Emily Koch

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In her second novel in verse, National Book Award finalist Amber McBride blurs the lines between fantasy and reality.

Eighteen-year-old Whimsy has been hospitalized for the 11th time in 10 years. Although her grandmother taught the young conjurer that “Fairy Tales are real, / magic is real,” she also offered a warning: “Careful, Whimsy, / sometimes your own mind will unroot you.” When a green-haired boy named Faerry is admitted to the hospital, Whimsy instantly identifies him as Fae. 

When the two are released from the hospital, Whimsy discovers that Faerry’s family recently moved to her neighborhood. As Whimsy and Faerry are drawn both to each other and to the forest at the end of their street, they discover that their lives have intertwined before, and they embark on a journey to a haunted garden where the embodiment of Sorrow has trapped a number of fairy tale characters. To free them and return home, Whimsy and Faerry must face a truth they’ve spent years running from.

In a lengthy dedication at the beginning of We Are All So Good at Smiling, McBride explains that the novel “borrows from my personal experiences with clinical/major depression” and that she wrote it to remind herself and readers “that whenever you find yourself in Sorrow’s Garden—you have tools & you can find a way out.” The book’s significant back matter includes mental health resources, as well as a playlist, a glossary and more.

McBride conveys Whimsy’s struggle with depression through unusual and striking language, text alignment and structure. Words and phrases frequently appear in parentheses, mimicking intrusive thoughts. When Whimsy speaks, the text is aligned on the right-hand side of the page, literally separating her speech from the rest of the text and reflecting the way her depression alienates her from herself. McBride often establishes and then changes structural patterns, mirroring the disorientating nature of recovery. 

We Are All So Good at Smiling elevates everything that made McBride’s debut novel, Me (Moth), such a success. Readers who loved Ibi Zoboi’s American Street or Anna-Marie McLemore’s Blanca & Roja will especially enjoy its blend of magic and emotion.

Amber McBride elevates everything that made her first book successful in this novel in verse that blends magic and emotion, fantasy and reality.
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Christina lives in Grangeview, Texas, population 12,000, where she’s used to being one of the only Asian American students in her classes. She’s dealt with teachers who struggle to pronounce her last name and classmates who make fun of her lunch. When she explains that her dad is from Thailand, another student corrects her: “I think you mean Taiwan.”

As The Tryout opens, Christina feels ready to take on middle school, but she doesn’t have any classes with her Iranian American best friend, Megan, whose own experiences of standing out in Grangeview uniquely enable her to understand Christina. So when Megan asks Christina to try out for the cheerleading squad, Christina agrees enthusiastically. Beneath the surface of The Tryout’s seemingly simple story of friendship and cheerleading lies a compassionate exploration of identity, what it means to be a good friend and the pull of popularity. 

Two-time 2021 Newbery Honor author Christina Soontornvat has written middle grade fiction and nonfiction as well as picture books. The Tryout is her first graphic novel as well as her first book with autobiographical elements. As a narrator, her fictional self embraces the complexities of life on the cusp of adolescence; she sees through social norms but still longs to be perceived positively by her peers. When Megan explains the Texas homecoming custom of enormous corsages called mums, Christina says that it’s “such a weird tradition,” but a thought bubble reveals that she’s also thinking, “I totally want one.” As she learns from some pretty big mistakes, Christina also reminds readers that raising themselves up isn’t worthwhile if it means putting others down.

Debut illustrator Joanna Cacao thoroughly captures the capricious side of middle school, and her dynamic panels convey Christina’s constantly shifting moods. Darkly colored patterns surround Christina when she is feeling self-conscious, creating an effective contrast to the light, glittery backgrounds of the ethereal cheerleading squad. In an especially impactful touch, similar sparkles appear behind Christina when she’s feeling confident. 

In her author’s note, Soontornvat explains that she never thought she would share the story in The Tryout, until she realized that “talking to one another and sharing our stories is how we make change.” The result is a book that balances loving where you’re from and still wanting to see it improve. The Tryout is a strong addition to the rapidly growing genre of autobiographical graphic novels for middle grade readers that will fit wonderfully on shelves alongside Kathryn Ormsbee and Molly Brooks’ Growing Pangs, Damian Alexander’s Other Boys and Tyler Page’s Button Pusher.

In her first graphic novel, Newbery Honor author Christina Soontornvat offers a compassionate exploration of identity, friendship and the pull of popularity.
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Twelve-year-old Lula Viramontes longs to be heard. She’s scared to use her raspy voice to stand up to her volatile Papá, who has decided that Lula and her sister will stop attending school so they can work in the grape fields of Delano, California. Lula is also worried about her Mamá, whose sudden illness has likely been caused by pesticides. But she has a seed of hope: Some organizations are leading a strike for better working conditions, and she must find the courage to convince Papá to join them.

A Seed in the Sun is a well-researched glimpse into the 1965 Delano grape strike and the 1960s movement for labor justice. Through Lula’s experiences, author Aida Salazar invites readers into the life of a child working in dangerous conditions. In an author’s note, Salazar is quick to point out that Lula’s reality still exists for many young people today, since “United States child labor laws (which protect children from exploitation) don’t apply to farmwork—the only industry in the nation that does not abide by them.” While the Viramontes are fictional, Lula and her family encounter real activists such as Dolores Huerta, Larry Itliong and Cesar Chavez. 

In two previous novels (The Moon Within and Land of the Cranes), Salazar established herself as an expert writer of middle grade verse narratives filled with beautiful metaphors and similes. Her skill is evident here, as when Lula describes her voice as “an orange-yellow mist / that comes and goes / like clouds.” Salazar also intersperses Spanish throughout all of her novels, which lends authenticity to her verse. Although non-Spanish speakers will easily discern the meaning of most of the book’s Spanish words and phrases from context, fluent Spanish speakers and those who use a dictionary or translator as they read will be rewarded with treasures, like how the book’s six section titles are words that signify aspects of the harvesting season.

Salazar’s text is dynamic, with words that flow across the page. Each poem has its own pattern, and Salazar is creative with indentation, alignment and overall form. For instance, when Lula and her sister go behind their father’s back to get union cards, Salazar relays what happens next in a single block of full-justified text, conveying Lula’s excitement and nervousness about her passionate rebellion. 

Readers gravitate toward middle grade historical fiction because it makes complex history tangible. A Seed in the Sun deserves a space on the shelf alongside Brenda Woods’ When Winter Robeson Came, which portrays another social justice movement in 1965 California, and Pam Muñoz Ryan’s Pura Belpré Award-winning Esperanza Rising, a modern classic of children’s literature that depicts the experiences of migrant workers.

Aida Salazar’s third novel in verse is a well-researched glimpse into the 1965 Delano grape strike as seen through the eyes of 12-year-old Lula Viramontes.
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Kwame Alexander opens a planned historical fiction trilogy with The Door of No Return, which takes place in 1860, near the end of the transatlantic slave trade. Eleven-year-old Kofi Offin lives in the Asante kingdom, in what is now Ghana. Kofi holds deep respect for his grandfather, the village storyteller, who always begins his stories by saying, “There was even a time . . .” In this time, Kofi has a crush on Ama, a girl in his class. In this time, Kofi and Ama’s teacher forces them to speak English instead of their native language, or face the wrath of his cane. And in this time, Kofi’s older brother, Kwasi, will unintentionally alter the fate of their entire family, and Kofi will have to draw on all of his grandfather’s wisdom to survive.

Alexander has been convincing middle grade readers that poetry is cool since his 2014 book, The Crossover, for which he won the Newbery Medal. Like many of Alexander’s earlier books, The Door of No Return is told mostly in enthralling, action-packed verse. Alexander is an eloquent craftsman with a deep awareness of the power of every word in a verse novel, and that awareness shines on every page of this book. Typographic manipulation, such as changing the size of the text, is used sparingly, which makes those moments particularly impactful.

The book is not entirely written in verse, however. Each of its seven chapters begin with a prose story narrated by Kofi’s grandfather, Nana Mosi. These tales offer context and foreshadowing in equal measure, culminating in a heartbreaking ode to storytellers, “The Story of the Story,” in which Nana Mosi warns that “until the lions tell their side of the story, the tale of the hunt will always celebrate the hunter.” 

Some of Alexander’s most beloved works, including The Crossover, incorporate sports as both subjects and extended metaphors. Alexander continues—and elevates—this approach in The Door of No Return through Kofi’s aptitude for swimming. Kofi receives his second name, Offin, because he was born in the very river where he now finds sanctuary after school.

The story of African Americans did not begin during the middle passage. Every person who was enslaved came from a home with a rich history and unique culture. Their stories have been told in excellent books for young readers, including Sharon Draper’s Copper Sun; Nikole Hannah-Jones, Renée Watson and Nikkolas Smith’s The 1619 Project: Born on the Water; and Ashley Bryan’s Freedom Over Me. But many more are needed, and there’s no one better to add to this vital canon than Alexander.

Kwame Alexander brings his deep awareness of the power of verse to this story of an African boy named Kofi, set near the end of the transatlantic slave trade.
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Fifteen-year-old Harris Jacobus knows that people at his new high school will make assumptions about him because of his disability, a form of muscular dystrophy called spinal muscular atrophy. He levels the playing field by asking everyone he meets one simple question: “What’s your favorite color?” 

This is how Harris knows that Zander could be a potential friend. Zander’s favorite color is yellow, and Harris’ is blue, so only green separates them on the color wheel. It’s why Harris is willing to give 20-something Miranda a chance as his nurse (to “attend school with me and make sure I don’t die”), even though she’s still finishing up her nursing program. Her favorite color combination, orange-red, is blue’s complementary color (though it doesn’t hurt that Harris also thinks she’s attractive). And it’s one of the reasons Harris is captivated by Nory, whose locker is next to his: She refuses to tell him her favorite color. 

Harris has decided to use his new school as a “chance to finally start living a real teenage life”—going to parties, breaking curfew, maybe even having a girlfriend. When Miranda discovers Harris’ feelings for Nory, she decides to help them get closer. Eventually, Harris begins to question Miranda’s advice—and her judgment. 

In The First Thing About You, debut novelist Chaz Hayden offers a fresh perspective on a teen protagonist who longs to feel “normal” and check off a list of milestones (first crush, date, concert and so on). The book’s structure—five sections of varying lengths—beautifully reflects how time in high school can feel like it’s moving at different speeds depending on the situation, and short chapters mimic a fast-paced school day.

Harris’ conversational narration will resonate with teen readers (though some of his thoughts about gender border on stereotypical), and his experiences offer an invitation to question the very notion of normalcy. Miranda often blurs professional and personal lines, particularly during a scene in which she kisses Harris on the mouth without asking for or receiving his consent first, and some readers may find Hayden’s depiction of Miranda’s behavior disturbing. Even Harris gradually realizes, “I didn’t like the person I became around her.”

Like Harris, Hayden also has spinal muscular atrophy. He vlogs about his life on YouTube, where he reads aloud from and cringes at entries from his old journals, and he pours a similarly humorous, unflinching tone into Harris’ story. Fans of John Green or teen rom-coms will enjoy Hayden’s reminder that we are all trying to get others to look beyond our surfaces.

Debut novelist Chaz Hayden offers a fresh perspective on a teen protagonist who longs to feel normal in this humorous, unflinching book.

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