As I hoped, once the Quiner family moved to Concord,
the books started to get more interesting and memorable. In On Top of Concord Hill, the last book
Wilkes will write of this series, a stepfather, the Gold Rush, cholera, and
early frost all combine to create perhaps the most tension-filled book in the
series so far. Of course, it’s still very tame tension, but it’s much better
than what has been in the first three books.
This is also the first book that was written after the start of the Martha Years, which might explain why suddenly Caroline’s grandparents are mentioned more and why the cover has changed more and more to express similarity between the sets of books.
The thing I most enjoyed about this book was the
subtle, lovely hints we got at the Charlotte/Frederick Holbrook relationship. I’m
not sure whether in real life Charlotte married him for stability or love, but
in this book, it’s very sweet to see the way they interact with each other. I
am a huge fan of shy/quiet guy-marries-girl tropes, so perhaps that’s why this
book so far is my favorite of all the Caroline books (though there wasn’t much
competition, to be honest).
With an author change and the introduction of the
Ingalls family in the next book, it will be interesting to see if the Caroline
books will continue to improve or if the changes will be too jarring. I
remember quite liking the last book in the series, so I’m hopeful that the
change won’t shake things up too badly (or perhaps they will shake them up in a
Julie of the Wolves is one of the wilder, out-there children’s books I’ve read. George clearly loves survival novels, as she also wrote My Side of the Mountain. Julie of the Wolves, however, has the titular character surviving in the wilds of Alaska while also being accepted into a wolf pack. (!?)
The book’s premise is bonkers, and I honestly have no idea if any of the things that Miyax does to ingratiate herself into the wolf pack would actually work, especially since I know that wolf packs work differently than what was thought back when the book was written. But it does make the book incredibly interesting, so there’s that positive going for it.
I enjoyed the way George used Miyax’s name to
highlight important moments. She’s Miyax in the wilderness, Julie in
civilization, and then Julie again at the end of the book when she realizes
that she can’t live the way she wants. It’s interesting to see her struggle
with the realization that her father, the great Eskimo hunter, has succumbed to
the dominant ideas, and the way that his killing of Amaroq is almost akin to
the death of a lasting Eskimo culture. And her shedding of her name, Miyax, and
taking up the English name, Julie, is the last signal in the book that
everything has changed.
George is playing around with and showing a lot of
interesting and important ideas in Julie
of the Wolves, but it’s ruined slightly by the sheer “But would it work!?”
surreal angle of the basic plot. I’m also not sure how well explaining being
married at thirteen to the readers of this book would go, as well as the scary
scene in the middle where Daniel attacks Julie. And, to be honest, I think a
lot of the nuance in the book would fly over a younger reader’s head (you’d be
amazed at the sorts of things my high school students miss in books).
Recommended Age Range: 8+
Warnings: Some slight, brief indication of domestic abuse/attempted rape.
Clearing in the Woods finally starts to lift the Caroline
books out of the pit of mediocrity they were sinking into. The family moving,
the hardships they face on the new land, the new people they meet—all combine
to form, if not a particularly dramatic book, at least enough tension to
generate some excitement and interest.
The first half of the book has some overly dramatic
conflict with wolves, delivered a bit clunkily, but once the family reaches
their new home, it settles down to a more realistic conflict as the family
struggles to get used to new surroundings. Caroline and Martha have a few
spats, and I wish Martha was more developed of a character so that the fights
would have more meaning instead of feeling so wooden.
The second half of the book is better than the first,
with the introduction of Mr. Holbrook. Despite my problems with Wilkes’
writing, I will say that she paints a very good picture of the financial
situation of the family. It is very clear that they struggle to put food on the
table, and so the kindness of Mr. Holbrook and the generosity of Mr. Kellogg
shine through even more.
It’s a shame that the Caroline Years don’t start out
quite as strong or interesting as the previous two series, but at last the
series seems to be improving. Little
Clearing in the Woods still shares some of the problems of the first two
books, but the second half promises better things to come.
Disclaimer: I voluntarily received a copy of The Soul of an American President: The Untold Story of Dwight D. Eisenhower’s Faith, by Alan Sears, Craig Osten, and Ryan Cole, from Baker Books. All opinions are my own.
I’ve been trying to read more nonfiction lately, especially about people or events in history, so when Baker offered this book, I decided to read it. The book mainly focuses on, as the title suggests, the path of Eisenhower’s faith through his life. I appreciated that the authors mentioned straight away that they weren’t looking to glorify Eisenhower, but to portray his journey as realistically as possible, flaws and all. Mainly, they seemed concerned with combating the image of Eisenhower as irreligious or secular, so a great deal of time was spent showing the many ways Eisenhower showed his faith in his talks, writings, and actions.
I didn’t know much about Eisenhower before reading this
book, so there was tons of information that I learned, such as his role in
World War II and Operation Overlord. Also interesting was his early life and
his life at the beginning of his presidency when he was baptized. I was hoping
for a little more coverage of Eisenhower’s presidential policies and decisions;
the authors covered many, mostly positive, but I felt as if the majority of his
second term was swept by or summarized too broadly. It also felt a bit as if
the authors were picking and choosing what they wanted to highlight; I can’t
fault them for that because it’s nonfiction and they picked the focus, so of
course they would pick to explain more in detail what fits best with what they
want to say, but I still hoped for more detail.
This book is about Eisenhower’s faith, and that’s what it
gives you. I learned a lot about him and the majority of the book was interesting,
though towards the end I started to skim a little. I enjoyed most the
descriptions of his life and actions up through World War II (my favorite time
period to read about!), and overall I learned more about Eisenhower, his faith,
and the things he did and tried to do to help America than I ever knew before
(admittedly, very little).
Rating books is much harder than it might seem. I’ve
struggled with it a bit recently, as I’ve felt that 3 is now becoming my
default, go-to, “lazy” rating. Or perhaps I’m being more critical of the books
I read, which is why 4s and 5s come so rarely now. I’ve also been hit with a
slew of books that have simply failed to grasp my entire attention. All of
these things combined have been making me wonder if I really should be rating
some books a 4 that I initially think 3.
Maybe I could solve this with a half point system, but
I started the blog with that and then got rid of it for simplicity’s sake.
Anyway, I’m saying all this because I initially thought of rating I, Juan de Pareja a 4 merely because I didn’t want to give it a 3. I mean, I gave Merci Suárez Changes Gears a 3, and I feel like I enjoyed this book more than Medina’s. But, after thinking about it, I realized that I really didn’t have any desire to read the book again or think about it anymore (big factors in my ratings of books). And when I was reading it, I was more interested in finishing the book so I could pick up the other book I wanted to read more. So, it’s a 3.
I did actually enjoy lots of things about the book, though. I loved the writing, for some reason, or perhaps it was simply a nice change after the simplicity of Merci Suárez’s. I thought the content was interesting, especially the historical aspect. It’s a bit of an obscure topic, but some of my favorite historical fiction novels have those sorts of topics. And even though Juan’s attitudes towards slavery are a bit…well, not progressive, Borton de Treviño does throw in some different views about it, as well as lots of cultural information in general. Plus, Las Meninas is one of my favorite paintings, so it was cool to see some of the backstory (real and imagined) of Diego Velasquez and the slave-turned-painter Juan de Pareja.
Suárez Changes Gears, by Meg Medina, was published in 2018
I loved Meg Medina’s Burn Baby Burn, a YA book that dealt with a tough (and rarely discussed) topic. So I was interested to see how her foray into MG would be like, especially since it won the Newbery Medal. My verdict? Merci Suárez Changes Gears is disappointingly average.
It lacks some oomph, some sparkle, some sort of thing that would make it so much better than it is. Maybe the writing needed to be jazzed up. Maybe the platitudes and the cheesy way the book ended helped to keep it weighed down in “mediocre” territory. It’s not that the topic wasn’t relevant, or that the book was boring. It was simply missing…something.
I did appreciate the more nuanced sort of look at school troubles that Medina gave, though. I do have to give her credit for creating a realistic school atmosphere, and a more realistic look at bullying. I myself had way more experience with bullies who were friendly one day and mean the next, rather than the “I have a personal vendetta against you” bully that is so often portrayed, so I felt Medina’s take was much more reflective of what actually occurs, showing how navigating friendships and other people is complicated, especially in the tumultuous preteen and teen years.
However, that does leave me wondering as to why no one
ever writes a story from the bully’s point of view. Where are all the books
about the Ednas? Why does no author bother to tackle that sort of challenge?
Anyway, Merci Suárez
Changes Gears doesn’t break out of any boxes or push any boundaries in
terms of writing conventions or tropes. It’s a disappointing book, one that
could have been much better with just a little something extra added to it to
truly make it shine.
Disclaimer: I voluntarily received a copy of All Manner of Things, by Susie Finkbeiner, from Revell. All opinions are my own.
My rating: 3/5
All Manner of Things takes
place during the Vietnam War, and while the main character has a brother who
joins the army, and certain details of the culture of the time and the negative
attitude towards the war is shown, there’s so much more to the book than just
that. There’s also the theme of war in general, and how it affects
people—Annie, the main character, has a father who was left with PTSD or
similar after the Korean War, and abandoned the family while she was young.
After the brother leaves to go to Vietnam, he gives her information about where
her father is, starting a chain of events that leads to the father coming back
into their lives, but not particularly nicely or neatly. The way Finkbeiner
handles the way the family navigates the reappareance of a long-absence father
is very well done.
Finkbeiner also includes aspects of the Civil Rights
movement as well, though not too much. Annie starts up a friendship with a
black man, David, and while everyone seems okay with it, it’s very clear that
David is considered an outsider. Overall, I enjoyed the fact that Finkbeiner
didn’t make the novel as dark and angsty as it could have been. It was a very
light, wholesome novel, despite the sad parts.
All Manner of Things is
very carefully and cleverly constructed. The characters have great voices,
especially the three children (well, technically two are young adults): Mike,
Annie, and Joel. The mother is perhaps the flattest of all the characters, but
everyone’s interactions are all very well done. The letters in between each
chapter are also really good at communicating tone and atmosphere.
I really enjoyed All Manner of Things, so I debated for a while whether to give a 4
rating or not. However, in the end I felt the book was missing something. It
was just one step away from being entirely engrossing. As it was, I enjoyed it,
but I didn’t feel absorbed by it. I was able to put it down easily and walk
away. It was just missing some sort of connection for me. I’d probably
recommend it to other people, but it didn’t have the sort of pull that would
make me come back to it again.
I was worried that Lu,
despite being the last book in the series, would continue the same formula
and tropes of the previous three books, which culminated in my dislike of Sunny. However, while the book reads
very much like all the others (character-focused, with some sort of familial
trouble/angst, and occasional odd quirks), thankfully Reynolds finally ditches
his tired ending that he used three times before and did something new and
fresh with this last book.
The ending is really what pulled this book up for me,
because while it certainly isn’t bad, I couldn’t get into Lu’s head at all,
much like I couldn’t with Sunny. There were moments that shone through, such as
Lu’s softer side and his interactions with his parents, but then there were
other moments that just confused me, like everything with Kelvin and his
mysterious turnaround, as well as the vague descriptions of marks on his arm.
Was Reynolds implying that he was a drug addict, or a victim of domestic
violence, or what? What did the marks on his arms have to do with his bullying,
and why did he stop when they were gone?
However, the ending I loved because it did exactly
what I have wanted these books to do since I read Ghost—it ended with a defining character moment, not some cheap
cliffhanger that doesn’t resolve anything. The ending of this book is fabulous,
if a bit cheesy, and even if I couldn’t really relate to Lu, I still could see
all the ways he grew throughout the book.
The Track series was a bit hit-or-miss for me, but
they have the air and charm that I’m sure kids will love, and I liked that each
book focused on a different person and how unique each character was. I also
really enjoyed the voice and tone of the characters and the style Reynolds has.
I hated the endings, and Sunny was a
low spot, but the other three books, especially Ghost and Patina, are
Little House in Brookfield, by Maria D. Wilkes, was published in 1996 by HarperCollins.
The Caroline Years, or, as my copy states, “The Brookfield Years,” were written before the Martha Years and the Charlotte Years. Having read the latter two first, which were written by a different author, the style of this one threw me off a bit, especially since the Charlotte is this book is so much different. I’d say that Wilkes is likely more historically accurate than Wiley in her portrayal, however, especially since she had more research from which to draw.
I’ve always enjoyed the Caroline Years the most,
probably because it spans the most amount of years, similarly to the original
Little House books. However, the beginning of the series is mediocre at best.
While it does a good job of depicting the struggles the family went through
after the death of their father, it’s simply not a very exciting book. It does
give glimmers into the personality of Caroline that we will see come out in the
Little House books, and I also enjoyed the farm life aspect it showed, as it
does a good job of explaining so that readers know how people did things back
I remember enjoying the Caroline Years more as the
books went on, especially once they move to Concord, but Little House in Brookfield gives the series a slow start. Both the
style and the voice threw me off, as I was used to that of the previous two
series, though that’s not necessarily the book’s fault (although I’m not fond
of that sort of style in general). There’s also a lack of excitement that makes
the book a little dry to read.
A Wrinkle in Time, by Madeleine L’Engle, was published in 1962 by Farrar, Straus, and Giroux.
Rating: 3/5 (2/5??)
A Wrinkle in Time has always been That Book for me. Not That Book that you really enjoy, or That Book that knocked you off your feet, but That Book that everyone talked about and referenced as a fantastic book, that you grew up hearing about, that you read a long time ago, that your friends all mention, that is always upheld as a great example of x genre. And with such a towering reputation, it’s always difficult to admit that you don’t actually like That Book.
I left my rating the way I typed it when first thinking about how to review this book because it really illustrates my conflict here. On the one hand, I didn’t like it: hence, the 2/5. On the other hand, I acknowledge its significance and reputation: hence, the 3/5. But 3/5 has turned into my lazy rating, my “it was average, but not terrible, but not great” rating, so I want to be bold and say 2/5. Yet, I think my dislike of it has to do with my personal taste in books, so I want to be fair and say 3/5.
So, I kept both ratings there because I couldn’t decide.
I always feared going into reading this book that I wouldn’t like it. See, the thing is, I simply don’t like science fiction. I struggle to enjoy even children’s books of that genre. So I knew that my thoughts about A Wrinkle in Time might be negative simply from that standpoint.
But I also didn’t think the book was that great…
I mean, the theme is great. Love wins over evil—fantastic. But the way everything is delivered, the way everything happens, is clunky, and not developed enough, and way too quickly paced. The explanation in this book is scant; we’re swept along just like Meg and Charles Wallace and Calvin are, except there’s the feeling that the characters know more than the reader. There’s two kids who are special—somehow, with no explanation as to how or why they’re like that—and their father is missing, then BOOM! they get taken away by these three strange angel ladies to rescues their father, then BOOM! they go to the planet where their father is and one special kid gets overtaken by the evil, then BOOM! stuff happens, they rescue their father, one kid goes back to rescue the other, she stares at him and thinks about love, then BOOM! he’s back, they’re back, everyone’s back, and everyone’s happy.
But how is Charles Wallace different, and why is he different? Why do Meg and Charles Wallace and Calvin seem to instinctively know how to combat IT, despite never knowing about him before? How does staring at Charles Wallace and thinking about love break ITs hold on him? Why do these kids just go with the flow and not freak out? Why is everything so pat and quick and why do the kids seem to know what to do despite also not knowing what to do?
Maybe I’m missing the point? Like this is supposed to be one giant allegory, even more than the one that’s abundantly obvious already, and that’s why everything is the way it is. I like the good/evil allegory/symbolism, but I didn’t think it was written all that well, to be honest!
So, those are my thoughts on A Wrinkle in Time. I’m now a pariah among my friends, I know, but I just found the whole book strange and poorly explained.