Sharon Verbeten

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Orphaned stray dogs Bone and his sister, Squirrel, are left to fend for themselves in the great outdoors, not knowing where their next meal will come from. These two survivors have a strong sense of family—that is, until fate separates the two and Bone is left, alone and scared, to find a new home.

Bone’s canine adventures are only one of a trio of tales that make up Ann M. Martin’s latest book for middle grade readers. In alternating chapters, we are introduced to young Henry—who wants a dog so badly that he asks for a dog, and everything for a dog, on each year’s Christmas list. And then there’s Charlie, who loses his brother and finds companionship and solace with his own dog—until tragedy strikes again.

Each well-paced story is interesting enough to propel readers into the book, wanting to know what’s next for Bone, Henry and Charlie. Chapters shift back and forth among the three—until the story takes an interesting and unexpected turn, intertwining the three main characters.

It’s hard enough to write one solid and satisfying story with well-drawn characters. It’s even harder still to write three. Toughest of all, perhaps, is weaving those three tales together seamlessly. But that’s exactly what Martin manages in a novel that explores the themes of survival, companionship, family and the importance of home.

By the end of the book, readers gain greater insights into Bone, Henry and Charlie—and how those themes impact them all and change their lives, mostly for the better. To be sure, there is plenty of harsh realism (among them, hunters, hunger and loss), but Martin’s compassion for canines is at its best here—leading to a satisfying and entirely believable ending.

Dog owner Martin is also author of the critically acclaimed A Dog’s Life, and she’s truly found her niche with animal stories that are both touching and compelling. Fellow dog lovers—and even those without a penchant for pets—are sure to share her compassion for Bone, Henry, Charlie and the entire cast.

Freelance writer and former children’s librarian Sharon Verbeten lives in De Pere, Wisconsin, where she is one of the few people in her neighborhood without a dog.

Orphaned stray dogs Bone and his sister, Squirrel, are left to fend for themselves in the great outdoors, not knowing where their next meal will come from. These two survivors have a strong sense of family—that is, until fate separates the two and Bone is left, alone and scared, to find a new home. Bone’s […]
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At first glance, the intriguing title and cover illustration will pique readers’ curiosity about the eponymous pachyderm of The Magician’s Elephant. Once inside, however, that intrigue builds immediately, as Kate DiCamillo—in her eloquent, yet understated, prose—unveils the book’s suspense-filled theme. From page one, readers are transported to the market square in Baltese, some 200 years ago. There they follow 10-year-old Peter Augustus Duchene, a poor orphan who spends his last coin on a fortune teller, seeking the answer to one question—whatever became of his long-thought-dead sister?

The fortune teller reveals that his sister is alive and advises Peter, in enigmatic soothsayer fashion, to “follow the elephant” to find out more. The puzzled boy begins his quest to unravel the fortune teller’s meaning.

When a magician’s trick goes awry, an elephant is sent crashing through the roof of an opera house, disabling a town noblewoman. This spectacular event proves fortuitous for Peter and the rest of the town, who become inexplicably drawn to the elephant—a vessel, of sorts, through which they channel their hopes, dreams and wishes. Soon, a chain of events—some mundane, some amazing—results in a simple but impeccably well-told tale about belief, wonder and making the extraordinary come true.

Newbery Award winner DiCamillo has long been a word virtuoso, and this novel solidifies that role. Everything about this story is masterful. The prose is remarkably simple, with underpinnings of delicious dry humor. Yoko Tanaka’s illustrations have a soft Chris Van Allsburg-esque quality, which lend atmosphere to the tale.

The Magician’s Elephant is a well-paced fable about following the ever-elusive truth— a truth that is “forever changing,” as the beggar in the book observes. At its most ambitious, it’s also a haunting analogy of belonging—whether man or beast, rich or poor, beggar or countess, we all just want to be home, to be loved, to belong.

Former children’s librarian Sharon Verbeten is right at home with a husband and toddler, but no mysterious elephants, in De Pere, Wisconsin.

 

When a magician’s trick goes awry, an elephant is sent crashing through the roof of an opera house, disabling a town noblewoman.
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The path to “finding oneself” can be a dark and murky one. But those adjectives take on a more frightening realism for the girl who wakes up lying cold and disoriented in a pine forest, wondering who she is, how she got there and where she came from.

So begins Lexi, a tale of literally, and figuratively, finding oneself. Not knowing where to start, the girl wanders the streets until she is taken to a homeless shelter—where pieces of the unknown puzzle of her life begin to fall into place . . . in an intriguing, and somewhat fast-paced, fashion. A motley cast of characters—including a mysterious twin, a celebrity father, a caring grandmother, a deceptive would-be kidnapper and a helpful stranger—lend depth to the story, which is told in first person narrative. 

At the shelter, the girl learns her name (Lexi) and uncovers many more clues to her forgotten life. She also gains compassion for others around her—a quality that brings the story full circle at its conclusion.

The prose is readable with a few potential stumbling points. When the shelter kids weave “stories” that may or may not be real, the lines become a bit blurred and some young readers may be a bit distracted by the symbolism.

In addition to gaining her identity as well as a family, a somewhat surprising, and literal, pot of gold appears at the end of Lexi’s journey. Lest the reader find it unbelievable, the author compassionately ties up all the loose ends in a most satisfying way.

What was once lost has been found, and Lexi finds much more than her identity. She finds a way to give back and to help others who are less fortunate forge a clearer path on their own personal journeys.

As Lexi learns, you can go home again—and it can be an enlightening, and rewarding, experience.

Sharon Verbeten, a former children’s librarian and current freelance writer, makes her home in De Pere, Wisconsin.

The path to “finding oneself” can be a dark and murky one. But those adjectives take on a more frightening realism for the girl who wakes up lying cold and disoriented in a pine forest, wondering who she is, how she got there and where she came from. So begins Lexi, a tale of literally, […]
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An abandoned, and pregnant, calico cat and a ragtag hound dog in Texas bayou country might seem an unlikely duo–but this pairing kicks off a journey that is alternately worrisome and adventure-filled, mystical and redemptive. First-time novelist Kathi Appelt takes readers to the edge of their seats and emotions as she spins the story of lovable hound dog Ranger and kittens Sabine and Puck and their perilous endeavors. Safe as long as they remain in "the Underneath"–their ratty home under the porch–the cat, her kittens and Ranger soon find life worse than they could have imagined.

When Gar-Face, the disheveled, drunk and bitter man who lives inside the house, discovers the cats, it sets off a chain of events that leaves the kittens orphaned and separated–and leads to Puck's big adventure. While Puck's harrowing struggle to find his way back to the Underneath is one main thread in the book, a second, more mythical, storyline runs concurrently about Grandmother Mocassin–who lived in the region 1,000 years ago in the land of the native Caddo. The loblolly pine and other trees along Little Sorrowful Creek remember her story. And, ultimately, Grandmother's unwavering tale of vengeance intersects with Puck's story in a most surprising–yet satisfying–way. The powerful storyline is driven by the emotions of love and hate and, ultimately, their consequences, as well as the importance of keeping promises.

The Underneath is not only a delightful and suspenseful animal tale, it is a classic story destined to be read for years and savored for its charming characters and underlying message. Librarians and teachers take note–this may be an early contender for the Newbery Award.

Sharon Verbeten, a former children's librarian and current freelance writer, lives a pet-free life in De Pere, Wisconsin.

 

An abandoned, and pregnant, calico cat and a ragtag hound dog in Texas bayou country might seem an unlikely duo–but this pairing kicks off a journey that is alternately worrisome and adventure-filled, mystical and redemptive. First-time novelist Kathi Appelt takes readers to the edge of their seats and emotions as she spins the story of […]
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The trouble with geese is . . . well, what isn't the trouble with geese? At least, that's what the one-eyed heron thinks in this gentle tale of teamwork and taking flight. Five fat geese reside, happily they believe, on their pond—as living ornaments next to the fake flamingoes, gnomes and other statuary. But their view beyond the pond grows, quite by happenstance, when a great blue heron (or Who-on, as the geese call it) gets lost on his migratory path. The motley crew of geese—led by the fearless Skylar—offer to lead him to Lost Pond to catch up with his flock. Curious adventure and unknown dangers await the rather sedentary pond geese as they take flight, eager to explore the world as wild geese do—exhilarated, unafraid, yet knowingly cautious. Guided by their "remembering lights," the geese (including the nervous Wheedle and pompous Roosevelt) make their way into the great blue unknown.

It's a journey of wills as the geese encounter each other's strengths and weaknesses along the way. Their first migration is also a journey of belonging and self-sufficiency, as the geese learn their place in the world outside their once comfortable perimeter. As the geese soon realize, the more places you go, the more language you learn and, in turn, the more places you remember. And though their roustabout travels are marked by challenge, the geese emerge forever changed—for better or worse—by the thousands of wing flaps they leave behind. First-time author Mary Cuffe-Perez has created a charming coming-of-age tale featuring anthropomorphic birds, each with its own likeable personality. Reminiscent of other animal camaraderie stories, such as The Incredible Journey and Charlotte's Web, Skylar will entice animal lovers and perhaps reluctant readers as well, eager to learn the fate of the feathered five.

Sharon Verbeten is a freelance writer and former children's librarian in De Pere, Wisconsin.

The trouble with geese is . . . well, what isn't the trouble with geese? At least, that's what the one-eyed heron thinks in this gentle tale of teamwork and taking flight. Five fat geese reside, happily they believe, on their pond—as living ornaments next to the fake flamingoes, gnomes and other statuary. But their […]
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Call them tooth fairies, call them skibbereen. Whatever you call them, be prepared to realize they are real or are they?

That conundrum is at the heart of this cleverly constructed story-within-a-story by Gregory Maguire, whose novels Wicked and Confessions of an Ugly Stepsister have lured adults back into fairy-tale worlds. What-the-Dickens: The Story of a Rogue Tooth Fairy, both the book and the charming eponymous character, will do the same for middle-grade readers, even reluctant ones.

The frame story opens on a tempest-tossed night with the three Ormsby children Dinah, big brother Zeke and baby Rebecca Ruth huddling in a scrappy bungalow, supervised by older cousin Gage. With the trio in dire need of distraction, Gage spins a mesmerizing tale of What-the-Dickens, a tooth fairy hatched at twilight in a tin can. It's hard to resist Gage's tale of What-the-Dickens, a filmy winged orphan who knows not what, or who, he is. He soon meets an array of curious creatures from a cacophonous rust-throated grisset to McCavity, a cat who prompts What-the-Dickens to explore the world beyond his tuna can. And what a world it is! Each ensuing adventure including the breathtaking extraction of a tiger tooth sets What-the-Dickens on the path of learning about the secret lives of skibbereen. But it isn't until he happens upon Pepper, a pert girl skibberee, that he discovers more about their often dangerous tooth-gathering missions. As Gage's charges fall in and out of sleep, his fantastic tale continues. Later, Gage injects himself as a character in the tooth fairy saga, prompting Dinah to wonder if the whole story is fact or stormy night fiction.

Maguire, a wordsmith extraordinaire, does a seamless job of interconnecting both stories. Vibrant descriptions of everything from storms to birthday candles are inextricably woven into the fabric of the book, creating an almost palpable atmosphere. This playful tale is an ideal read-aloud bedtime story. Just remember to tuck a tooth under the pillow you never know who might be visiting.

Sharon Verbeten is a former children's librarian and writer from De Pere, Wisconsin.

Call them tooth fairies, call them skibbereen. Whatever you call them, be prepared to realize they are real or are they? That conundrum is at the heart of this cleverly constructed story-within-a-story by Gregory Maguire, whose novels Wicked and Confessions of an Ugly Stepsister have lured adults back into fairy-tale worlds. What-the-Dickens: The Story of […]
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Hard times have been coming fast and true for Charlie Anne and her siblings. Their mama died in childbirth. And now, with the Depression hitting hard, their daddy and brother must head north to help build roads—promising to send money home as soon as possible.

Could life get any worse? It soon does when the siblings have to live with crotchety, demanding cousin Mirabel, who works them to the bone—tending to the animals, cleaning the house and barn, making vinegar pie.

But, as the title implies, Charlie Anne is indeed a wonder, somehow managing to infuse her family with the right stuff. When neighbor Old Mr. Jolly brings home a new wife and a young African-American girl, Phoebe, Charlie Anne’s life picks up as she aligns herself with this happy, progressive family, much to cousin Mirabel’s—and the entire town’s—vocal dismay, ugliness and bigotry.

The wonder in Charlie Anne is in her tenacity to defend family bonds and to protect friendships at all costs, to do the right thing no matter who opposes her and to better herself. And, eventually, her actions have an effect on her entire family and on the town, as well.

Charlie Anne must endure a lot of anger, uncertainty and bitterness, and learn about the true nature of people, before she begins to see a change. And unfortunately, it takes a tragedy to turn some people around—including rigid Mirabel. But in the end, good triumphs over bad, showing just what the wonder of Charlie Anne can accomplish.

Kimberly Newton Fusco’s first book, Tending to Grace, won the Schneider Family Book Award for its portrayal of a child with a disability (stuttering). In her second middle grade novel, she has created memorable characters whom readers will either admire or despise—a testament to her attention to detail and believable dialogue.

While Mirabel’s “awakening” seems abrupt and the ending a bit too idealistic, overall, The Wonder of Charlie Anne is both a charming and thoughtful read. Its issues of family, race relations and hard times remain relevant for today’s young readers.

Hard times have been coming fast and true for Charlie Anne and her siblings. Their mama died in childbirth. And now, with the Depression hitting hard, their daddy and brother must head north to help build roads—promising to send money home as soon as possible. Could life get any worse? It soon does when the […]
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Unwed mothers are nothing new. But in today’s reality TV-fueled world, their plight is often glorified, and the very real challenges they face are diminished amid the spotlight. That’s not the case, however, for 14-year-old Mary Rudine (aka the girl named Mister). Just one handsome young boy, one breathless failure to say “no” and Mary’s life is turned upside down.

Addressing teen pregnancy—especially for a tween and teen audience—takes a mix of masterful writing, accessible format and a raw, honest voice. That’s just what author-illustrator Nikki Grimes delivers in A Girl Named Mister, a free verse novel just published by Zondervan.

“You have to really capture your reader immediately; that’s just a reality,” Grimes says. “Our lives are so busy now, and books are written so much differently than they were years ago.”

You know a character is good when it keeps you up at night, eager to turn the next page. But you know a character is great when it keeps its author up at night, eager to get her story on the page.

“This character would wake me up,” says Grimes, a New York City native who now lives in Southern California. “I could not get rid of her.”

Grimes, who among her accolades has received the Coretta Scott King Award and Honor (for both text and illustration) several times, has tackled tough and realistic topics before—such as life in foster homes (Jazmin’s Notebook), a subject she knew firsthand.

“It can’t help but influence you,” she says, referring to her own troubled childhood, in which she was shuttled between relatives and foster homes. “For me, reading and writing were my survival tools,” adds Grimes, who wrote her first poem at age 6.

Among all the topics she has touched on in her books, Grimes believes the subject of unwed mothers is a particularly important one, especially in light of the inaccurate or misleading messages often portrayed in the media. “[The book] is the only way I could respond to what’s happening in society,” she says.

Her approach, however, wasn’t just to relay Mary Rudine’s thoughts, fears and challenges. Rather, Grimes—a Bible scholar for more than 20 years—interweaves a secondary, yet parallel, story. In chapters presented in a different typeface, Grimes tells the story of another Mary—the biblical Mary—and her initial shock and awe at being an unwed mother in a time when that could have resulted in her stoning. (Interestingly, Grimes’ 2005 Coretta Scott King honor book, Dark Sons, also juxtaposes a Biblical tale—the father/son relationship of Abraham and Ishmael—with a modern story. The book has just been reissued by Zondervan in a new paperback edition.)

In A Girl Named Mister, the two Marys’ stories are similar, yet each is tempered by the social mores of the time.

Readers see the Biblical Mary question her miraculous pregnancy and what it will mean for her, for Joseph and in the eyes of her community. Likewise, the contemporary character, Mary Rudine, seeks acceptance and answers and prepares for her uncertain future—hoping that someone will help her make the right choices.

Initially afraid to tell her mother about her pregnancy, Mary soon realizes that her mother had a hunch something was wrong—but, even though they are close, both were simply too nervous to tell each other their concerns.

Mary stays at home and in school during the pregnancy—taking the looks and comments that come her way—and mentally tries to ready herself for the birth and aftermath. Grimes’ portrait of the teen is both realistic and believable, both in the way the teenage father all but disappears (figuratively and literally) after he learns of the pregnancy, and in the way Mary reacts to the pregnancy—with initial disbelief, then fear, then resolve.

“Her voice is strong,” Grimes says of the modern Mary. “She does struggle, so the message isn’t that there’s no struggle.” But, she adds, “There is a way to triumph.”

Triumph has different resolutions for both young mothers, but, ultimately, Grimes feels she has done the topic justice.

“My tendency is to leave a story open-ended,” she says. “Life is open-ended; there's always more to the story."

Unwed mothers are nothing new. But in today’s reality TV-fueled world, their plight is often glorified, and the very real challenges they face are diminished amid the spotlight. That’s not the case, however, for 14-year-old Mary Rudine (aka the girl named Mister). Just one handsome young boy, one breathless failure to say “no” and Mary’s […]
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Take two insanely talented (and wry) octogenarians, throw in decades of combined artistic skill and add one previous collaboration for good measure. The result—50 years in the making—is The Odious Ogre, a new fairy tale picture book written by Norton Juster and illustrated by Jules Feiffer.

It’s their first professional reunion since their classic and revered children’s novel, The Phantom Tollbooth, was first published in 1961. The long gap in collaboration didn’t come about because the two artists lost touch. Feiffer, a Pulitzer Prize-winning editorial cartoonist, says simply that an opportunity never presented itself for the duo to work together, until now.

“This one seemed absolutely right for me,” he says.

When readers meet the Ogre, he is doing what ogres typically do—rampaging through a village and terrorizing innocent citizens (many of whom—including the local librarian!—eventually get eaten). This is one mean, merciless, gnarly and BIG galumph of an ogre.

“My ambition was to do the biggest ogre in the history of children’s books and move him around a lot,” Feiffer says. “I just looked up ogres from other books and made notes . . . [and] played around with the character.”

“Illustrating a kids’ book is a little like being the director of a play or movie. . . . What is going to make the best story? What are they wearing, what’s their body language? Accidentally I hit on one I want.”

In fact, readers learn much about the Ogre through Feiffer’s watercolor brush stroke and colored marker illustrations. “I worked in forms I haven’t worked with before,” he says. “The whole thing was like playing in a sandbox.”

While readers do get a sense of the Ogre’s demeanor immediately through his carriage, colors and sheer size, they never see his face until almost halfway through the book. That, Feiffer says, was intentional.

“I didn’t want to give away the Ogre’s look on the cover,” he says. “There were endless initial covers.” The final one, designed by Steve Scott, simply features the enormous hand of the Ogre dangling a frantic villager.

Likewise in the story’s text, Juster fully realizes this ogre’s personality—he may be nasty, but nonetheless, he’s surprisingly articulate. In his own language, the nameless Ogre calls himself, “invulnerable, impregnable, insuperable, indefatigable, insurmountable.”

The Ogre’s impressive vocabulary continues throughout the book, something Juster was very cognizant of. “We sort of underestimate kids,” he says. “Kids love words.”

“Even as a kid, I would read books that were well beyond what I could understand. . . . It was almost like you were reading the lyrics to a song,” Juster says. “It’s not just a love of language. It’s a connection to the language of the world.”

SUMMER CAMP INSPIRATION
Juster says the character of the Ogre had been stirring in his mind for about 20 years. “I don’t know where it came from. It just intrigued me.”

He did, however, provide some clues to the Ogre’s possible conception. At age 10, Juster attended summer camp and was berated and “beaten up” by the “bunk bully.” When the bully issued a challenge, “I felt so humiliated,” Juster recalls.

“He proceeded to wipe up the whole place with me; it was not one of those happy ending things.” Juster says he later started thinking about what would happen if you opposed the bully—and a germ of an odious ogre may have been subliminally hatched.

As the Ogre continues on his rampages, he encounters a young lass who, oblivious to the Ogre’s apparent reputation, doesn’t fear him. Rather, she is the first of the villagers to show him kindness—even offering him tea and muffins.

Flummoxed, the Ogre puts on his action-packed dance of terror—which is spectacularly captured on a wordless double spread. Feiffer was especially pleased with these illustrations, since he could draw on his skills used in his decades of drawing cartoons for The Village Voice.

“As a lifelong illustrator of dancers, it was irresistible—a macho ballet,” he says.

Exhausted and overwhelmed by the lass’ response, the Ogre is “confounded, overcome, and undone.” The tale ends with a satisfying (to some) and thought-provoking (to all) twist.

“What is in that story is what you find in it,” Juster says. “There is no one way, there is no lesson; there is no moral that doesn’t occur to you.”

TEAMWORK IN TANDEM
All those years ago, Juster and Feiffer’s collaboration on The Phantom Tollbooth was a bit of an accident. The two native New Yorkers, then in their 30s, were neighboring apartment dwellers in Brooklyn Heights, and they met, interestingly enough, taking out the trash.

Through a series of serendipitous events, Juster’s manuscript and Feiffer’s sketches made it to a publisher (Random House)—and the book about Milo and his fantastic tollbooth journey went on to sell more than three million copies and was later made into a film.

Juster, a trained architect, says writing children’s books was a “total accident” for him, and he says he and Feiffer were “astounded” by the novel’s success. “You just have to do what you think is right,” he says.

Feiffer initially had no interest in children’s books. When he did Phantom Tollbooth, he says, he was “simply illustrating a children’s book for a friend.”

“If I didn’t have three children, there would have been no children’s books,” says Feiffer, who has written and illustrated several children’s books, including Bark, George.

“It didn’t mean anything to me until I had kids of my own and began making up stories for them . . . and began to realize what an important form this is.”

For Odious Ogre, the pairing seemed obvious, especially to editor Michael di Capua, who has edited both men’s work over the years—including Juster’s first picture book, The Hello, Goodbye Window. The book won the 2006 Caldecott Medal for illustrator Chris Raschka.

Juster says that although he had ideas for what the Ogre might looks like, he trusted his good friend Feiffer to come through with the perfect embodiment of the character.

“You never have a precise idea,” Juster says. “You have sort of a series of abstractions in your head. What you look for is the spirit of it.”

And that’s what Feiffer delivered even though the duo never worked in direct contact with each other; rather, they worked through their editor. “We went back and forth that way,” Feiffer says.

WHAT'S NEXT
Now both in their early 80s, Juster and Feiffer remain engaged in work—although Juster does admit to “doing a lot of loafing” these days.

Juster, who is known for his work as an architect on such projects as the Eric Carle Museum of Picture Book Art in Massachusetts, has more children’s books in the works, including a reissue of his Alberic the Wise.

Feiffer, also a noted playwright and screenwriter, teaches humor writing at Stony Brook Southhampton and says, “My schedule is now more busy than it ever has been.” Having just completed illustrating another book, he will soon embark on a graphic novel and is considering doing another play.

Both men joke that perhaps in another 50 years they’ll team up again—but who knows what the project will be. What they do know is that it will boil down to the key element that has made their previous collaboration—and hopefully this new one—successful.

As Juster notes, “It’s all about storytelling, in the pictures and the art.”

Take two insanely talented (and wry) octogenarians, throw in decades of combined artistic skill and add one previous collaboration for good measure. The result—50 years in the making—is The Odious Ogre, a new fairy tale picture book written by Norton Juster and illustrated by Jules Feiffer. It’s their first professional reunion since their classic and […]
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Today’s teens might be interested in sex, drugs and vampires, but Linda Sue Park is willing to give that fickle audience a bit more credit.

“I just have a lot of confidence in young readers being able to handle things that maybe some adults don’t think they can handle,” says Park. The latest work by the Newbery Award-winning author, A Long Walk to Water, is a good example, telling a vividly authentic tale of hardship, hope and survival in war-ravaged Sudan from the parallel points of views of children from two different generations who share similar challenges.

A Long Walk to Water alternates the story of 11-year-old Nya, growing up in Sudan circa 2008, with the story of Salva, also 11, who hails from a prominent, upper-class Sudanese family. As the Second Sudanese Civil War erupts in the mid-1980s, Salva is forced to run as bombs hit his village. The finely woven novel is a fictionalized account based on the life of Salva Dut—who lives in Rochester, New York, not far from Park.

“I was interested in telling the story; it’s actually quite a difficult story,” says Park, 50, the daughter of Korean immigrants. “I was dealing with two very wide time spans . . . which were very important to the overall story I wanted to tell,” she says. “The idea of the dual narrative came to me immediately. It just seemed that this would be the best way.”

While everything in Salva’s story is true, Park admits to toning down some of the graphic details witnessed along his journey out of Sudan. Some events were simply too horrific to believe, she says, noting that she crafted the novel carefully, “trying to pick and choose what was important.”

Nya is a fictional character, although “she is representative of many of the children who live in the Sudan; everything that happened to Nya is true.”

NOVEL INSPIRATION

Park learned of Dut several years ago when her husband, a journalist, began writing about Dut’s non-profit Water for Sudan project, which drills wells to bring clean drinking water to residents in southern Sudan’s remote villages.  “After reading all of the stories that my husband did, I have always been so excited about what Salva did,” says Park. Her husband traveled to Sudan with Dut in 2008 to witness the project’s work. In just a few years, the project has drilled more than 70 wells. “For the first time ever, the young people are not going to have to walk every day,” says Park. But she is quick to add that it’s not just about water. It’s about making the resources possible to also build schools and bring education to a deprived area. “Even [the residents] know the way to a better life for their children is education,” she says.

The back-breaking work of walking eight hours a day, in 100-degree weather, simply to find water for their family is not something today’s American teens can readily relate to. But that’s exactly why Park wanted to write this story.

“It’s just a matter of awareness,” she says. “We’re living in a world that is more and more global every minute. It’s so important for young people to know their stories—the stories of their community, the stories of their country and the stories of the whole world. I think that’s what goes into making an enlightened human being.”

FROM HAIKU TO NOVELS

While Park’s children’s books have been critically acclaimed, she never intended to write for that specific audience. She is a writer at heart; she began writing poems and stories at age 4, and reading was always a favorite pastime—and still is. “My writing is always driven by my reading. I’m a wildly eclectic reader” and a regular library patron, she adds.

Park penned her first published work—a haiku—when she was only 9.

“In the green forest
A sparkling, bright blue pond hides.
And animals drink.”

She was paid $1 for the poem—and her father still has the framed check.

With a degree in English, Park went on to work in food journalism as well as public relations and advertising. But after marrying and having kids, Park began writing for children.

“I thought I was reading picture books . . . for my kids . . . but I rediscovered what I had known as a kid—the writing that is being done in the best children’s books is the best writing in the country because the editorial process that good children’s books go through is far more rigorous than adult books go through,” she says. “The books that you read when you’re young . . . there’s rarely a book you can read in adulthood that can compare . . . in terms of impact,” Park says. “You never love a book the way you love a book as a child.”

Park’s first book, Seesaw Girl, was published in 1999, followed by The Kite Fighters in 2000. A Single Shard (2001), which follows an orphan’s trying journey through a potter’s village in 12th-century Korea, received the 2002 Newbery Medal and scores of other awards. Sure, awards can serve as a validation of one’s work, but Park adds, “There’s just no down side. It ensures that your book is going to remain in print for generations. What does an author want more than that? That’s what you work so hard for . . . there’s nothing else in the world that compares.”

Despite all the accolades, Park says the most important thing is crafting the story itself. “I think stories are forever,” she says, adding, “[But] the way we get stories has changed. This might be an ostrich-in-the-sand kind of thing, but I still see my job as producing the best story I possibly can.”

Author photo by Sonya Sones.

Today’s teens might be interested in sex, drugs and vampires, but Linda Sue Park is willing to give that fickle audience a bit more credit. “I just have a lot of confidence in young readers being able to handle things that maybe some adults don’t think they can handle,” says Park. The latest work by […]
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Sometimes it’s hard to discern what lies behind the façade of a young girl. Take Wren and Darra, the characters in Helen Frost’s intriguing new novel, Hidden. While they have never actually met, these girls share a secret that unites them—a secret that they’ve kept, individually, for years.

After reading just the first two pages of Frost’s novel-in-poems, young readers will be drawn into the vivid tale that unfolds, written alternately from Wren’s and Darra’s points of view. Their perspectives offer an inside look at how one moment in time, one unfortunate act, can both bind and alter many lives collectively.

“There were hidden elements of each girl’s life. The language itself works to bring the two stories together.”

Presenting those two perspectives was the challenge for Frost, who has cleverly woven such intricate details and dialogue into many of her past novels. And it’s a challenge she takes seriously. “It’s very important, and I try to get it right,” says Frost, an award-winning poet who won a 2004 Michael L. Printz Honor for her YA novel-in-verse, Keesha’s House.

As Hidden unfolds, Darra’s abusive unemployed father steals a minivan, not realizing young Wren is in the back. When Darra guesses that Wren is hiding in her family’s garage, she’s torn between helping the young girl she has never met (and seen only on TV news reports) and protecting her father.

The ensuing fear, confusion and uncertainty—experienced by both Wren and Darra—are vocalized through first-person accounts by the two eight-year-old girls. Wren’s insights, written in carefully crafted stanzas, make up the first third of the book. The second section illuminates Darra’s angst about the event, coupled with the blame she puts on Wren for her father’s eventual arrest. The denouement, which comes six years later when Wren and Darra unexpectedly meet at summer camp, brings all the memories, confusion, blame and turmoil to a head.

While some authors start with an event or a kernel of a plot for a novel, Frost instead allowed her compelling characters to take her in a direction she never expected to go.

“In this one, I really started with the characters,” Frost says during a call to her home in Fort Wayne, Indiana. “I had this idea that this family, Wren and her brother, were going to go to the Isle of Barra” (the setting in Frost’s 2006 book The Braid).

But soon, Wren’s character became quiet, withdrawn and overshadowed by her brother. Frost began to envision that something must have happened to Wren to spark her silence.

“It became a very different story,” Frost says. “After I started telling the story, Darra kind of poked her head in. She wasn’t there until six or seven versions of the story went by. I had to keep asking myself questions.”

While the story changed, one thing remained consistent: Frost’s impeccable talent for creating novels in the form of poetry. She says that after she wrote The Braid, where form also plays an important role, “I felt like anything was possible with language. Language itself helps tell the story.”

Language definitely helps to convey the story of Hidden, with each girl’s words captured in a different format. “There were hidden elements of each girl’s life,” Frost says. “The language itself works to bring the two stories together.”

To relay Wren’s experience, Frost says she worked hard “to put her poems in a structured form.” For Darra’s dialogue, she created an ingenious form specifically for this novel. The last words of the long lines, read vertically down the right side of the page, form sentences that elucidate Darra’s memories.

While the form was intentional, the author says the words came organically—to create an authentic, natural-sounding dialogue. “[I] trust the DNA of the language. It creates tension and really interesting reverberations in the story. For kids reading it, I think they will think this is a really fun thing to discover.”

A native South Dakotan who was born fifth in a family of 10 children, Frost says she “grew up in a family that made me feel like I could do anything.” She received a degree in Elementary Education from Syracuse University, and it was there that she discovered poetry.

“I feel really lucky in the introduction to poetry I had. It has always been a part of my life,” says Frost, noting that the much-decorated poets Philip Booth and W.D. Snodgrass were among her teachers.

As her writing career progressed, “I was writing prose for children and poetry for adults,” she says, expressing amazement at how long it took her to meld those two worlds. “I realized that I had all those tools. I sometimes start my books in prose, but then I miss those tools. It’s like a really precise paintbrush. I want the structure, the sound of language.”

Frost has seen firsthand the impact of poetry on young readers. “I saw how much [children] loved poetry,” she says, recalling a time she once worked with a group of tween-age boys. “I remember putting out poems on a table . . . and a fistfight practically erupted. They were fighting over Shakespeare; I really saw a hunger for poetry.”

In addition to drawing on her background in poetry, Frost also infuses her writing with experiences from the many places she’s hung her hat over the years—from a progressive boarding school in Scotland to a one-teacher school in a tiny town in Alaska.

“I think I just grew up with a sense of adventure,” Frost says. “All these places came back when I became a full-time writer; I realized just how much I had to draw on.”

Next up for this talented author is Step Gently Out, a picture book collaboration with photographer Rick Lieder due out next year. She’s also starting a new novel-in-poems, and it’s likely there are even more ideas “hidden” somewhere in her imagination—but don’t worry, she’ll get them down eventually.

“The main thing is to keep from being distracted,” says Frost, a mother of two and grandmother of two. “I love writing, and I love children. To have those two things combined . . . it’s been a long journey to get to this point. It feels really lucky.”

Sometimes it’s hard to discern what lies behind the façade of a young girl. Take Wren and Darra, the characters in Helen Frost’s intriguing new novel, Hidden. While they have never actually met, these girls share a secret that unites them—a secret that they’ve kept, individually, for years. After reading just the first two pages […]
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Gennifer Choldenko admits that as a student, she didn’t particularly enjoy history. That’s a bit surprising to hear from an author who received a Newbery Honor for her first historical novel, Al Capone Does My Shirts (2004).

Writing historical fiction is certainly the California author’s forte, as evidenced in the final entry in her acclaimed Alcatraz trilogy, Al Capone Does My Homework.

This convincing middle grade novel follows the stories of Moose Flanagan and his friends, the children of prison employees on Alcatraz in the 1930s. Living on the island has its challenges, but Moose and the gang always get involved in adventures or mysteries of some kind. In this new installment, Moose’s father has been named associate warden, a position that could expose him to danger. When a fire breaks out at the family’s apartment, many residents suspect that Moose’s autistic sister, Natalie, caused the blaze. But Moose is determined to find out the truth.

MAKING IT REAL

Creating believable characters like Moose and Natalie, as well as a historically correct setting, are incredibly important to Choldenko, who not only consulted primary sources but also volunteered on Alcatraz to advance her research.

“I am recreating an actual time that existed,” she says. “I need to stick to the facts that are appropriate for that time.” Her research into Alcatraz and the era inspires much of her story. “I find the research process really generates so many ideas. I get so excited . . . finding out these little tidbits. It really makes the book feel more real.”

Getting into the minds of her tween characters is not always easy, but, Choldenko says, “I really like being a 12-year-old boy.”

Approaching the characterization of the notorious gangster Al Capone was another challenge. “Al was hard because he actually existed; I had to read a lot and find out where he was coming from,” she says. “It took a while to get his voice believable to me. You keep working on it until it starts to come together.”

At one point in Al Capone Does My Homework, Moose gets a cryptic clue from Capone, but doesn’t know what to make of it. The note on Moose’s homework later figures prominently into the plot. But would the hardened criminal really have offered help to a kid like Moose?

“He did have a small nice side,” Choldenko says. “He had a terrible temper, but if he liked you, he would have done anything for you. . . . [Of course] he would expect something in return.”

In conducting her research on Capone, Choldenko learned that he opened the first soup kitchen in Chicago, one indication of his softer side. “The reality is so much more interesting than anything you can make up. I never tire of doing the research,” she says.

While not everything goes smoothly for Moose and his family, Choldenko’s book is a successful combination of thorough research (including a counterfeiting scheme that one character inadvertently gets involved in), convincing characters (especially the well-drawn Natalie and Moose) and kid-enticing elements (including pixies, baseball and eavesdropping on criminals).

CONNECTING WITH READERS

Choldenko loves hearing from her readers, and she often does. In fact, the title of the new book was inspired by a student suggestion from New Jersey (the original title of the book was Al Capone Is My Librarian, but homework ended up fitting the plot well). Perhaps she appreciates such suggestions more than the letter she got from one fan who said, “I was going to write to Roald Dahl, but he was dead, so I wrote to you instead.”

“I love connecting to kids,” she says. “Unlike adults, they will tell you exactly what they think.”

Choldenko is completing research on her next historical novel—with a bit of science thrown in—due out in 2015 from Random House/Penguin. “It is really challenging me,” she says. All the legwork and the writing, though, have proven rewarding. “I just feel blessed. I really love working on these books.”

Al Capone Does My Homework is a fine conclusion to this popular series, which already has more than one million copies in print. Could a movie be next? Choldenko says the first book has been made into a play, and the books have been optioned for films, but nothing is in the works yet, despite requests for a movie from many young readers.

Children—especially boys—remain eager to read more about mobsters, murderers and Alcatraz, and teachers use her books as clever ways to interest kids in history. And while Choldenko realizes the historical aspect is important, she says, “My goal is always to entertain kids first.”

Gennifer Choldenko admits that as a student, she didn’t particularly enjoy history. That’s a bit surprising to hear from an author who received a Newbery Honor for her first historical novel, Al Capone Does My Shirts (2004). Writing historical fiction is certainly the California author’s forte, as evidenced in the final entry in her acclaimed […]

Avi

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Multiple award-winner Avi is a prolific and talented author who is unafraid of trying new formats. With more than 70 books, his canon of work includes almost every genre—contemporary fiction, historical fiction, fantasy, mysteries, YA and short stories. In The Most Important Thing, Avi returns to short stories, providing brief but keenly observant glimpses into the lives of seven boys and the fathers or grandfathers in their lives. He examines this powerful dynamic, this influential bond—which sometimes succeeds and soars, sometimes disappoints and wounds.

On the book jacket, you are quoted as saying, “Writing a short story is like trying to light your way through a dark cave with a tiny birthday candle. The flame may be small, but in the darkness, if the writer has done their job, how bright the light.” Just how hard is it to “shine that light,” to write short-form fiction, compared to the novels and historical fiction for which you’re prominently known?
Writing short stories is a singular challenge for me. I have to decide that is what I’m going to do and prepare myself by reading and rereading great short stories, reminding myself how short stories work. I need to think as a short story writer. 

You’re both a father and a son; how do you answer the question posed in your title? What is the most important thing a father can do for his son?
Over the years I have been parentally responsible for six kids. What I have learned is that the most important thing you can do is love your children. But equally important—and often much harder—is (particularly when they are teenagers) to convince them that you do love them. There are aspects of parenting that can be automatic. But for the most part, it is hard, conscious work. I also think, in our culture, fathers struggle with this more than mothers.

"If boys saw their fathers read, it would make a huge difference. In families where parents read to their children (which has a big impact), more often than not it is the mother that reads. Why not fathers?"

What have you learned as both father and son that helped you form these stories? Is one more personal to you than the others?
The relationship between father and son is complex, changeable and always challenging. It is also deeply rewarding. While fathers and sons obviously share many, many things, they are different people. There is a need to respect these differences, even as there is a need to celebrate the similarities.

My father was a poor father, often psychologically abusive. That said, I learned from him what not to do and be. The story "Beat Up" is based on something that really happened between us.

Most of the stories in this collection aren’t set in a specific geographic place, making them a bit more universal. Was this intentional when you first began to assemble this collection?
I did want to locate them in different places, which allows for different worlds to explore.

The boys in this collection face danger, death, broken families, new relationships and acceptance—or lack thereof. Those are some tough yet very realistic topics. What do you hope readers will take away from this collection?
The goal of all my writing is to entertain and bring emotions to my readers, whether it be excitement, laughter or maybe even fear. Hopefully that will happen here. But just as I don’t think fathers are always willing to grasp the complexity of their son, sons are often not fully understanding of their fathers. Maybe these stories will help with that.

While this book can be enjoyed by any young reader, it will speak to boys—who can be reluctant readers. It’s a constant struggle for parents, librarians and educators to get books into the hands of boys and to keep them interested enough to keep reading. Based on all your experiences as an award-winning writer and father, do you have any advice for getting boys more interested in reading?
In our culture, reading in many ways has been feminized. That’s to say boys generally see more girls and women read than men. If boys saw their fathers read, it would make a huge difference. In families where parents read to their children (which has a big impact), more often than not it is the mother that reads. Why not fathers? And if families can share a book all together that’s the best. Talking about books, characters, plots etc., makes books more of a living experience.

Let boys pick the books they wish to read.

Listening to books (audiobooks) can make an impact.

You’ve been frequently honored for your work, and you’ve been doing it for so many years. What does the process of writing continue to bring to your life? How has it changed, if at all?
I never cease to enjoy the writing of a good story, one that will grab and entertain a reader. That said, writing is hard and, if anything, gets harder, because I want everything I write to be better than the last thing I wrote. Doesn’t always happen, but I try. All day. Most days.

Your next book, The Button War (2018), is a return to one of your fortes, historical fiction. Can you tell us a bit about it?
There is no book until it’s written, and not merely in my head. I can’t wait to write it so I know what it will be about. Till then . . . 

Multiple award-winner Avi is a prolific and talented author and unafraid of trying new formats. With more than 70 books, his canon of work includes almost every genre—contemporary fiction, historical fiction, fantasy, mysteries, YA and short stories. In The Most Important Thing, Avi returns to short stories, providing brief but keenly observant glimpses into the lives of seven boys and the fathers or grandfathers in their lives. He examines this powerful dynamic, this influential bond—which sometimes succeeds and soars, sometimes disappoints and wounds.

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