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“It is true that fairy tales have an effect, but it is a healthy, nurturing, cathartic effect, not a fault. Using archetypes and symbolic language, they externalize for the listener conflicts and situations that cannot be spoken of or explained or as yet analyzed. They give substance to dreams.” (p 44)

In a time in which fantasy tales are often under challenge, Yolen makes a strong case for their importance in Touch Magic. She believes that, more than magic and mythical creatures, these stories are about acts of kindness or deceit, action and consequence, and the constant struggle to find a way to fit into the world you inhabit. As a result, “even very young children can absorb the meanings and wisdom of these symbolically expressed ancient tales and use them as tools for interpreting their own day-to-day experiences” (p 17.)

With Part One: The Tale and the Teller, Yolen takes the reader back to the root of fantasy, to the oral tales that have molded nearly every piece of fantasy that has followed, and how each changed as they were written down, taking on the morals and ideologies of the cultures and times during which they were recorded. From Cinderella to Red Riding Hood, she skillfully discusses fairy tale variants, maintaining that the original story, which often refused to shy away from pain and violence, is a more honest reflection of humanity than the versions that children are presented with today. She states: “They are the most potent kind of magic, these tales, for they catch a glimpse of the soul beneath the skin” (p 50.)

While this section is incredibly informative and thoughtful, Yolen dismisses some of the more modern adaptations of fairy tales, mostly those put forth by Walt Disney. The frequency with which she relies on pointing out the problems with his version of these stories comes across as a bit heavy-handed. And while she argues quite well as to why children do not need a watered down version of these tales, surely Disney’s adaptations have some importance in the landscape of fantasy, if only to use as a counterpoint for children to work out on their own.

From there, Yolen focuses on the quest aspect of fantasy stories, and how looking more closely at the metaphors inherent in each serves as a human touchstone. “[The] tensions of the stories carry us past the unbelievability of the magic into the credibility of miracles in our everyday lives” (p 61); it’s a potent thought, one that isn’t often mentioned when someone hints at the need to censor these stories because they fear they will send children down the wrong path.

“Why do those of us who love stories with layers of meaning have to defend our interest, as if that very interest makes us less capable citizens, wimps, nerds, or in league with the very devil?” (p 120)

Touch Magic is a wonderful and thought-provoking look at a genre that is often derided; as a librarian, I cannot say how many times I’ve heard a young reader say that a parent does not want them reading another fantasy story, and after reading this book I feel better armed to defend the genre’s place in their lives.

National Geographic Kids. March 2008.

Packed with cool science, abundant in animal tales, and filled with fun jokes and activities, National Geographic Kids is a wonderful magazine for young readers.

The March 2008 issue opens with “Weird but true: 9 Outrageous Facts”; the magazine walks the line of informational and silly, which is sure to capture the interest in kids who enjoy learning about various things from countries to snails. From there, the magazine takes a look at pop culture, in this case the movie Horton Hears a Who, and covers animals from the wild to the domestic.

One of the most appealing traits of National Geographic Kids are the full color, glossy photographs and illustrations. Each page has lavish imagery; while the pictures never overwhelms the text and the message behind the articles, they are a nice addition and will surely hold a younger reader’s attention.

A highly recommended magazine for inclusion in any library’s collection.

Winter, Jeanette. 2002. Emily Dickinson’s Letters to the World. New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux.

When Emily Dickinson died in 1886, she left behind an astonishing number of poems; she considered her work letters to the world.

Winter frames the story of Emily Dickinson’s life by her sister’s discovery of her poems after her death; Lavinia begins by taking the reader through a brief tour of their Amherst house, picking up Dickinson’s white clothes and explaining during which months she wore them. It is a brief sketch of a complicated life that provides young readers with little of Emily Dickinson’s life. Instead of fleshing out her story, Winter relies on Dickinson’s poems to speak for her, and with an older audience this may be an acceptable way to go about it. While the poems are lovely and meaningful, they serve as more of an introduction to her work than to her life.

Winter’s illustrations are charming and are reminiscent of a skilled child’s attempt to paint the world around them. The illustrations also illuminate points of the poems that Winter chose to include in the book.

Blumberg, Rhoda. 2001. Shipwrecked!: The true adventures of a Japanese Boy. New York: HarperCollins.

Though not yet out of his teens, Manjiro was charged with the role of head of his household in Nakahama, Japan. A fisherman by inheritance, Manjiro sailed out with a small group of others to fish the waters around their hometown only to be caught in a horrendous storm that would shipwreck them on an island. Rescued by American whalers, Manjiro went on to become not only one of the first of his countrymen to step foot on American soil, but also to have an education, adventures traveling the world, and to finally return home and be elevated to the status of a samurai.

With an abrupt beginning, Blumberg sets the reader, with a hint of Manjiro’s background as a boy, into the center of the storm that shipwrecked him and his fellow fisherman on Torishima island. While a factual recounting of his life, the pace is quick as Blumberg recounts major landmarks in Manjiro’s time spent abroad before returning to Japan. Manjiro’s story is fascinating, as is the look at feudal Japan, and the whaling industry in the United States during the 1800s. Of particular note are several mentions of Herman Melville, which, in their own way, anchor the reader in the knowledge of how Melville came to write Moby Dick.

The structure of Shipwrecked! was nicely handled; the amount of text fails to intimidate due to the number of photographs and illustrations that help paint the picture of Manjiro’s life. Among the supplementary illustrations are some done by Manjiro himself, which, perhaps above anything else, helps the reader realize that they are in actuality reading a true story. A lovely choice, the cover of Shipwrecked! features what has surely become an iconic Japanese image, that of Katsushika Hokusai’s “Great Wave off the Coast of Kanagowa.”

Blumberg’s book provides a wealth of information that is simultaneously fascinating and absorbing; highly recommended to any young reader who yearns to be an armchair traveler or simply wants to learn more about a young boy’s life and the many turns it took after being Shipwrecked! away from home.

Brown, Don. 2003. American Boy: The Adventures of Mark Twain. Boston: Houghton Mifflin Company.

Samuel Clemens, born in Missouri in 1835, had an auspicious beginning: Halley’s comet marked the sky that very night. His life from there was one of adventure, of times spent with friends, listening to stories and playing in and along the banks of the Mississippi River. When he grew old enough to support himself, he held a number of odd jobs, but his true calling was to take all of the things he knew and mold them into stories that are cherished to this day, and to do so as a man named Mark Twain.

In American Boy, Brown presents a very brief look at the life of Samuel Clemens, outlining relevant pieces of information while maintaining a storytelling quality to the narrative. Young readers will be much more likely to relate to Samuel Clemens through his escapades and as a result they may be inclined to retain information, such as the various terms for water depth, or one of the jobs Clemens took up during his lifetime. The Note at the conclusion of the book contains one piece of information that would have made a lasting impression had it been included in the regular course of the book: On the night of Clemens death, Halley’s comet again streaked through the sky.

Also responsible for the illustrations, Brown’s watercolor sketches paint a simple picture of life along the river, capturing a myriad of adventuresome moments in Clemens’s life. They are a nice addition even if the book could stand alone without them.

Le Guin, Ursula K. 1968 / 2004. A Wizard of Earthsea. New York: Bantam Dell.

Ged, son of Ten Alders’s bronze-smith, displayed a skill for magic at an early age. On the day he wielded that skill to save his village, Ged fell ill, taxed by the effort it took; the wizard, Ogion, came and lifted the malady, and offered Ged the opportunity to become his apprentice. The young Ged, always prideful and quick to anger, would follow a path that would lead him into the dangerous world of casting spells that he knew nothing about, unleashing an evil that would dog his steps as a painful result.

The wonder of magic and fantasy lifts from the very first page of Le Guin’s classic Earthsea series. The language is exquisite, conveying the beauty of Ged’s surroundings, explaining the how’s of magical power. Young readers who appreciate the art of writing will find a lot in this novel to love. The fantasy elements and the landscape of Earthsea, described richly and thoroughly, will capture readers’ attention immediately, and the fact that Le Guin takes the time to explore how magic works may ground the book enough for those uncomfortable with the genre.

However, the story itself, based around a young boy who is anything but sympathetic, might be hard to follow. Ged is thirteen at the start of the tale, but there is little inherent good in him; young readers may be entirely unable to relate to his character, and, in fact, may be happier to see him stumble along the way than to root for him when he finds himself in trouble.

The fact that Earthsea was turned into a movie may encourage some younger readers to pick up the book, but the adaptation is only very loosely based on the novel, and will only serve as a guide to a well written fantasy story.

DuPrau, Jeanne. 2004. The City of Ember. New York: Random House.

Lina and Doon, friends who had grown apart over the years, must come together to determine the extent of the trouble their city is in. Each day there are more shortages in Ember, fewer food staples and clothing items to go around, and the lights go off for longer intervals then ever before. The citizens are starting to panic and Lina and Doon decide there’s only one thing they can do: Take matters into their own hands and fix whatever is going wrong in Ember. Their search to uncover the solution to the city’s problem will land them in trouble and down a path filled with danger and adventure and, quite possibly, a way out.

The City of Ember is an interesting blend of mystery and science fiction. The children undertake a task based on a clue Lina finds in her apartment; their sleuthing leads to a bit of trouble, and exposes the distrust that children can occasionally feel towards adults, especially when they believe they are not being taken seriously. This aspect is believable and relatable, grounding the novel in reality even as the science fiction elements, that of an entire city being built and maintained underground, may seem implausible.

This novel, the first in the Books of Ember series, is a plot driven piece; characters, on the other hand, act without clear motivation, and are often underdeveloped. The reader is witness to Doon’s anger issues, and there is an explanation that is lightly touched upon, but he never truly struggles to control it; this trait seems to be solved in a lesson learned too quickly. Secondary characters, such as Lina’s neighbor and eventual foster parent of sorts, Mrs. Murdo, is portrayed in a way that hints at a great back story, but it’s one of many that is never explored. Even the mayor, the villain of the piece, is one dimensional.

If readers can get passed a sluggish beginning, if they can weather out inconsistencies, they might enjoy this apocalyptic story enough to want to move on to the next in the series. It wouldn’t be one, however, that I could personally recommend with much enthusiasm.

Bellairs, John. 2004. The House With a Clock in Its Walls. Illustrated by Edward Gorey. New York: Penguin Group.

After the death of his parents, Lewis Barnavelt is sent to live with his Uncle Jonathan. When he arrives in New Zebedee, Lewis is surprised to find that he likes his Uncle, the mansion he’s to call home, and Mrs. Zimmermann, Uncle Jonathan’s best friend. He also discovers that magical abilities run in his family. In a misguided attempt to hang on to a friend, Lewis tries his hand at magic, bringing to life a woman capable of ending the world. Unless he and his Uncle have something to say about it, that is.

The House With a Clock in Its Walls is a safe introduction to fantasy for children who’ve yet to explore the genre; emphasis is placed on building a macabre atmosphere bolstered by magic rather than a new world filled with inventive if intimidating language and creatures of imagination. What children will encounter in this book is a real boy with real problems and insecurities, someone they can relate to, who happens to be able to see an illusionary scene straight out of the Battle of Waterloo.

A fantastic addition to the story is Edward Gorey’s illustrations; even without the aid of Bellairs’s words, Gorey’s illustrations would have conveyed the story. Suitably somber and dark, Gorey’s pictures also help children realize a little bit of the magic, showing them what is happening if they can’t make the leap and conjure it on their own.

Thompson, Jill. 1999. Scary Godmother. Dover, NJ: Sirius Entertainment.

Hannah Marie is so excited to go trick-or-treating with the big kids; she has complete faith in her cousin, Jimmy, and the flashlight her father gives her to ward away the monsters. When Jimmy tricks her, though, Hannah confronts all of the creatures that go bump in the night, and gets back at her cousin with the help of her Scary Godmother.

Jill Thompson’s charming story and sweet gothic illustrations make for a fun reading experience. What makes it even better, however, is that there is no age limit on this tale; children, teens, and even adults are likely to find something to enjoy here. Halloween, while fun, can be scary, too, and this story takes a little bit of the bite out of it, which makes Scary Godmother perfect for a themed story hour or to read traditionally on October 31st.

Scary Godmother is a wonderful mix of picture book and graphic novel, and because of the blend of straight narrative with comic book panels, it serves a very nice introduction to a new format for younger readers. Highly recommended.

Eisner, Will. 2000. The Last Knight: An Introduction to Don Quixote. New York: Nantier, Beall, Minoustchine Publishing, Inc.

Don Quixote, a knight errant in his own mind, runs through windmills and tackles sleepy lions with his faithful squire, Sancho, at his side. While those he encounters laugh at his madness, Sancho realizes that his master is in possession of a selfless heart and the unflagging desire to do what’s right.

“Sancho, we are what we believe we are…Thus, I am a knight because I believe I am” (p 17.)

Eisner’s playful introduction to Cervantes Don Quixote espouses the importance of dreams in one’s life. Several times throughout the course of this slim graphic novel, Quixote and Sancho discuss the power of believing in a dream and seeking its fulfillment, whether it leads to taunts and jeers or praise. And even though in the end, Quixote was forced to see reality for what it was, his dream inspired escapades had already made him legendary. It’s a very nice message that, despite the frequency with which it is delivered, is a subtle reminder to children to hold onto their dreams as long as they can, and to try to achieve them as best they can.

Though simply told, this graphic novel may be best explored by younger children with a parent to guide them. There are a few panels that depict violence – such as a young boy being whipped – that may lead to questions if not a scare. What keeps the illustrations from becoming too dark is a whimsical touch and a firm grasp of the absurdity of some of the situations in which the knight and squire found themselves.

Overall, it is indeed a nice introduction to Don Quixote’s story, including an appearance made by Cervantes himself, for children and even teen readers.

Schmidt, Gary D. 2007. The Wednesday Wars. New York: Clarion Books.

In 1967 in Mrs. Barker’s classroom it doesn’t pay to be the only Presbyterian on a Wednesday; while his classmates are learning the religious ropes, Holling Hoodhood is either banging erasers together or organizing encyclopedias. All that changes, though, when Mrs. Baker introduces William Shakespeare to their afternoons.

With a sincere and authentic young voice, Holling draws the reader into his world, catching the bully’s glare and inhaling chalk dust alongside him. Outside of the classroom, Schmidt continues to bolster the reader’s sympathy by showing that even young children are laid low with the responsibility of their future; Holling’s father’s constant reminders of his role as heir to Hoodhood and Associates is wearying and often sigh inducing.

Subtly, Schmidt portrays attitudes of the time, one being religious separation and duty: “even Mai Thi, who had to go to Catechism since it was the Catholic Relief Agency that had brought her over from Vietnam, and I guess they figured that she owed them, even though she wasn’t Catholic” (p 23.) By the same token, Schmidt allows readers to explore actions through simply by relating events, trusting the reader to intuit the reasons behind the actions. When Mrs. Barker is first introduced, she smiles rarely and Holling feels uncomfortable with what he perceives to be anger directed his way; by learning that his teacher’s husband is in the military and shipping out, a reader could draw their own conclusion as to why she behaves as she does. It’s a nice way of allowing young readers to explore character motivation.

The Wednesday Wars has a great deal of depth, but it remains engaging until the end, and stands as a solid introduction to the bard and a time of turmoil.

eagle_ninth1.jpgSutcliff, Rosemary. 1954. The Eagle of the Ninth. New York: Farrar Straus Giroux.

Marcus Aquila grew up wanting to follow in his father’s footsteps: lead a Roman legion along the paths of Britain, defending Rome’s holdings against revolt. His dreams remain unchanged even when his father’s legion, the ninth, disappears. Marcus finds that his dreams come true at a price, but the reward – a family, friends, and knowledge of that ninth legion – will outweigh all.

Sutcliff’s story of a Roman soldier is, at times, authentic to its detriment. Roman terms and names, and even careful descriptions of a foreign landscape, make the prose seem heavy and there is no glossary to define various words. Struggling readers, or those too young to be this book’s intended audience, may be put off by the long, involved paragraphs and near constant use of unfamiliar words. Additionally, at eighteen Marcus is an older protagonist that, while sympathetic, may not fully connect with readers of a younger age. He is, after all, in command of the legion in Isca Dumnoniorum, a responsibility most could not fathom let alone relate to.

However, Sutcliff has inserted enough action and a bit of intrigue into the plot to tempt readers, specifically boys who crave something along the lines of Frank Miller’s 300.

nory_ryan.jpgGiff, Patricia Reilly. 2000/2002. Nory Ryan’s Song. New York: Dell Yearling, Random House.

Shaken by the sight of her neighbor’s being forcibly removed from their home, Nory makes a bargain that will change her life, and watches as the family she loves dearly departs for a new world without her.

In Nory Ryan’s Song, Giff has created an atmosphere charged with desperate despair. Through Nory’s eyes, the reader gets a sense of the hopelessness the Irish must have felt under English rule, and the urgent need for care during the famine. The strength of emotion that underlies Nory’s tale inspires empathy, making it possible for children to understand what their counterparts during that time experienced, perhaps prompting them to reflect on their own lives and the freedoms they enjoy in the country Nory’s family was so eager to reach.

Giff’s author note, inserted at the end of the novel, compliments the story and validates its historical roots. By tying her family connections and their recollections to Nory’s, she is demonstrating the reality of Nory’s situation and even, to an extent, the lengths to which the Irish will go to forget or leave behind their past due to residual feelings of shame. Also, the brief glossary at the beginning is an excellent and thoughtful addition to the book; it brings cultural authenticity to the story, introducing young readers to a new language on a basic and accessible level.

Young girls will be attracted to Nory’s courage and her ability to take charge of a situation, doing what’s right no matter the cost to herself. Her story is one of sadness and possibility which will linger beyond the initial reading.

morning_girl.jpgDorris, Michael. 1992. Morning Girl. New York: Hyperion Books.

Morning Girl and Star Boy live a simple life; they share a hut with their mother and father, spending their days and nights traversing paths that bring them a better understanding of human nature, and closer to a time that will shake the foundation of their world.

Dorris’s lovely tale of island life flows as smoothly as water in a stream. Alternating narration allows for both sides of sibling rivalry and devotion to be revealed; both Morning Girl and Star Boy have lyrical voices that compliment each other and the easy rhythm of their life. The individuals, brother and sister included, that populate Morning Girl relate to nature in a way that their contemporaries do not, which is evident in the language used, the way their elders speak, associating life lessons to earth elements.

Along with the dialogue and world view, Dorris uses simple chores to sharpen the historical atmosphere of the book. Children often wonder how menial tasks were accomplished in the past, and to his credit Dorris explores a few: “I knew my hands very well. I study them when I trim my nails with the rough edge of a broken shell, making them smooth and flat” (p. 31) and, further, “The wind had swept away most of the tiny bugs…the ones that ate and ate and were never full. Usually, when the air was still, people had to burn smudge fires or rub ashes and soot on their bodies to discourage the appetites of those bugs” (p. 48.)

The epilogue contains a dated journal entry written by a name that young readers should well be familiar with: Christopher Columbus. Instead of providing closure, it hints at what might become of Morning Girl and Star Boy; it should give those interested in their tale a lot to think about, as well as the desire to read more about Columbus and what happened to the people native to the lands he explored.

penderwicks.jpgBirdsall, Jeanne. 2005. The Penderwicks: A Summer Tale of Four Sisters, Two Rabbits, and a Very Interesting Boy. New York: Yearling.

The Penderwick sisters expect different things out of their summer vacation, but not one of them could have imagined the fun adventures and many troubles they’d find themselves carrying out, or how that one summer would bring them closer as a family.

With its many themed gardens, stately home, and cozy cottage, Arundel is a place filled with fantasy and possibility, grounded in tiny, easily recognizable details. “For a long time after that summer, the four Penderwick sisters still talked of Arundel” (p 1); as the reader walks the paths with Rosalind and Batty, tears through the hedge with Skye and Jane, it becomes clear that Arundel’s memory will be long lived for the reader, as well.

While the wonderful sense of place in The Penderwicks plays almost as large a role as the characters, Rosalind, Skye, Jane and Batty assuredly speak for themselves:

“And Jane told him all about the other Penderwicks, and what their names were, and how Rosalind was the prettiest, Skye the smartest, and Batty the littlest.” (p 47)

The four sisters are suggestive of archetypes, but Birdsall pushes their boundaries, creating characters that have depth beyond what the surface reflects. Each sister in her own way is demonstrative of the fact that a girl need not fit in any one category; she simply needs to do what makes her happy. It’s a message that children, most especially young girls, will respond to with empathy.

The Penderwicks is a charming tale filled with love, friendship, acceptance, and discovery; it should be treasured by young children for years to come.

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