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From Publisher's Weekly…
In this collection of brief, deceptively casual poetic monologues, Frost (Keesha's House ) brings to life the voices and spirit of a fifth-grade classroom as she spotlights each member of room 214. Themes such as the disappearance of Jon's bike ("Without my bike, my legs are empty. It/ has tricks you have to know to ride it right") and newcomer Shawna's struggle to fit in are replayed from different viewpoints, allowing readers a glimpse of characters' internal conflicts and relationships. Cast slightly apart from her classmates is artistic Naomi, whose haikus about nature ("What's that squirrel doing?/ Naomi, pay attention! / Nose twitch—tail swish—gone...") provide effective transitions between subjects and moods. Like Naomi, Mrs. Williams, the teacher, remains on the sidelines, wistfully observing her students. While jealousies, rifts and misunderstandings among classmates abound, the fifth-graders' ability to unite is poignantly conveyed after one student's father is killed. In a detailed afterword, Frost explains the exact poetic forms used in each entry (in Part I, anything from sestina to rondelet, in Part II, an acrostic whose "armature" is a phrase uttered by the same speaker in Part I). Readers may be surprised at the complexity of rules governing the writing, so naturally does the author seem to capture the poetic essence of the children's voices—and she makes it look like so much fun that readers may want to try out some of the forms themselves. Ages 10-up. (Apr.)
Very sweet book, but too young for most middle schoolers.
From Publisher's Weekly…
This uncommonly polished debut opens on a riveting scenario: 13 teenagers in a small town have each been designated to listen, in secret, to a box of audiotapes recorded by their classmate Hannah and mailed on the very day she commits suicide. “I'm about to tell you the story of my life,” she says. “More specifically, why my life ended. And if you're listening to these tapes, you're one of the reasons why.” Clay, the narrator, receives the tapes a few weeks after the suicide (each listener must send the box to the next, and Hannah has built in a plan to make sure her posthumous directions are followed), and his initial shock turns to horror as he hears the dead girl implicate his friends and acquaintances in various acts of callousness, cruelty or crime. Asher expertly paces the narrative, splicing Hannah's tale with Clay's mounting anxiety and fear. Just what has he done? Readers won't be able to pull themselves away until that question gets answered—no matter that the premise is contrived and the plot details can be implausible. The author gets all the characters right, from the popular girl who wants to insure her status to the boy who rapes an unconscious girl at a party where the liquor flows too freely, and the veneer of authenticity suffices to hide the story's flaws. Asher knows how to entertain an audience; this book will leave readers eager to see what he does next. Ages 13-up. (Oct.)
Good book, although I thought a part or two implausible, but what do I know about suicide? A little mature for 6th graders!
From Publisher's Weekly…
2014 Caldecott and Siebert Awards
In 1869, not long after the golden spike is driven into the rails at Promontory Summit, a mother and her two children climb aboard the Transcontinental Railroad, leaving behind their old life in Omaha for a new one in California, where Papa awaits. Floca (Moonshot) chronicles their journey from multiple perspectives: documentarian, poet, historian, tour guide, and irrepressible railroad geek. With the rhythmic, verselike text that’s become his signature; expressive typography; and handsome, detailed watercolor, ink, and gouache paintings, he celebrates the majestic (the passing western landscape), the marvelous (the engineering and sheer manpower required to keep the engine safely on its course), and the mundane, from the primitiveness of the toilets to the iffiness of depot food (“If the chicken/ tastes like prairie dog,/ don’t ask why”). It’s a magisterial work (even the endpapers command close reading), but always approachable in its artistry and erudition. And readers will come away understanding that the railroad wasn’t just about getting a group of passengers from Point A to Point B; it carried an entire nation into a new, more rapid world: “Faster, faster, turn the wheels,/ faster, faster breathes the engine!/ The country runs by, the cottonwoods and river./ Westward, westward,/ runs the train,/ through the prairies,/ to the Great Plains,/ on to the frontier.” Ages 4–10. (Sept.)
Beautiful book!
From Publisher's Weekly…
Kraus's (The Monster Variations) sophomore novel is a gruesome and meandering work that saps the life (so to speak) out of a potentially fascinating subject. When 16-year-old Joey's mother is killed by a bus, he's sent to live with Ken Harnett, his previously unknown father in Iowa. Harnett is distant and passively abusive, not taking care of his son's food or hygiene needs for days at a time as he travels, and Joey quickly becomes the target of school bullies (including both a jock and a teacher). When Joey discovers that Harnett's business is actually grave robbing, he persuades his father to bring him along. There's little sense of conflict over the morality or ethics of grave robbing, which is matched by Joey's lack of remorse over his revenge on the bullies or those he perceives as having harmed him—something that might be interesting in a character deliberately portrayed as a sociopath, but here feels like an omission. There's little danger or excitement in the grave robbing scenes and nothing new in the dreary, overlong scenes of an outsider at a new school. Ages 14–up. (Apr.)
I actually enjoyed this book, although its pretty long. Good creep factor, but a little old for middle school.
From Publisher's Weekly...
These 16 sonnets grew out of Yolen's lifelong love for Dickinson, who is a neighbor of sorts—her ancestral home is near Yolen's. Written in the voices of Dickinson, her sister, and others, the sonnets are true to Dickinson's sharp eye and quick wit: "There my father, pure and terrible, did call upon his God,/ Who was like him, both a Puritan and grim." Kelley (And the Soldiers Sang) contributes handsome, substantial portraits that convey the solitude and quiet in which Dickinson passed her days. One spread shows the poet reading peaceably in her garden, an apple in her hand, dog at her side; on the title page, she looks directly at readers, her face full of intelligence. Yolen (The Life of Marc Chagall in Verse) supplies a detailed afterword with context and charming anecdotes to accompany each sonnet. (For example, Dickinson once smuggled a box of illicit maple candy to her brother's children with a note instructing, "Omit to return box. Omit to know you received box.") Austere and sharply observant, these sonnets will appeal most to those who already love the poet's work. Ages 11–up. (Nov.)
This is a new book for the LBJ Library, and it is wonderful! I have to admit that I don't like it quite as much as Yolen's other book, The Life of Marc Chagall in Verse, because the biographical information is placed at the end of the book instead of with the poems and pictures.
