The Book of Everything by Guus Kuijer

"Come on, love.  Come and join us", Thomas whispered.
"What did you say?" asked a familiar voice.
Thomas couldn't keep his eyes open, he was so sleepy.
"I said, 'Come on, love, come and join us,'" he murmured.
"Okay", said Jesus.  The Lord sat down on the edge of Thomas's bed. 

 This little book came out a few years ago, and I thought it was wonderful.  Every few years I start to wonder if it really is as good as I remember it, and I spend some time curled up with it again.  Yes, it is just as good.   

The Book of Everything was originally published in the Netherlands, where Guus Kuijer is a well established writer. I think it's one of the best examples of magic realism in children's fiction I've ever seen.  The mood Kuijer conjures up is hard to describe--the themes are shadowy and threatening, and Thomas, our child protagonist,  is very innocent, so we  feel protective of him.  At the same time, there are some  fiesty, powerful characters, like Aunt Pie and Mrs. van Amersfoort, who champion the side of right. There's a sense of  wonder and even humour at the unexpected occurances in the story, and just a hint of awe at the glimpses of the Divine we are privileged to see through Thomas's eyes.  This is a story where the biblical merges with the supernatural to unusual and beautiful effect.  As Patrice Kindl said, "this book glows". 

The Book of Everything is about the disconnection that can occur between God and religion.  It's about the pain that can hide in the heart of families living with abuse, the pain that mirrors the darkness of the world.  It's also about bravery and the secret of happiness.  It's about miracles and witchcraft.  But most of all, it's about Thomas, a young boy who sees things no one else can see,  a boy who wants to be happy when he grows up.  A boy who all the angels in heaven are hopelessly in love with.  And probably a few readers too.

Revolver by Marcus Sedgwick

"One must not put a loaded rifle on the stage if no one is thinking of firing it."
Anton Chekov


"My mother's children are not murderers."
 Sig Andersson, Revolver

I'm really interested in the first lines of books.  I think a strong first line sets the tone for the whole story, and I actually have a little collection in my head of favourite first lines of novels.  Revolver opens with a one-line paragraph:  "Even the dead tell stories."  This book had me at the first sentence.

Revolver is the best frontier novel I've ever read.  It's stunning, really.  It reads like the kind of book that's been polished and pared down again and again and again until there is nothing left but the pure crackling light of the story.  Every word counts.  Chapters begin with the shortest of sentences.  "How things unwind." ,  for example.  Yet despite it's spare frame it features a dramatically tense plot, an almost visceral sense of place and time, and beautiful characterization.  At the heart of this intelligent book is the working out of an implacable ethical question:  is it right to shoot another to save oneself?  

Revolver is alternatingly set in 1910 in Giron, a small Swedish settlement north of the Arctic circle, and Nome, Alaska, in the late 1800s (the gold rush period).  Sig Andersson, a young man living with his father, stepmother, and older sister in Giron, has just discovered the icy corpse of his father, who had fallen partway through the ice while driving over a lake by dogsled.  The lake Einar himself has warned his son never to cross.   Sig's sister and stepmother leave to get help from neighbours who live miles away, and Sig is left alone in the cabin with his thoughts and his father's frozen corpse.  But then a stranger breaks in, a man who claims that Sig's father had cheated him out of a fortune in gold.  The stranger wants the gold back, and he has a gun. 

Revolver is really so perfectly plotted that I don't want to spoil the story for anyone.  But the decision Sig must eventually make is whether to accept the practical philosophy of his father (" 'A gun is not a weapon"' Einar once said to Sig. 'It's an answer.  It's an answer to the questions life throws at you when there's no one around to help.") or the ideals of his mother, a devoted Christian who believed in nonviolence and forgiveness.   His very survival depends on what he chooses, and Sedgwick makes us feel the weight of that all the way through this gripping story.     

Teen Fiction Book Trailers

Here are a few book trailers that caught my fancy....

I Read Twilight (And I Liked It)

Kraken are the New Vampires

Now here's a neat official trailer for Leviathan...reminds me a bit of shadow puppetry...

A cartoon trailer for the tween graphic novel Smile:

And here are some still images.

Glimpse by Carol Lynch Williams

"An edge-of-the-seat thriller written in sharp, glinting shards of words.  Fantastic!"
Tim Wynne-Jones

Glimpse is an example of the verse novel at its finest.  It follows the emotional trajectory of 12-year-old Hope, who one day walks in on her older sister Lizzie holding a gun, thinking about shooting herself.  Lizzie ends up hospitalized with near-catatonic depression, and Hope is desperate to understand why.


The love between these sisters is beautifully realized and totally convincing.  It is the light in a very dark story, because, as we slowly realize, Lizzie is being badly abused by her mother, a prostitute who is forcing Lizzie to follow in her footsteps.  Hope has been kept sheltered by Lizzie, which is how her mother has been keeping Lizzie compliant (she threatens that if Lizzie tells anyone, she will press Hope into service as well).  There is a strong quality of protectiveness in the relationship between the two girls, and Hope has many memories of being protected by Lizzie's extraordinary courage, which is a strong contrast to their mother's self-centeredness.

Once,
a long time ago, 
Momma 
took us to the river.

I was little,
just learning to swim.
Momma fastened an orange
Styrofoam bubble around
my waist to keep me afloat....


I love my babies,
Momma said.
Run into the water, Hope...

Momma was quiet a moment, 
then she said,
Moccasins.
My God, they're moccasins.
Run, Hope.
Run, Liz.

The snakes must have
seen us by then. They
turned in our direction.


Momma didn't pick a thing up.
Not the umbrella, 
not the towel she sat on, 
Not even that sweet smelling
olive oil.


She just ran,
leaving me and Liz behind.


Wait,
Liz hollered after her.
Wait for us.
Liz grabbed
me by the hand
but all of a sudden
I couldn't even move.


Baby,
Lizzie said.
Come on.


She tried to pick me up,
but that bubble
made it hard.


Now the snakes were
on land and coming fast,
so fast,
and I couldn't move.


Come on, Liz, Hope,
Momma called.
She was a good ways away.


The rain kept coming down
all silver looking.
It ran in my eyes.


Liz!  
Just leave Hope there,
Momma called.
Her voice was scared.
Leave her and run to me.


Liz grabbed the belt 
of the bubble and 
pulled me along, 
like you might a pup 
tha didn't want to follow.


Liz screamed, 
Hope.


Now the snakes were so close
I could see their eyes.
One opened its mouth
and I saw the white cotton.


Run, 
Liz screamed at me.
And somehow
I could move.


We ran


together.


Williams' storytelling is spare and beautiful.  As glimpses of Hope's memories and observations accumulate,  she begins to understand that there is a secret between their mother and Lizzie which is somehow at the root of Lizzie's despair.  Williams conveys Hope's fear of learning the nature of this secret and knowing what Lizzie has gone through, and her guilt as she slowly realizes that Lizzie had been obliquely asking for help without Hope understanding.  Hope in the end becomes her sister's protector, unveiling the truth through the diary which Lizzie had left for her to find and confronting their predatory mother, who flees rather than face the authorities.

Glimpse is a strong book that sometimes hurts to read, a book where home is "haunted" by bad dreams that turn out to be real.  It's a page-turner which skillfully captures the point of view of a 12-year-old enmeshed in frighteningly adult situations.  But there is a tenderness to this book all the same.  This is the kind of book where you feel that the author cares deeply about her characters, and you're glad, because you care too.  I'm glad that Williams leavened the ending with some surrogate parent figures stepping in;  a kindly neighbour to foster the girls, a caring psychiatrist to help both sisters heal emotionally.  I was so invested in Hope and, through her, in Lizzie, that I would have found the story unbearably bleak otherwise.  It is, in the end, a story about love, about those who are capable of giving it and those who aren't.  It's a story I could easily re-read many times.  I won't forget it soon. 

Me & Death, an Afterlife Adventure by Richard Scrimger

"Do you know what a ghost is, Jim?  A ghost is a guy who was a piece of crap when he was alive."
"But you weren't!"  I said.  "You were the bomb.  I thought you were the coolest!"
"I lied, I stole, I hurt people.  I let them down.  I was a bad guy, Jim."
I struggled with this.  "Yeah, but you were a good bad guy," I said.


Jim is a 14-year-old junior gangster who lives in Roncesvalles with his alcoholic mother and his unpleasant, sometimes crazy-seeming sister.  He skips school, steals, insults his neighbours,  kicks cats, and bullies a kid named Lloyd.  Nothing much to like here.  So who could be surprised when Jim gets hit by a car and sees the ghost of Tadeusz, who used to collect rents along Roncy "with a baseball bat", waiting to teach him what the afterlife is like for bad guys.   Tadeusz kicks off a Scrooge-type reform program for Jim, complete with ghosts, visions of the past, and important life lessons.  Jim's sure to emerge from his coma a changed person--or is he?

I find Scrimger as a writer is kind of hit-and-miss (as a person he's hysterical, if you get a chance to see him talk, definitely go) but this latest book is big-time wonderful.  It's emotionally compelling in a way that I don't think he's ever been before. Jim's voice is so authentic. You can see that he's never been exposed to any, shall we say,  alternate moral paradigms.   Scrimger's writing is always funny, that's his trademark, but here it's funny in a darker and older way than in his previous books. I think Scrimger is developing a wicked gift for characterization.   His ghosts are full-bodied, not flat like Dickens' are.   They have backstories and afterlives of their own.  And unlike Dickens' Scrooge, when Jim wakes up, he's got a lot more to do than just hand out geese and Christmas bonuses.  He has some scary amends to make. 

I sound like I'm doing a bit of Dickens bashing here, but I don't mean to. I love A Christmas Carol and used to re-read it every year before Christmas when I was a teen and a long time afterwards.  All I'm saying is, Scrimger takes the story, runs with it and makes it his own.  And I think he's done a great job.

Dragonbreath by Ursula Vernon

T

This was better than school.  The only locker for a hundred miles belonged to Davy Jones.  He was still the only dragon in a crew of frogs and lizards, but now he was the terror of the seas!  No one made fun of his mythical status, or he'd make them walk the plank! 

There was just one problem...where was that beeping coming from?

The beeping, alas, is from Danny Dragonbreath's alarm clock, waking him from his magnificent piratical dream to the mundane reality of yet another school day.  Not only is Danny always getting picked on for being the only mythical creature in his school (otherwise populated by reptiles and amphibians),  but he has neglected to do his science paper on oceans, due today. Picking  his nerdy best friend's brain doesn't help--all Wendell knows about the ocean is that it's big, wet, salty, and has fish in it.  Danny gets a big fat red F and has to rewrite, prompting a visit to his cousin Edward the Sea Monster, who gives Danny and Wendell a guided tour of the ocean world.

Such is the plot of Dragonbreath, the first volume in a lively new series by Ursula Vernon.  Dragonbreath's playful prose  is complemented by many delightful pages of comic-style illustration, all done in a palette of green, black and white.  The illustration reminded me a little of the Babymouse books, with its perky representations of  anthropomorphized animals and their vivid imaginations.  I would say that the reading level of the Dragonbreath series is just a smidgen higher than Babymouse, mostly due to the chapters of plain text.  But the entertainment value of Dragonbreath is every bit as high...and that's saying something.

Ewan's favourite line:  "AGGGH!  The scurvy!  It burns! ".  Dramatic, yes? 

My Favourite Cupcake Queen

I just get such a kick out of the Babymouse books.  I can't resist sharing this, courtesy of Unshelved, a library webcomic I also think is great.  Jennifer and Matt sum it up better than I ever could: