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I’m one of the gazillion and one people in the world who think they’re quite a lot like Anne Shirley.
I’d like to think, however, that I have some justification for that. Observe:
We’re both raising a whole slew of children. (Six for Anne, seven for me.)
We both lost a baby.
We both wish our hair was auburn. (Mine’s brown, but my nice friends say it has auburn highlights.)
We’re both married to our best friends.
We’re both a little nerdy, over-competitive, and dramatic.
We’re both addicted to good books and have aspirations to be published.
We both want to add a little more beauty and joy to the world.
I decided to name this blog “Blythe & Bold” in honor of Anne Shirley Blythe and the bold, creative way she lived life as a mother and a creator of small moments of beauty.
The quote above, from Anne’s House of Dreams, sums up my mission for this blog and one of my greatest passions in life.
In my personal life, that means anything from having babies to artfully arranging my husband’s lunch on a plate. It means creating a beautiful environment for our homeschool lessons. It means writing and drawing and arranging flowers, or hand-lettering an inspiring message on a chalkboard outside for my neighbors to see as they drive by.
On this blog, it will mean sharing some of my favorite works of art with you: books and paintings, lovely recipes and beautiful songs. It will mean introducing you to some of my favorite artists, whether the way they make their life a work of art is through traditional creative work, or more overlooked areas of service and kindness and hospitality.
It will mean encouraging you to create some beauty yourself–because you know you want to. After all, you’re probably one of the gazillion and one people who is a whole lot like Anne Shirley, too.
How have you made the world a little more beautiful? Please share it with me in the comments, and maybe I can share some of your work here!
Hello, friends! I’ve moved over to a fresh and shiny new website at faithelizabethhough.com. I still plan on posting regular book reviews and to write lots and lots about writing and creativity. I’m also starting something new: a newsletter for subscribers!
(You guys, I started this a month ago to post on August 15. If you read onto the next paragraph, you’ll see we’ve had some changes around here–but the reason for the delay is actually totally technology’s fault. Hopefully my internet will work better going forward and I can write more! Anyways…sorry for the delay.)
People often ask how I have “so much time to read.” I think I have a new answer. You should probably have eight kids. My eighth little one was born just over a week ago, and I’ve been diving into book after book in between staring at her perfect little fingers and toes. I have wonderful friends and family who have showered us with meals and care–and I can’t even express what a difference it makes having two teenage daughters when I’m postpartum.
Enough about me, though. The rest of this post will be books and cute baby pictures, I promise.
Miraculous, by Caroline Starr Rose, is exactly what I look for in historical fiction. This story of a boy forced to work as an assistant to a charlatan selling a “Miracle Cure” is both poignant and funny by turns, and delves into an area of history that I’ve never seen before in a middle grade book.
While I wouldn’t call Miraculous a “humor book,” the quirky characters and funny situations remind me strongly of the way L. M. Montgomery handled humor. It’s all about writing true to life characters–because human beings are funny. That kind of rounded out character development, along with a masterful use of language, makes this book feel like a classic. It was one of my very favorite reads this year.
The Star that Always Stays, by Anna Rose Johnsonis another MG historical novel (set at the beginning of WWI) that feels like a classic. I read a couple reviews that called it “slow-paced,” but I would argue that “unhurried” is a better word; the pacing is perfect. The story centers around 14-year-old Norvia Nelson, who is struggling to fit into her new stepfamily and new high school while holding onto her Ojibwe heritage. It reminded me of so many of my favorite childhood classics (many of which get some subtle or overt nods throughout the story), but most strongly of Maude Hart Lovelace’s Betsy-Tacy high school stories.
As a Catholic, I may have been more sensitive than most readers to the plot element of Norvia’s mother’s divorce and remarriage, and resulting abandonment of her Catholic faith. I know, I know, we Catholics can be as judgy as the next person, and there always have been and always will be valid reasons to end a relationship. But to me, leaving the faith that formed you is very much akin to abandoning your cultural heritage; in this story, the latter is treated as a tragedy to fight against while the former seems to be accepted casually and without thought. Still, it’s Norvia’s story, not her mother’s, and I was very much rooting for her on her path to acceptance and grace.
I’ll be giving this one a more in depth review soon, because there’s SO MUCH I want to say about it.
Ruta Sepetys’ newest book, I Must Betray You, is like most of her other books in that it spotlights a little-known aspect of history and follows a teenage main character in a country with a corrupt government (this one is set in 1980’s Romania). Also like her other books, it made me cry and made me grateful for life.
What Happened to Rachel Riley? by Claire Swinarski. You guys. Contemporary middle grade is a hard sell for me. I have a hard time with any book that is about “issues.” I’m old-fashioned and love more old-fashioned voices. I’m hard to please. You probably wouldn’t expect me to love a contemporary story told partly through texts and emails, about sexual harassment. But I LOVED this. It’s sensitive and well-written and full of grace. It comes out in February, and you can expect a full review closer to that date. In the meantime, do yourself a favor and pre-order.
Celia’s House, by D. E. Stevenson. Have you read any D. E. Stevenson? She’s a new author to me, and her early to mid Twentieth century books are perfect for those of us who wished more L. M. Montgomery adult stories existed. This wasn’t exactly up to my Blue Castle standard, but I enjoyed it very much! Read it so we can discuss whether Stevenson deliberately gave it Mansfield Park vibes.
Well, I have a baby to cuddle with two hands now. Let me know in the comments if you’ve read any of these books, or give me some ideas for my September reading!
From the time I was ten to the year I turned thirteen, there was no place I’d rather go than the Millcreek Mall in Erie, PA. Like so many of my peers, I’d beg my mother to drive me over–and like the good mother she was, she’d comply. I’d rush out of the car and into the mall so I could hang out with some of my best friends.
The friends happened to be fictional, and my favorite place to go in the mall (really the only place I wanted to go besides maybe the food court) happened to be an in-building branch of the Erie Public Library. But…whatever. I can pretend I was normal.
So who were those best friends I spent my tween years with? Anne Shirley, Betsy Ray, Bilbo Baggins, Sara Crewe, Eustace Scrubb. Every character Louisa May Alcott wrote (in her children’s stories, at least). To this day, if you want to become friends with me very quickly, all you need is the implied recommendation of one of my fictional squad. Tell me you’re a fan of Maud Hart Lovelace, and you get to be my friend for life. Recently, a dear friend of mine–one of those women with whom I just instantly connected–came over to my house and saw my [extensive] L. M. Montgomery shelf. “Oh, my goodness!” she said. “This is like my childhood on a shelf. L. M. Montgomery books made me who I am today. They were incredibly formative.” And suddenly our instant connection made sense. We may not have spoken about it right away, but we’d been hanging out in the same crowd for years.
Imagine how I felt when I first saw the cover of Mitali Perkin’s non-fiction work, Steeped in Stories.There, right on the dust jacket, was evidence that the author and I were clearly friends who just hadn’t met yet: beautifully emblazoned on illustrated leaves were the names of my favorite creators: Montgomery, Lovelace, Lewis, Tolkien, Burnett, Spyri, Alcott. I was right at home. These are my people.
After cracking open the book, I found that Mitali Perkins does indeed love my people just as much as I do–and she loves them enough to ask them some really hard questions. Not out of hatred or woke-ism or whatever you want to call it–but truly out of love and a desire for the truth. Why, Lewis (or “Uncle Jack,” as Mitali calls him), did you use racial stereotypes? How, Aunt Frances [Burnett], could you be so blasé about the destruction British colonialism wreaked upon India? What did you really think, Aunt Maud [Montgomery], about orphans and French Canadians and minorities? In doing so, she allows us to grapple with these same questions while still appreciating all the good to be found in these stories. The good that I found as a lonely tween “military brat” who’d moved around a lot. The good that had formed Mitali as a lonely tween daughter of Bengali immigrants, reading on the fire escape of her New York apartment.
In a society that finds it very hard to grapple with problems and find good at the same time (canceling is so much easier, isn’t it?), Mitali Perkins’ book seems almost revolutionary. Instead of ignoring issues, she faces them head-on with love and candor, inviting readers to find solutions by doing so themselves–and, instead of striking books out of our to-read lists and off our shelves, by reading more widely and more diversely. Good, common sense.
Add to all this one more element. Mitali organizes her discussion of each story by vice and virtue. Drawing on wisdom from ancient Greece, Thomas Aquinas, the Catechism, and even Pope Francis, she delves into each book’s themes of good and evil in their various incarnations. In doing so, she reminds us yet again that the greatest of children’s literature is not just for children. It is entertaining and beneficial for children, certainly, but we grown-ups are hardly too old for it. If we’re not learning how to be better people through our encounters with Bilbo Baggins and Heidi, we’re not paying enough attention. This review has been a long time coming, as I read Steeped in Storiesshortly after its release last year. That happened to be a rather turbulent time in the world and rather full time in my own life. But just like the books she champions, Mitali Perkins’ book provides a panacea to the turbulence and hecticness of life. Steeped in Storiesis a lovely reminder that we humans have been in this together for as long as scribes penned stories or raconteurs shared them. If you’ve been feeling overwhelmed or discouraged or scared by the current happenings in the world, then the time is perfect to pull Auntie Mitali’s (may I?) own book and favorite books off the shelves. Steep yourself in the comfort and challenge and reassurance of a good book.
Twelve is a hard age. Your body is changing, your thought processes are changing–maybe the world isn’t changing any more than it used to, but you’re noticing it now. I clearly remember spending the year I was twelve in a sort of survival mode. I desperately wanted to stay the same. My friends had no such intentions.
When I read The Kate in Between, by Claire Swinarski, I immediately found 12-year-old myself on its pages: not in Kate, the main character, but in her erstwhile best friend Haddie–the clueless but confident kid who wears weird clothes and reads tons of books and has passionate interests and isn’t troubled about fitting in as long as she has a best friend by her side. I may have been more subdued than Haddie, but boy could I feel her pain when Kate decided that a lifelong friendship wasn’t as important as fitting in with the popular crowd.
Here’s where the magic of good writing came in. Because the story is Kate’s, not Haddie’s. So I got to follow Kate–see Kate’s intentions, Kate’s rationale, Kate’s hurts. Far from being so stuck in the POV of the character like myself, I found myself cheering on one very unlike myself. This book does an incredible job of showing the reader how most of us really are somewhere “in between.” Kate is first lauded as a hero when she saves Haddie’s life, but she knows the reality is that her actions may have landed Haddie in danger in the first place. When the truth comes out, she’s reviled as a bully–but that isn’t 100% true either. Following Kate’s narration and thoughts throughout the story gives a dramatic bird’s-eye view of the wibbly-wobbly mess and wonder that is being human and being a friend–and, especially, that is being twelve.
This is a must-read for all my kids–it will go on the shelf with Shannon Hale’s Real Friends as a textbook for navigating tween friendships. Like Hale’s book, it’s also very funny and a pleasure to read. Also like Hale’s book, it’s one of the rare middle grade stories that portrays faith in a way that is at once background to the story and intrinsic to who the characters are–and I love that.
For more Marvelous Middle Grade Monday recommendations, check out Greg’s blog, Always in the Middle: https://gpattridge.com
About 5 out of 7 days of the week I end up encouraging someone I know (or maybe a complete stranger) to try something new or develop a skill they already have and to make some art. My family *might* roll their eyes a little now. To be fair, I tell myself the same thing just as often. And one area that I’ve really hoped to develop is my love for watercolor painting. So when I was offered the chance to review Emily Lex’s watercolor products, you better believe I jumped at the chance!
Emily sent me her two watercolor workbooks, links to her online classes for adults and kids, and sets of her “Truth for Today” cards for kids and adults. Let me take these one at a time…
The watercolor workbooks, one on painting animals and one on florals, far exceeded my expectations. Each two-page spread contains on one side a “finished” picture, a selection of the colors you’ll want to use for your palette, and step by step instructions, with the opposite page having a lightly sketched outline for you to paint onto–so if you’d like to jump into watercoloring without developing your drawing skills first, this is perfect. The paper is thick and beautiful, and the printing and binding of excellent quality. While marketed toward adults, this would make a perfect gift for any budding artist above the age of seven or eight, in my opinion.
Next, the watercolor classes. My four oldest girls (14, 11, 10, and 7) tried out the class for kids, and ended up producing some beautiful paintings which unfortunately I wasn’t able to photograph before they disappeared! They loved the class, but their one critique was that the first few videos–about supplies and basic technique–were a little dull to them. As a background, they know a lot more about painting than your average beginner, so this might be just them–but parents may wish to preview these videos in case they’d like to skip over. Altogether, though, Emily’s instruction style was excellent. There was no talking down, no assuming that children weren’t capable of making real art. I loved that, and so did the kids. I’d highly recommend this class for anyone six and up.
The adult class was equally clear and engaging. I’m already planning on gifting it to a couple of my friends who have expressed interest in learning to watercolor! While it wasn’t new to me, my favorite was the lesson on brush lettering, as so many other watercolor classes exclude that–and it’s really, really fun to do.
The girls enjoyed watching the adult class with me, too!
Below you can see the result of a couple of the lessons. I was very pleased!
I ended up hand lettering a favorite St. Therese quote on the painting above and watercoloring some florals around the hand-lettering, but these are straight after finishing the lessons.
Lastly, the Truth for Today cards. Honestly, I wasn’t too interested in these–so they ended up being the best surprise of the package. I LOVE them! Each small square card contains a scripture verse and an accompanying watercolor image by Emily. It’s been such a little bit of joy each day to choose a verse and set the card on the included brass stand. My entire family looks forward to this new, little routine that adds a touch more peace and trust into our days. Again, I’m planning on ordering these for friends, I love them so much.
I hope this review has done justice to these wonderful products! You can check out Emily Lex’s site–and be sure to look into a giveaway she’s running!–here:
Imagine me, about five or six years ago, up waaayyy past my bedtime to finish Greenglass House by Kate Milford. I shut the book and turn off my light, basking in that -just-finished-an-amazing-book feeling–you know the one. But I can’t fall asleep. So as soon as my baby wakes up to nurse, I take the excuse to grab my laptop and do a little research.
I’m a full grown, college-educated adult, and I had to google “Is Nagspeake a real place?” because I have rarely encountered a fictional world so believable and compelling. I mean, I wanted Narnia to be real. I daydreamed about slipping into Middle Earth. But I knew they were made up. With Kate Milford’s Nagspeake…I just had to check to be sure. And, reader, in case your own googling brought you here for some reason–no, Nagspeake is all made up. But seeing as you might not be able to travel in the real world for a while yet, you should definitely travel to Nagspeake via your local library or bookstore as soon as possible.
The thing that brings Nagspeake to life is the layers of world-building that Kate Milford brings to the story. She reminds me a bit of Tolkien in this way, actually–because not only does her town have a physical presence and history and evolving character, it has story and legend and music and song. In Greenglass House, the main character Milo reads a series of stories gathered in “The Raconteur’s Commonplace Book,” stories which are integral to the plot of Milford’s book. Like Tolkien with The Silmarillion, Milford decided to bring those stories to life by actually writing the thing. And it’s SO GOOD.
Instead of “merely” being a collection of stories, The Raconteur’s Commonplace Book is a series of puzzles within puzzles, all framed by stories and characterizations (oh, and gorgeous illustrations) that bring it all as vividly to life as her other works. I was surprised when I realized, “Wait, this is a novel as well as a bunch of stories!” and at that point I couldn’t stop turning pages.
I really don’t feel that I can say much more without major spoilers. I will give the warning that this is probably excellent on its own but would be highly enhanced by having a knowledge of Nagspeake from Milford’s other books, at least Greenglass House and Ghosts of Greenglass House.
Luckily, those books are good enough to keep you up way past your bedtime, so if you haven’t read them…. You know, do yourself a favor.
I admit it: I’m a sucker for animal stories. I love the fairy-world bits of miniaturism you can add to their stories. (Tiny hats from acorns! Petite homes in tree trunks! I’m all there for it.) I enjoy the fact that animals are automatically diverse, and that I can see myself in, say, a hedgehog, whereas I might feel so different from an English queen or space-age teenage boy that it’s hard to identify–and that an English queen or teenage boy might be able to find themselves in the hedgehog just as well.
I also really love the wild weirdness of The Wizard of Oz. And Cory Leonardo won my devotion in her sweet and funny first book, The Simple Art of Flying. So you know I jumped on the chance to read her newest release, The Hedgehog of Oz, when it was offered on Netgalley.
The story follows a hedgehog named Marcel who lives in an old, beautiful movie theater. He dines on spilled popcorn and fruit gems (strawberry ones are his favorite) and enjoys the camaraderie of two chickens, “Uncle” Henrietta and “Aunty” Hen, that wandered into the theater as well. He lives in hope that one day his human girl Dorothy will come into the theater for a Saturday viewing of their favorite movie, The Wizard of Oz, so he can right the wrong he committed and they can be reunited.
But soon Marcel is thrown into an Oz-worthy adventure of his own, complete with yellow roads, flying beasts, and companions who know a thing or two about brains, heart, and courage. Of course, he must learn–just like Dorothy in the book and film–how to use his own brain, heart, and boldness to make his way back home where he belongs.
As in The Simple Art of Flying, Cory Leonardo proves here that she is a master of character development–especially the type of quirky and lovable characters that I seem to love the best in books for young readers. Marcel is a delightful little hedgehog, but he may be eclipsed in delightfulness by his companions, a scarecrow of a mouse named Scamp, an old squirrel named Ingot, and a baby raccoon called Tuffy. Scamp the mouse, in particular, was a superb character who joins the ranks of Reepicheep of Narnia and Matthias of Redwall as Mice to Remember.
If you don’t love The Wizard of Oz, you may find the overt and frequent references to that book/movie a little much. I did pause a few times during the first half of the book to consider whether even I found them overdone–but I will honestly say that by the second half of the book, Marcel’s story became so compelling on its own that I couldn’t be bothered to consider any longer. I just wanted to see what happened–even if I was pretty sure he was going to end up facing a witch, meeting a good fairy, and ending up with “no place like home.” (He did, and it was perfect.)
I already hand-sold this title to an eight-year-old reader (and her mom) who I happened to see glancing at it at our local bookstore, and I will heartily recommend it here to readers of the 7-10 range most especially, particularly if they like animal stories or Oz! Parents of young but gifted readers will be grateful for a story that is gentle enough for a seven-year-old, yet compelling enough to maintain their interest.
As a long-time homeschooling mother (yep, I was one of those people teaching my kids at home before it was cool) and a former homeschool student, I do my best to stay on top of books that represent homeschooled children. And, honestly…? It’s not hard. There are few enough books that have a homeschooled character as a primary or even secondary character that I can easily keep up. (Can this year of learning at home for the general public change that, authors, please?) Quite often, unfortunately, descriptions of homeschoolers fall into the same old stereotypes (you can read my review of Alice’s Farmfor more on that topic). I’m pleased to say that today’s book gets homeschooling right.
Here is the description from the publisher:
In a small Virginia town outside a mysterious government facility, four homeschooled teenagers investigate a series of murders and other crimes while wrestling with challenges of faith, family, and the transition from childhood to adulthood.
A tragic explosion devastates the town of Steven’s Mill, Virginia. Was it an accident or was it part of a larger plot to take over the town and shut down the work going on at the secret command center?
This first book in the “Mount Hideaway Mysteries” series of books and movies sets the stage for all the action and adventure to come.
This series features gripping drama and entertainment from a faith-based perspective. Teens and adults in the stories wrestle with tragedy, danger, and relationships while they also pursue their relationships with God.
What I liked: I really enjoyed reading about homeschoolers without constantly rolling my eyes at the stereotypes (What about socialization? Can you go to college? Don’t you miss riding the bus?) cropping up every other page or so. If you’re curious what it looks like to be part of a homeschool co-op (just one type of homeschooling, where parents teach classes one or two days a week to a larger group of students, rather than just their own kids) in highschool, I can’t actually think of any other book to refer you to.
I also enjoyed that the characters live out–as well as struggle with–their Christian faith, without proselytising being the main point of the book. While faith is central to the story, there is a separate, distinct plot. I loved how faith is so integral to the characters’ lives that it’s part of the plot and setting and character growth without being in your face about it.
The plot was fun–very reminiscent of Nancy Drew, if Nancy was a homeschooled Christian teenager in Virginia.
What I didn’t love: Unfortunately, there were a lot of copyediting fails in this self-published work. And here’s the thing: I presume homeschoolers are going to be the main audience of this book. If there’s one stereotype about homeschoolers that might be true, it’s that we tend to go a little bit crazy on the grammar and copyediting. (Okay, okay, not all homeschoolers are grammar police…but a lot of us are. Inordinately so. Trust me–one of them will almost definitely find a typo on this post and let me know about it… ;)) So the character names’ changing spelling randomly, the sentence fragments, the lack of consistent formatting may drive the target audience a little crazy.
I also found the characters to be a little similar for my taste. Sometimes they were described in one way but seemed to act in a very different way.
This is just me–but I am NOT a fan of books ending on a cliff hanger, with unresolved plot points.
Ultimately, if you’re looking for books that accurately represent Christian and homeschooled characters, take a look! But be prepared to brush over some copyediting issues (here’s hoping they can address those soon so this will appeal to a wider audience).
If you’re interested in reading this book, go check out the website, where you can read the first two chapters for free: https://www.mounthideaway.com
Imagine someone coming up to you and saying, “Hey, you know that book you love? Someone wrote a sequel! Remember the main character? Yeah, so the story starts with him dead now, and it’s all about how the secondary character is dealing with the resulting grief. It’s amazing. You should read it.”
So… I’ll try not to start my post in quite that upbeat manner. I’m not sure exactly what Gary D. Schmidt was thinking, but… he killed off Holling Hoodhood, friends. If you loved The Wednesday Wars as much as I did, then you may need a moment or two to process this. Grab some chocolate. Shout dramatically about, “Who do authors think they are anyway, playing God like that?!” Slowly sip a cup of tea. I’m sorry. I know Holling may just have been a fictional character, but the grief is real.
Feeling a little better? Okay.
Yeah, so… this book is amazing! You should read it!
Despite being cruel and unusual and making me rethink the power placed in my hands as a writer, Schmidt’s decision to begin Just Like That with the death of a beloved character (technically, he places it slightly in the past as the book begins) achieved the result of pulling you instantly into the emotions of the new main character, Meryl Lee Kowalski. Even if you’ve never read The Wednesday Wars, you’d feel for Meryl Lee. But if you share the tiniest bit of her love for Holling Hoodhood, you’ll cry a little yourself and feel her shock and understand what she means when she speaks of a great, big Blank of grief following her around all the time, threatening to overcome her.
And then, in case you thought Mr. Schmidt had tricked you into feeling such strong emotion based solely upon the fact that you know Holling and Meryl Lee, he introduces another character: Matt Coffin, who stands by the shore of Maine skipping stones and somehow–just like that–ingratiates himself into your affections and you know you will not stop reading his story or Meryl Lee’s either unless absolutely compelled to do so by the events of your real life. And you really hope they don’t compel you too much.
Now let’s see if I can give you a little plot. Meryl Lee, horrified by the prospect of returning to the school which she and Holling attended together, is sent to St. Elene’s, a prestigious all-girls’ boarding school in New England, where she sticks out like a sore country bumpkin thumb in a world of rich, sophisticated students. Matt Coffin, skipper of stones, is running away from something and doesn’t want to talk about it, not even to the kindly old woman who find him on the shore and skips some stones along with him before inviting him to her table, or the curmudgeonly lobster boat captain who takes him on as an apprentice of sorts.
Meryl Lee, perhaps spurred on by the injustice of her friend’s death, spots injustices all around her at St. Elene’s and makes it her mission to right what she can, even as she’s belittled and ridiculed by her classmates and a particularly nasty teacher. Matt, meanwhile, just wants to feel safe–but his past inevitably catches up with him and puts everyone he’s growing to love in danger.
I don’t want to spoil the story with any further plot, although I will say that Just Like That has more easily articulated plot than many a Gary D. Schmidt novel–he’s so wonderfully good at character growth that you’d follow his characters around if they did pretty much nothing. This one, however, is full of mission and danger and conflict, and it is incredibly, don’t-read-it-when-you-need-to-fall-asleep, tense.
But. It’s still the characters that keep you reading. It’s the human nature of it all. It’s the deep-down trust in the goodness of humanity that Schmidt exudes that makes you turn page after page in wonder.
In all fairness, I’ll say that one plot point fell a little short, fitting too handily and leaving me shrugging at such a coincidence. But honestly–I couldn’t care less. That humanity sold me.
You can purchase Just Like That from your local indie bookstore by clicking on this link: Shop your local indie bookstore
I’m an affiliate, so I will receive a tiny percentage of each sale. Thank you!
P.S. I couldn’t fit this into the review, but I’m a mother of a 13-year-old girl, so I feel compelled to add a caveat: as wonderful as this story was, I wasn’t completely comfortable with the intensity of the romantic interest between 13-year-old characters. There’s a lot of kissing. It’s never described in a sensual way and it always serves the plot–but…they’re 13. 1) A lot of 13-year-olds out there are actually put off by this kind of romance in a story (I was, at that age), and 2)….they’re 13. I would have found it completely ok if the characters were 16 or 17, I think. As it was, because of the characters’ backgrounds, I wasn’t totally against it. It worked in the plot. But you might want to give the story a read before handing it to your middle schooler. (Actually, you want to anyway, or you won’t get a chance to read it until your middle schooler is through. So just take this excuse.)
P.P.S. Thanks to the publisher and Netgalley for providing me with the e-book to review!
For today’s Marvelous Middle Grade Monday, I’m linking up with the folks at “In the Middle” and featuring a middle grade book that took me by surprise: 365 Days to Alaska, by Cathy Carr.
Here is the summary from the publisher:
Eleven-year-old Rigel Harman loves her life in off-the-grid Alaska. She hunts rabbits, takes correspondence classes through the mail, and plays dominoes with her family in their two-room cabin. She doesn’t mind not having electricity or running water—instead, she’s got tall trees, fresh streams, and endless sky. But then her parents divorce, and Rigel and her sisters have to move with their mom to the Connecticut suburbs to live with a grandmother they’ve never met. Rigel hates it in Connecticut. It’s noisy, and crowded, and there’s no real nature. Her only hope is a secret pact that she made with her father: If she can stick it out in Connecticut for one year, he’ll bring her back home. At first, surviving the year feels impossible. Middle school is nothing like the wilderness, and she doesn’t connect with anyone . . . until she befriends a crow living behind her school. And if this wild creature has made a life for itself in the suburbs, then, just maybe, Rigel can too. 365 Days to Alaska is a wise and funny debut novel about finding beauty, hope, and connection in the world no matter where you are—even Connecticut.
If you know me, you’ll know that summary just tweaked a couple of sensitive points. As a former homeschooler and current homeschooling mom, my radar is always out for portrayals of homeschooling–and I’ve become less tolerant when they’re done poorly and fall into cliches and stereotypes. I’m also a Connecticut transplant who has found it possible to live at least somewhat off the land, even in a suburb of a big city. I confess that the main reason I wanted to read this book was to make sure it didn’t spread any untruths about homeschooling, Connecticut, or subsistence living. It’s not really the best attitude with which to approach a book.
And then… I was blown away. Cathy Carr takes a fairly commonly-done theme and plot and makes it shine with perfect characterizations, believable struggles and emotional arcs, and just plain excellent writing. I absolutely loved this.
Let me address a few of those sensitive points:
I loved that, despite depicting a fairly sheltered life in Alaska, the author never blamed homeschooling itself for any lack of social grace or awareness. In fact, by contrasting shy Rigel with her outgoing sisters, Cathy Carr demonstrates that personality, more than educational-style, will effect a child’s social skills. A large part of the book also focuses on the failings of the school system in allowing for good social interactions–all the bullying and peer pressure that is so much a part of that environment. This was all balanced and true-to-life. I so appreciate that the hackneyed “homeschooled kid learns to thrive in school environment” theme was completely eschewed in favor of a theme that allowed for real personal growth.
I could have gone for a slightly more nuanced view of Connecticut. We do have farms and nature sanctuaries and some good, old-fashioned small towns. We’re not Alaska. But we’re not all Fairfield County rich kids. Even Fairfield County rich kids aren’t all Fairfield County rich kids. That said, Cathy Carr again avoided the most harmful stereotypes, so I appreciated that. She also showed how beautifully diverse our state is. I know it’s impossible to show an entire culture in one story, and Rigel was exposed to only one small bit of CT.
The off-the-grid lifestyle was shown to be difficult and impressive, rather than odd and unbalanced–even while showing its common pitfalls. Yes, an 11-year-old kid uses a gun to hunt. But it’s clear that this 11-year-old has been taught more gun safety than your average middle aged guy. She respects the gun as a dangerous tool and wouldn’t use it lightly. Her parents allow her to hunt because she is responsible and capable. This all could so easily have been twisted into disrespect for those who live such an extreme lifestyle–but it wasn’t.
Finally, I have to add that 365 Days to Alaska is an excellent family story. Like another recent favorite, What Happens Next, it shows that sister relationships are worth fighting for.
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Blythe & Bold 