Dean Schneider

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<B>A teen’s endless tour of America</B> Called lots of things con artists, thieves, swindlers, trailer trash the Travelers are a band of contemporary gypsies who tour the roads of America by trailer. Their ancestors in the Middle Ages, guided by the stars, traveled the countryside repairing weapons, pots and pans. In Kim Ablon Whitney’s debut novel <B>See You Down the Road</B>, Bridget Daugherty’s dad has told her how their people came from Ireland during the potato famine and got by however they could trading horses, working scams, selling fake lace. And they are still traveling. They work odd jobs at Kmart or Wal-Mart, roof houses and pave driveways, sell trailers, steal and scam their way across America. Bridget’s family of Northern Travelers is an insular, patriarchal culture, disdainful of country folk the term they use for everyone who is not a Traveler. Marriages outside the group are discouraged, and conversions to the culture are rare since Travelers shun those who mix with country blood. But the open road doesn’t seem so alluring when it’s all you have ever known. The teenaged Bridget does not attend high school very often, though she would like to. She compensates by being a big reader who wants to go to college, but she is supposed to marry Patrick Murphy. She simply doesn’t have much say in the life planned for her by her father.

<B>See You Down the Road</B> is a fascinating look at an invisible subculture in the United States. And though the Traveler society Whitney describes is unconventional, Bridget’s struggle for identity is universal. Bridget has educated herself, and she knows there’s more to life than being a Traveler. But what will it take for her to find the life she wants for herself? This is a satisfying novel and a compelling exploration of a way of life that will be new to many readers. <I>Dean Schneider teaches middle school English in Nashville.</I>

<B>A teen’s endless tour of America</B> Called lots of things con artists, thieves, swindlers, trailer trash the Travelers are a band of contemporary gypsies who tour the roads of America by trailer. Their ancestors in the Middle Ages, guided by the stars, traveled the countryside repairing weapons, pots and pans. In Kim Ablon Whitney’s debut […]
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A school visit to the community of Ketchikan, Alaska, inspired acclaimed children’s author Karen Hesse to write Aleutian Sparrow, a poignant new novel concerning a side of American history few people know about. In 1942, seeking control of the North Pacific, the Japanese invaded the Aleutian Islands. The American government evacuated the Aleut people to the towns of Wrangell and Ketchikan, and within a year American forces had regained control of the land, though many of the Aleuts were not allowed to move back for three years. Vera, who is part Aleut, realizes that her work is to know the ways of the Aleut people, and in this story she records what happens to them. “We are moving you to save you,” the American government says. But being relocated a thousand miles away from their beloved island to the “dark suffocation of the forest” around Ketchikan destroys a way of life for the natives. Eventually whooping cough, tuberculosis, measles, mumps and pneumonia kill a quarter of the evacuated population. Despite its tragic subject, Hesse’s novel reads lightly, telling young Vera’s story in unrhymed verse, a perfect match for her voice. Evon Zerbetz’s linocut illustrations, an attractive map and an author’s note provide solid support for Hesse’s impressionistic verse, and altogether yield an important, attractive volume. It’s a bleak story, though. When Vera returns home to Unalaska, her house has been destroyed, and the fishing grounds and beaches are slick with oil. The Aleut culture has been devastated, “not by the enemy,” Vera observes, “but by our own countrymen.” What little optimism remains is reflected in the last line of the novel: “We will find the will to begin again.” As she has done with other outstanding free-verse novels, including the Newbery Medal-winning Out of the Dust, Hesse tackles an important subject, skillfully develops character and setting, and balances dark themes with a poetic voice and a touch of hope. Dean Schneider teaches middle-school English in Nashville.

A school visit to the community of Ketchikan, Alaska, inspired acclaimed children’s author Karen Hesse to write Aleutian Sparrow, a poignant new novel concerning a side of American history few people know about. In 1942, seeking control of the North Pacific, the Japanese invaded the Aleutian Islands. The American government evacuated the Aleut people to […]
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Leon Zeisel lives at the Trimore Towers, where his mother is the night manager. The hotel, across from the convention center, has recently hosted cowboys, contortionists, potato chip tasters and a noisy group of mimes. Leon, the likeable protagonist of Leon and the Spitting Image, is about to enter fourth grade, and he's worried about those confidential reports hidden in his mom's desk drawer. He's read them, of course, and they comment on his deficient motor skills, his clumsiness, his poor handwriting. Not such a big deal perhaps, until he meets Miss Cronheim, his new teacher, who emphasizes, of all things, sewing creating animal figures that are stitched and stuffed. Leon knows it's going to be a long year.

Witchy Miss Cronheim has a tight helmet of black hair the kids guess is a wig, perhaps held on by Velcro, huge ears that look like giant, gnarled mushrooms and appropriately acute hearing. Coach Kasperitis adds to the assemblage of oddball characters. An ex-baseball player with a chewing tobacco habit, he carries a pickle jar around that serves as his spittoon.

Once the noisy ice machine outside his bedroom is fixed, and Leon starts getting more sleep, his manual dexterity miraculously improves, and when the final sewing project is assigned, he's able to create something remarkable: a doll that's the spitting image of Miss Cronheim. When a bully named Henry Lumpkin grabs the doll from Leon and pours the contents of the coach's pickle jar on it, Leon realizes it has acquired supernatural powers. The fun of the remainder of the tale lies in watching how the doll does Leon's bidding as he tries to survive fourth grade.

Kurzweil, a critically acclaimed adult author, has written a high-spirited novel that will most likely be found on bookstore display tables labeled "If you enjoy Harry Potter, try . . ." With an appealing hero, an otherworldly teacher and supernatural forces that are barely in control, the book is sure to be a hit with young readers.

Dean Schneider teaches middle school English in Nashville.

Leon Zeisel lives at the Trimore Towers, where his mother is the night manager. The hotel, across from the convention center, has recently hosted cowboys, contortionists, potato chip tasters and a noisy group of mimes. Leon, the likeable protagonist of Leon and the Spitting Image, is about to enter fourth grade, and he's worried about […]
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"Call me thief. Call me stupid. Call me Gypsy. Call me Jew. Call me one-eared Jack. I don't care," declares Misha, the narrator of Jerry Spinelli's wonderful new book, Milkweed. An orphan in Nazi-occupied Warsaw in 1939, Misha was a boy of the streets, innocent and invisible, until he met Uri and started living in a cellar below a barbershop. It was Uri who named him, then created a family and a past for him. As Misha Pilsudski, he is a Gypsy. He has nothing, knows nothing and accepts the world as he finds it. Born nameless into a world gone crazy, Misha is free. He's happy to be a Gypsy; at least it's an identity. He can go anywhere and sleep anywhere, as long as he avoids the Nazis. "Everything is for me," he says, as he wanders his city. He marches alongside the Jews on the way to the ghetto, gives food to an orphanage, steals from the "fox fur" ladies and sneaks out at night to steal food to bring back to the ghetto.

Underlying this story of war and the Holocaust is a young boy's search for a name and something to believe in. In the ghetto, Misha and his friends sleep like kittens huddled together under a braided rug. "In the morning light, most of us would begin to believe in mothers and oranges again," he says, but they debated whether or not to believe in angels and heaven. Eventually, Misha comes to think of the rest of Warsaw, outside the ghetto, as heaven. He finds a two-brick hole in the wall and crawls through it to get there. "In the ghetto all was gray: the people were gray, the smells were gray. Here everything was colors to me," Misha says, "the red clang of the streetcars, blue music from phonographs."

Author of the Newbery Medal-winning Maniac Magee, Jerry Spinelli has fashioned a novel of beauty out of the ugliness of the Holocaust. Milkweed is a narrative to savor. Revel in its language and images and meanings. It is a superb book, one of the best you will ever read.

Dean Schneider teaches middle school English in Nashville.

"Call me thief. Call me stupid. Call me Gypsy. Call me Jew. Call me one-eared Jack. I don't care," declares Misha, the narrator of Jerry Spinelli's wonderful new book, Milkweed. An orphan in Nazi-occupied Warsaw in 1939, Misha was a boy of the streets, innocent and invisible, until he met Uri and started living in […]
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“Families are the strangest things. They can drive you nuts, make you run screaming into the night, but there is still this connection.” With this remark, the narrator of Joan Bauer’s “Hardware,” the lead story in Necessary Noise, sets the tone for an excellent collection of narratives. Editor and writer Michael Cart invited leading young adult authors to contribute stories responding to the question “What does the word family mean to teenagers today?” The range of responses he received reflects the range of families in America. Themes include mental illness, homelessness, drugs and physical abuse, but these darker issues are well balanced by the lighter, humorous stories that begin and end the collection. “Hardware” is about a family and community responding to a giant corporation’s moving in and taking over, driving a family hardware store out of business. It’s a serious topic made humorous by Bauer’s wonderful characterizations. In “Snowbound,” the story by Lois Lowry that concludes the volume, Evelyn Collier arrives home from college with her new boyfriend Loosh. Everyone, including Evelyn, comes to hate this interloper, who sleeps naked, says Whittier “sucks,” wipes his nose on his sleeve and doesn’t eat “mammal.” The story, framed by lines from John Greenleaf Whittier’s “Snowbound,” humorously delineates how a family regains its equilibrium after disruption by an alien presence. Sonya Sones, a master of the free verse novel, delivers “Dr. Jekyll and Sister Hyde,” a powerful story about an abusive older sister. Lucy chases Sasha, her younger sibling, down the hallway “like a fire-breathing dragon, hands clawing the air at my back.” She torments Sasha, making her fear for her life at times. It’s a dark story, but there’s hope: Lucy goes off to college in 739 days. Along with the range of themes in this anthology is a range of writing styles, from conventionally structured works to stories written in dialogue and free verse. Traditional nuclear families are a minority now, and it’s nice to see an excellent collection that reflects reality. An author of other solid short story collections, including Tomorrowland, Cart offers here another fine and important volume. Dean Schneider teaches middle school English in Nashville.

“Families are the strangest things. They can drive you nuts, make you run screaming into the night, but there is still this connection.” With this remark, the narrator of Joan Bauer’s “Hardware,” the lead story in Necessary Noise, sets the tone for an excellent collection of narratives. Editor and writer Michael Cart invited leading young […]
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With her mind on the movies and a voice as fresh and electric as her personality, Ruby Millers loves films going to them, talking about them, writing scripts for them. She especially loves beginnings, the part before the movie starts: “When the lights go dim, and you’re sitting in the dark with your popcorn,” Ruby says, “. . . At that moment anything is possible.” Ruby even has a seven-page script-in-progress to send to Steven Spielberg. Much of her experience, her references about life, and her accumulated wisdom over 12-and-a-half years come from the movies. Her father’s favorite, before he left, was Groundhog Day, and her neighbor reminds her of Almira Gulch in The Wizard of Oz. But Ruby’s real life isn’t so cinematic. She’s heartbroken by her father’s absence and imagines him as a movie hero, dodging assassins’ bullets or flying Air Force One. She dreams of his return home. Her mother is dating a balding podiatrist, and the big event in her life at the moment is the loss of her brother’s wooly mammoth toy. To make matters worse, she can’t seem to shake Big Skinny and Mouse, two boys in her class at Rutherford B. Hayes Middle School. When the boys spray-paint an ode to Ruby on the river wall near her house, and she goes to take care of the mess, all three end up snagged by the law. At the police station, where the desk sergeant looks just like the Tin Man (without the tin), the trio is assigned 50 hours of community service. Thus begins an unexpected relationship with Big Skinny, Mouse and Ed the podiatrist, who turns out to be involved with the boys through the Big Brothers Program. The gang collaborates on a mural to beautify the wall along the drainage ditch that was once the Los Angeles River, and Ruby continues to fantasize about finding her father. Hollywood makes dreams come true, and sometimes, too, as Theresa Nelson shows us in this terrific book, they come true in the lives of twelve-year-old girls.

Dean Schneider teachers middle school English in Nashville.

With her mind on the movies and a voice as fresh and electric as her personality, Ruby Millers loves films going to them, talking about them, writing scripts for them. She especially loves beginnings, the part before the movie starts: “When the lights go dim, and you’re sitting in the dark with your popcorn,” Ruby […]
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Just in time for spring commencement comes a great literary gift idea, a book that might be classified as an anthology of epiphanies. Culled from published autobiographies of well-known authors, artists, athletes, scientists, filmmakers, and others, all of the excerpts in Heading Out: The Start of Some Splendid Careers explain how the writers chose their respective vocations. Just what made them decide on their paths in life? Did each person have a well-defined goal to pursue, or was there a fair share of luck or serendipity involved? After reading more than 40 autobiographies, editor Gloria Kamen chose compelling stories of talent, hard work and chance, all of which will inspire young readers who might be wondering what to do with their own lives after high school. Believe it or not, beloved author Russell Baker hated high school English the "dull and baffling grammar," the classics thrust on him, "deadening as chloroform." When Baker wrote an informal essay on "The Art of Eating Spaghetti," he wrote it the way he wanted to, thinking he would change it later to fit the teacher’s requirements. But when he didn’t have time to fix it, he turned it in the way it was and got an A+. Suddenly, Baker had found inspiration for his life’s work.

In another selection, Ben Carson was, by his own admission, the dumbest kid in his fifth-grade class. His mother, determined not to let him and his brother get lost, came up with an idea: turn off the television, require the boys to read two books a week from the Detroit Public Library, and make them write reports on the readings. By the end of seventh grade, Ben was at the top of his class. He is now the director of pediatric neurosurgery at Johns Hopkins Hospital in Baltimore. Similar moments of awakening, of people on the verge of finding their way, are related by Pablo Casals, Isaac Asimov, Nelson Mandela, Sammy Sosa, Katherine Paterson and many others. Since the excerpts are from already published autobiographies, they are never sappy or contrived. They’re simply moments from the lives of accomplished people that will inspire young readers about to set off on their own journeys. The sheer variety of wonderful stories will give this anthology broad appeal.

Just in time for spring commencement comes a great literary gift idea, a book that might be classified as an anthology of epiphanies. Culled from published autobiographies of well-known authors, artists, athletes, scientists, filmmakers, and others, all of the excerpts in Heading Out: The Start of Some Splendid Careers explain how the writers chose their […]
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A strange old man with a wicker basket approaches the Carbuncles’ house in New England. In the basket are two baby boys and a beautiful dulcimer. Wanting to appear charitable to the neighbors, blustery Eustace Carbuncle takes in the lads, the children of his wife's sister, and proceeds to make life miserable for them. Eventually, the boys William and Jules are consigned to the cold attic, left to their own devices and sorely neglected in favor of Eustace's own obnoxious son, Morris. Jules, strangely silent and withdrawn, begins to waste away, while William learns the dulcimer, discovering that he has a strange affinity for playing and singing. Thus begins Tor Seidler’s The Dulcimer Boy.

Originally published in 1979, it's the book that marked this beloved author’s debut as a novelist. Reissued this month in a deluxe new edition, this enchanting tale is just right for summer reading. The plot thickens when the Carbuncles’ fortunes begin to decline, and they call in an auctioneer to appraise their antiques collection. After the auctioneer notes the value of the dulcimer, it is promptly taken from William and locked away in the family's prize mahogany secretary. When William breaks into the secretary and takes back the dulcimer, he is caught by Mrs. Carbuncle and chased out of the house, his shirttails flapping like the wings of an angel. Finding himself alone and hungry in the city, William goes to an inn and plays and sings for his supper. He is such a sensation that soon the bakers, bankers, musicians, ladies and gentleman of the city are in enthusiastic attendance at the inn, and William is playing to standing-room-only crowds. Unfortunately, though, he is tricked into signing a year-long contract, and playing at The Tumble Inn soon becomes more drudgery than pleasure.

Events take an unexpected twist when a drunken sailor named Mr. Drake, who turns out to be a key figure from William's past, appears in the audience one evening. He leads the boy home through boggy regions and over stagnant rivers, followed all the while by a strange flock of dark and white birds. But the Carbuncles, as it turns out, no longer live at the house. A further decline in their prospects forced them to move to a shack on a dismal, slimy lane, and that is where William is reunited with his hateful foster family and with Jules, now slaving away as a chimney sweep a fate soon to be William's as well.

Young readers will eagerly follow the boys on this unforgettable journey, which eventually leads the pair into an unexpected encounter with the mayor of New York City. Seidler concludes the story with a satisfying resolution, as William embarks on a new journey, and Jules receives the reward he so richly deserves.

The Dulcimer Boy is a beautiful, atmospheric story of a boy with a mysterious gift. Enigmatic and haunting, a narrative with archetypal elements helpless orphans, cruel relatives, unscrupulous characters and odd coincidences as well as a distinct Dickensian flavor, it is a precursor to later classics from Seidler, including A Rat’s Tale and Mean Margaret. Precise and radiant, the wonderfully detailed black-and-white illustrations by award-winning artist Brian Selznick are a perfect match for the text of this handsome, lavishly designed volume.

 

Dean Schneider is a middle school English teacher in Nashville, Tennessee.

A strange old man with a wicker basket approaches the Carbuncles’ house in New England. In the basket are two baby boys and a beautiful dulcimer. Wanting to appear charitable to the neighbors, blustery Eustace Carbuncle takes in the lads, the children of his wife's sister, and proceeds to make life miserable for them. Eventually, […]
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Much of Joss Aaronson’s life is defined by what she isn’t. She isn’t a proper comp, a user of antique screte, or a genetic monster created in a lab. She isn’t even a real-kid, and her legitimacy in school becomes questionable when she discovers that her mother may have bought her way into the Centre for Neo-Historical Studies. But she is the partner of the new alien student at the Centre, a student not so different from her, except that he who goes by the name of Mavkel has two noses, two mouths and huge, double-jointed ears. And he’s hermaphroditic. Mavkel, who hails from the planet Choria, has lost his twin, and since all Chorians must communicate telepathically, he feels isolated and is losing his will to live. To make matters worse, there’s an assassin on campus, and Joss comes to realize that she herself is the assassin’s quarry.

Offering much mystery, adventure and food for thought, Singing the Dogstar Blues is a rich, futuristic romp. Fans of M.T. Anderson’s Feed and Nancy Farmer’s House of the Scorpion ought to feel right at home in the futuristic world Alison Goodman has conjured a world which, oddly enough, feels perfectly real in no time. The themes are normal enough: Joss is trying to figure out who she is and find a place in a world where she doesn’t quite fit. Her mother is a rising TV star who has no time for her, her father is a sperm donor unknown to her, and she is not like her classmates, who have been made by a "genetic potluck" from "the best of six or more people." And if Joss feels like an outsider, think of Mavkel, a real stranger in a strange land confronted by "Alien Go Home" demonstrations when he arrives at the Centre. Together, Joss and Mavkel travel back in time Joss to find her father, Mavkel to make a genetic connection to her or, at least, to her cells, which are stored in a petri dish. Together, they find what they’re looking for.

This debut novel from Goodman won Australia’s Aurealis Award for the Best Young Adult Novel in 1998, and readers will relish her sure command of a complex story combining science fiction, mystery, adventure and family drama.

Dean Schneider teaches middle school in Nashville.

 

 

Much of Joss Aaronson’s life is defined by what she isn’t. She isn’t a proper comp, a user of antique screte, or a genetic monster created in a lab. She isn’t even a real-kid, and her legitimacy in school becomes questionable when she discovers that her mother may have bought her way into the Centre […]
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This new offering from adult novelist Alice Hoffman is a haunting, beautiful post-9/11 fairy tale for our time. When Green’s parents and little sister, Aurora, go to the city for the day, Green stays home to work in the garden. But disaster strikes the city. The ground shakes, people jump from buildings, the whoosh of fire can be heard across the river, and ashes sweep across the water in "black whirlwinds." Embers fly into Green’s open window, set the ends of her hair on fire and burn her eyes, When looters threaten houses and it becomes clear that many people in the city have perished, Green becomes Ash. She wears her father’s black boots and leather jacket. She clips thorns from bare rose bushes and sews them to her clothes. She uses black ink and a pin to tattoo a raven, a bat and a rose on her arm.

"Blood and ink. Darkness where before there had been patience, black where there’d once been green," Hoffman writes. Green’s change into the girl she names Ash mirrors the darkness of her ruined world. After the disaster, everything changes. A disfigured, hooded boy she names Diamond appears, and they become friends. They garden, bake bread, cook and look after neighbors. In the magic realism of the conclusion, the inky black vines on Ash’s body begin to turn green, the rose turns white, and she realizes more changes are in store for her. Metaphors of hope and renewal in the form of seasons, gardens and blank white pages that await stories signal Ash’s transformation back to Green. In its images of thorns and vines, embers in eyes, and flights of ravens, Hoffman’s tale has the visceral effect of a fairy tale on the reader’s consciousness, more powerful than most realistic renderings of current tragedies.

This new offering from adult novelist Alice Hoffman is a haunting, beautiful post-9/11 fairy tale for our time. When Green’s parents and little sister, Aurora, go to the city for the day, Green stays home to work in the garden. But disaster strikes the city. The ground shakes, people jump from buildings, the whoosh of […]
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"Each of us has a story and it starts with a name." But who would ever name a kid Dillon Dillon? And what's his story? Kate Banks, winner of the Charlotte Zolotow Award for her picture book, The Night Worker, has written a "Once upon a time" novel called Dillon Dillon that represents all that is wonderful about the best children's literature: a rich, philosophical narrative with layers and layers of meaning, told in spare, poetic prose. Themes include family, growing up, leaving home, death and the meaning of life.

On vacation on Lake Waban, in New Hampshire, Dillon receives a new red rowboat for his 10th birthday with "Dillon Dillon" painted in bold ivory letters on the stern. The holiday seems an appropriate time to pop the question he has always wondered about: "Why did you name me Dillon Dillon?" His parents' response sends Dillon on a quest to understand the story behind his name, a quest involving siblings, loons and a journey to an enchanted island.

Dillon and his little sister Daisy are "Hopers," looking for the magic and wonder in life. Maybe dragons do exist, maybe the sunshine on the swing does smell yellow, and maybe there is a land where musical notes continue playing after we no longer can hear them. And maybe there are enchanted or, at least, enchanting islands. Dillon finds out when he rows to an island and experiences life as a bird. He witnesses and participates in the day-to-day routines of a pair of loons as they prepare a nest in his left sneaker and hatch a baby loon right before his eyes. For a while, Dillon feels a part of the loon family, a family life that, curiously, parallels his own.

Dillon's older brother Didier is a realist. When he finds two dead loons, illegally shot, he says, "That's life." Dillon feels the sadness and wonder of death, but figures Didier is right: "Life ended with death. It did not matter that no one knew when or why." Over the course of the book, Dillon comes to understand that life is full of wonder, mystery and magic, as well as change, sadness and death.

Dillon Dillon is an unusually rich intermediate novel great for reading aloud at home or in school. Dillon takes a journey he will never forget, and readers will never forget Dillon.

Dean Schneider is a middle school English teacher in Nashville.

"Each of us has a story and it starts with a name." But who would ever name a kid Dillon Dillon? And what's his story? Kate Banks, winner of the Charlotte Zolotow Award for her picture book, The Night Worker, has written a "Once upon a time" novel called Dillon Dillon that represents all that […]
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Angel Morgan and her little brother Bernie have been dumped on their great-grandmother in rural Vermont. Their father is in jail, their mother is too irresponsible to care for them, and Grandma's not thrilled to have them. Angel feels alone. Ever the optimist, though, she tells Bernie they are in a make-your-own-adventure. You find yourself someplace weird and you, well, you just look around and decide what to do next. Then what you decide leads you into a big adventure. It's one of Katherine Paterson's favorite themes: children finding their way in a difficult world.

Failed by the adults in her life so far, Angel is used to being the responsible one. She takes care of herself, Bernie, and now Grandma. Yet she feels alone, an insignificant speck in a large universe. Though her own parents are ineffectual, she does find mentors. From Miss Liza, the librarian, she gets books, poetry and a model of a bent-over old woman who knows how to stand tall. From Ray Morgan, the mysterious stranger who, on clear nights, teaches Angel about the sparkling galaxy above them, she learns that we are small, but not insignificant; we are made from the same stuff as the stars.

By the end of the story, Angel no longer feels small and insignificant. She feels part of the grander scheme of the universe. Just as adults became her guides, so do the stars, and she feels that maybe she, too, might take her lead from those beaming celestial bodies. No matter what other people did or failed to do, you could try yourself to be something like Polaris, shining strong and bright and fixed in a swirling world of darkness. Two-time winner of the Newbery Medal, Katherine Paterson, author of the young adult classic Bridge to Terabithia, is in top form here with one of the best books of the year. For ages 10-14, this one's a winner.

 

Dean Schneider teaches English to seventh and eighth graders in Nashville.

Angel Morgan and her little brother Bernie have been dumped on their great-grandmother in rural Vermont. Their father is in jail, their mother is too irresponsible to care for them, and Grandma's not thrilled to have them. Angel feels alone. Ever the optimist, though, she tells Bernie they are in a make-your-own-adventure. You find yourself […]
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Doug Lee is always going to be as he is right now—short, doughy and 15. And if high school sucks for many kids, it especially does now for Doug: He is a vampire. But this vampire story doesn’t follow in the tracks of so many others of late. Readers will be howling with laughter through many scenes, but author Adam Rex balances the humor with plenty of seriousness and social commentary for readers to sink their teeth into, as well.

Early in the tale, Doug, a newly-created vampire, is trying to figure out who or what to feed upon. In a series of misadventures, he gets sucker-punched by a panda at the San Diego Zoo, is thwarted in his attempt to raid a bloodmobile by a nurse with an attitude, and witnesses two Kool-Aid Men fighting at a comic book convention. Later, his friend Jay tries out some traditional anti-vampire devices on Doug, just to learn more about his dilemma. A silver crucifix has no effect, but then Doug is Jewish; however, a Star of David doesn’t work either. Garlic? Doug loves garlic. In fact, he picked up his nickname “Meatball” because he smelled like Italian food. Jay tosses a pile of rice at Doug’s feet and asks Doug how many grains there are. Doug says, “I don’t know—I’m not autistic, I’m a vampire.”

Doug is attracted to Sejal, an exchange student from India, but Sejal is creeped out by him, though all of her friends agree that Doug has looked different lately—better looking, more confident, with a certain animal magnetism about him. It’s the language and sexual jokes among Sejal and her friends that make this a story for older readers, but those readers will eat this up, enjoying the high-stakes drama as Doug tries to take charge of his destiny.

Doug Lee is always going to be as he is right now—short, doughy and 15. And if high school sucks for many kids, it especially does now for Doug: He is a vampire. But this vampire story doesn’t follow in the tracks of so many others of late. Readers will be howling with laughter through […]

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