood Water Paint, Joy McCullough recounts in fictionalized free verse a pivotal time in Artemisia’s life.

Set in 1610, the story begins with 17-year-old Artemisia assisting her father in his painting studio. She ponders her own talent (she paints better than her father yet receives no proper credit), her role and identity as a woman, and her sexuality. She soon realizes that women are dismissed as “beauty for consumption.” Artemisia’s most troubling observations are confirmed when her father, in the guise of procuring a high-profile commission, hires fellow artist Agostino Tassi to tutor her. Instead of guiding Artemisia, he rapes her, and although she calls out to the house servant, Tuzia, no one comes to her aid. Despite the strong possibility of being shamed as a result, the teen seeks justice in court. Adding insult to injury, the judge requires Artemisia to undergo humiliating, invasive and tortuous tests to prove she isn’t lying.

With care and precision, McCullough marks how these events shaped Artemisia’s work. Perhaps because Tuzia didn’t respond when she needed her, Artemisia’s paintings emphasize the power of solidarity among women. Her narration, interspersed with prose from the perspective of her older self, draws inspiration from the women of the Bible, such as Judith and Susanna. Most importantly, readers see the teen’s strength as a survivor of sexual assault. Ever resilient, she proclaims, “I am not a thing / to be handed / from one man / to another.”

Although Artemisia lived centuries ago, her story will resonate with modern feminists.

 

This article was originally published in the March 2018 issue of BookPage. Download the entire issue for the Kindle or Nook.

Centuries before the #MeToo movement entered the cultural landscape, there was Artemisia Gentileschi.

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Sara Saedi thought hormonal acne and microscopic boobs were her biggest problems of her 8th-grade existence in 1993 until she discovered that she was an “illegal alien” (the more common and politically correct term undocumented immigrant was yet to enter her vocabulary) born in Iran. In an effort to flee a war-torn country that was becoming less tolerant of basic freedoms, Saedi’s parents hatched a plan to escape to the United States with 2-year-old Saedi and her older sister, Samira, in tow. In her new memoir, Americanized, Saedi chronicles her 18-year process to obtain a green card.

With a constant threat of being deported back to Iran for even the slightest infraction, Saedi’s narrative should be a tale of despair mired in endless paperwork. Instead, her irreverent, self-deprecating humor focuses on the woes shared by most American teens: bad skin, sexuality, body image hang-ups and the perfect prom date. Saedi's commentary on the time period, from VCRs to landline phones, adds to the wit. Saedi balances her teenage perspective, complemented with entries from her actual diary from the time, with narration from the more mature, self-assured woman she’s become as a result of those experiences.

Through both good and bad times, Saedi recognizes the importance of family and maintaining her Iranian identity as she increasingly becomes more “American.” As she weaves in facts and observations about Iranian culture, she’s also not afraid to speak up about the current political climate regarding immigrants and debunk many myths (undocumented immigrants do pay taxes!). Readers will come away laughing yet pondering what it means to be an immigrant today.

Iranian-born Sara Saedi thought hormonal acne and microscopic boobs were her biggest problems of her 8th-grade existence in 1993 until she discovered that she was an “illegal alien” (the more common and politically correct term undocumented immigrant was yet to enter her vocabulary). In an effort to flee a war-torn country that was becoming less tolerant of basic freedoms, Saedi’s parents hatched a plan to escape to the United States with 2-year-old Saedi and her older sister, Samira, in tow. In her new memoir, Americanized, Saedi chronicles her 18-year process to obtain a green card.

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A lavish hotel with chandeliers, a lake for ice-skating, snow-covered hills for skiing, a candy kitchen and a library complete with a librarian—who wouldn’t want to stay at Winterhouse for the Christmas season? Orphan Elizabeth Somers has no choice when her stingy aunt and uncle disappear, leaving her only a train ticket and reservations at the grand hotel. But in this charming, detailed debut novel by Ben Guterson, the 11-year-old bibliophile immediately finds Winterhouse to be magical—perhaps too magical.

More than the setting, the guests and staff—from proprietor Norbridge Falls, who entertains with evening tricks, to the old men who return year after year to work on a 35,000-piece puzzle—are what truly make Winterhouse special. Elizabeth is thrilled to find a friend in Freddy, who shares her love of anagrams, but she can’t help but become suspicious of a dubious book-collecting couple. When Elizabeth finds a rare book about codes and discovers tales of Winterhouse family secrets that can be unlocked through a magical volume, she wonders if she can solve these mysteries.

Guterson blends enchanting hotel luxuries, warm friendship and plenty of word games and book references with creepy villains and ghostly elements as Elizabeth puts her sleuthing skills to work. Elizabeth’s biggest mystery, however, may be her own family history.

The first book in a planned trilogy, Winterhouse is a cozy-socks, comfy-chair story—the kind to snuggle up with on a long, cold evening.

The first book in a planned trilogy, Winterhouse is a cozy-socks, comfy-chair story—the kind to snuggle up with on a long, cold evening.

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Being adopted has never been an issue for 16-year-old Grace. But when she becomes pregnant, gives birth on the same night her ex-boyfriend is crowned homecoming king, and then gives up the baby for adoption, Grace decides to find her own birth mother. What she finds instead in Robin Benway’s National Book Award finalist, Far from the Tree, are a younger sister, Maya, who’s also adopted, and an older brother, Joaquin, who’s spent his whole life in and out of foster care homes.

Alternating chapters from the siblings’ different perspectives reveal their painfully realistic ups and downs. Grace is reluctant to talk about her baby (who has left a painful void) and the way her classmates now taunt her. Maya is open about being gay, but she’s not sure how to handle her adoptive mother’s alcoholism or if she’s less of a family member compared to Lauren, her adoptive parents’ biological child. And having never experienced the stability of a family, Joaquin can’t explain why he’s hesitant to let his current, loving foster parents adopt him.

As these three siblings connect, they also form even stronger relationships with their loved ones at home and create a larger circle to call family. Their sophisticated stories show that while there’s no one-size-fits-all when it comes to family, all families can be messy, complicated—and fiercely devoted. Readers will find themselves crying and cheering along with these resilient teens.

Being adopted has never been an issue for 16-year-old Grace. But when she becomes pregnant, gives birth on the same night her ex-boyfriend is crowned homecoming king, and then gives up the baby for adoption, Grace decides to find her own birth mother. What she finds instead in Robin Benway’s National Book Award finalist, Far from the Tree, are a younger sister, Maya, who’s also adopted, and an older brother, Joaquin, who’s spent his whole life in and out of foster care homes.

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Shel Silverstein understood the deceptively simple task of making kids giggle through poetry, and it’s no wonder why his anthologies remain beloved classics. Although Chris Harris has been making adults chuckle as a writer for such popular TV shows as “How I Met Your Mother” and “The Late Show with David Letterman,” he proves his worth with children with this debut poetry collection.

Harris tackles many of the same themes as Silverstein—most notably, understanding what it’s like to be a kid. Bouncy, comical rhymes lament, for example, not wanting to share a cookie with a brother and battling the “Whydoo,” that little voice inside you that urges you to be naughty. Others, like “The Remarkable Age,” celebrate the spirit of childhood: “So dance, and be happy! Greet life with a grin! / You’ve the best of both worlds, youth and wisdom, within.”

Children also possess their own sensibilities, which Harris’ poetry aptly depicts. Isn’t it silly to fight fire with fire when water would work better? And eating chocolate for breakfast? “It’s not choco-late . . . It’s choco-early!” Still other poems regale in the (sometimes irreverent) pleasure of nonsense, from a sun “freezing hot” and ground “soaking dry” to a Cyclops who needs glasses—or is that glass?

Who better to illustrate such exuberance than Lane Smith, illustrator of the contemporary classic The Stinky Cheese Man and Other Fairly Stupid Tales. His digitally enhanced ink drawings heighten the poetry’s fun. Harris is indeed good at rhyming, which inspires both laughter and wonder.

Shel Silverstein understood the deceptively simple task of making kids giggle through poetry, and it’s no wonder why his anthologies remain beloved classics. Although Chris Harris has been making adults chuckle as a writer for such popular TV shows as “How I Met Your Mother” and “The Late Show with David Letterman,” he proves his worth with children with this debut poetry collection.

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It’s hard not to feel sad and frightened after viewing the world news, with stories of hatred, tragedy and devastation. Children may have even stronger reactions. Come with Me by Holly M. McGhee gently addresses this topic through a young biracial girl who becomes frightened after watching a television newscast. When she asks her papa if there’s something she can do to make the world a better place, he simply says, “Come with me.”

As they wait for and ride the subway under their city, the father tips his hat at passersby of different genders, races and religious faiths. So the little girl does, too. And when she goes with her mama to a market, they see more diverse individuals, rendered in ink and soft watercolors, and know that one person doesn’t represent a family, race or geographic area. Emboldened by kindness and a newfound bravery, the little girl decides to venture outside with her dog. A boy across the hall asks her where she’s heading, and she responds, “Come with me.”

Together they realize that two people are stronger than one, and with one step at a time, no matter how small, they can make the world a kinder place to live. Coloring with chalk draws in a neighbor, and this soon becomes a small community event. The book will resonate with anxious children and budding activists, and parents, caregivers and educators will appreciate the apprehension of the little girl’s parents and their decision to no longer live in fear.

It’s hard not to feel sad and frightened after viewing the world news, with stories of hatred, tragedy and devastation. Children may have even stronger reactions. Come with Me by Holly M. McGhee gently addresses this topic through a young biracial girl who becomes frightened after watching a television newscast. When she asks her papa if there’s something she can do to make the world a better place, he simply says, “Come with me.”

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Of course superheroes need capes, and Manny, a boy raccoon, has several he wears at home. For instance, when he sports the red one, he’s strong against an angry army of zombie bears, and in his purple cape, he’s powerful against legions of alien robots. Sure, it’s tough work at times, but that’s what superheroes like Super Manny do. Although undeniably adorable, especially with a host of other young animals, Kelly DiPucchio’s Super Manny Stands Up! is more than a story about a boy’s active imagination.

When Manny goes to school, he knows he has to wear his “top secret undercover cape.” But even with this invisible cape, he can stop fiery comets (which may look like soccer balls to the rest of us) from reaching Earth. One day when he sees Tall One (an angry, oversize pig) towering over and laughing at Small One (a shy, diminutive hedgehog), Manny freezes—until he remembers his invisible cape. Mustering all the courage he has, he simply says, “Stop it.”

Just when Tall One turns his terrifying attention toward Manny, the superhero also remembers that he is strong and powerful enough to say, “You’re being mean.” Soon his classmates remember their invisible capes and speak up, too. Manny’s and his classmates’ actions show readers that you don’t have to be the biggest or tallest or smartest to combat bullies, you just need to say something. Although this endearing picture book is designed for children, its message is valuable for readers of any age.

Of course superheroes need capes, and Manny, a boy raccoon, has several he wears at home. For instance, when he sports the red one, he’s strong against an angry army of zombie bears, and in his purple cape, he’s powerful against legions of alien robots. Sure, it’s tough work at times, but that’s what superheroes like Super Manny do.

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