To celebrate finishing my Newbery Medal reading goal, here’s a list of my ten favorites. These are the ones I thought were the best of the best. Since I read these so far apart, I took a look at the list and wrote down the ones that stood out the most in my memory, then narrowed it down further by looking at how I rated them. So, in no particular order:
The Midwife’s Apprentice, by Karen Cushman, was published in 1995 by Clarion.
This is it, folks. The last Newbery Medal left in the pile (until next year, that is). It’s taken me about a year and a half to get through them all, but I’ve done it. I remember at one point I was trying to go chronologically, but somewhere along the way I said “nah,” and just started pulling books off the Newbery shelf at my library. This particular reading goal is over, which means…on to the next!
There have been a few medieval settings in the Newberys that I’ve read. They’ve ranged from serious to silly to poetic. The Midwife’s Apprentice isn’t serious, but it’s not really silly, either. It’s the story of Brat/Beetle/Alyce, the titular midwife’s apprentice, and her gaining self-confidence as she learns that she isn’t just a waif found on the side of the road. Cushman’s take on the medieval setting accurately portrays a lot of things, like all the various jobs, the beliefs and customs of the time, though I’d argue that Good Masters! Sweet Ladies!is far more educational in that regard. The midwife’s antics are especially eyebrow-raising, but it shows just how unknowledgeable the medieval world was in terms of medicine.
I like how the midwife in the book isn’t a loving,
sweet person. It’s a bit cliché to have Alyce learn to appreciate her strengths
and skills in that setting. Instead, Jane Sharp belittles and degrades her, yet
even so Alyce finds her place and seeks to be successful. It shows that even
when the people around you aren’t the stereotypical kind and caring people, you
can still grow and become kind and caring yourself.
Since this is the last Newbery, next week I’ll be posting a Top Ten list of the books I thought were the best of the best, the ones that really, truly deserved that award. To be honest, I think that might be a bit of a struggle for me, but we’ll see!
Dicey’s Song, by Cynthia Voigt, was published in 1982 by Simon & Schuster.
Dicey’s Song is the second in a series, and while reading the first book, Homecoming, will certainly help with knowing the characters and the backstory, enough is explained that it’s not necessary. The story is about Dicey and her younger brothers and sister as they navigate a new home, a new school, and all the troubles and pain that their situation (absent father, sick mother) warrants. While the main focus is on Dicey’s internal conflict as well as her relationship with her grandmother, there is also focus on her relationship with her classmates, her teachers, and her siblings. Oh, and there’s a bit of mother-daughter relationship/conflict as well.
Voigt does a good job of dealing with all the various emotions and conflicts present in the book. There’s a lot of characters, but most of them are complex and interesting. The relationship between Dicey and Gram, with its give-and-take, learning aspect, is great. She’s a bit heavy-handed with her theme, but for a children’s book it’s appropriate, especially one dealing with such heavy topics as this one does (depression, dyslexia, death, and grief). My only raised eyebrow was when James was so adamant that he knew the right way to teach Maybelle. I don’t think Voigt was intending it as a “this is what you should do,” but it came across that way a bit.
This is the penultimate Newbery Medal book I read. It’s a little bittersweet, but also immensely satisfying. I don’t think Dicey’s Song will reach my list of top favorites, but I think it was more emotionally satisfying than many other Newbery Medals, as well as more interesting and memorable.
A Visit to William Blake’s Inn: Poems for Innocent and Experienced Travelers, by Nancy Willard, was published in 1981 by Harcourt.
When I first saw the title of this book, I thought it would be rewritten poetry of Blake’s, or his poems presented in a new way. But it’s not about that at all—instead, Willard starts with “Hey, let’s pretend William Blake ran an inn” and then talks about dragons and monkeys and tigers and cats. It’s not even about William Blake at all, so the little tribute that Willard includes in the beginning to William Blake makes no sense. In fact, if William Blake had been left out entirely and some random made-up person had been the innkeeper instead, the poems would have had the exact same effect.
Maybe I’m just really unaware of Blake’s poetry—maybe
Willard has actually subtly woven in parts of Blake’s poetry into her own
poetry as a nod and as a unifying theme to warrant the title. But to me it
seems like she just chose this historical person and inserted him into poems
about dragons and a fantastical inn because she liked him as a poet, not
because he actually lent himself to the material in any way.
So, basically I’m not the best audience for this sort
of book because I don’t really like reading poetry and I think characters with
no use shouldn’t be in books. However, A
Visit to William Blake’s Inn is full of magic and fantasy, with poems that would
be fun to read aloud to a child and lots of great illustrations to go with
Good Masters! Sweet Ladies! Voices from a Medieval Village, by Laura Amy Schlitz, was published in 2007 by Candlewick.
I read a book a few months ago that described just how brutal the medieval life was, and this book captures that in a way that’s still suitable for children. Schlitz includes footnotes and other things for some of her references, but mostly the information is communicated directly through the poem, whether it’s the glassblower’s apprentice trying to blow glass, the glassblower’s daughters wondering whether they will marry said apprentice, a runaway villein, the miller, a knight…Schlitz expertly shows the hierarchy and class conflict that existed in the medieval days. Even religious tension is shown.
The book does do a great job of communicating lots of
things about the medieval period, which means it’s full of dirt, dung, babies
and mentions of birthing, the feudal system, and other things that may not be
suitable for younger children. Schlitz also includes brief “essays” about
various things in the medieval period, such as Jewish/Christian relations and
the Crusades (which is unfortunately one of the worst takes on the Crusades
I’ve read). Good Masters! Sweet Ladies! is
a good way to get an overview of the medieval period, and a much more
interesting book of poetry than some others I’ve read.
Up a Road Slowly, by Irene Hunt, was published in 1966 by Modern Curriculum Press.
Up a Road Slowly reminds me a little bit of a lesser Anne of Green Gables, but much more of Rebecca of Sunnybrooke Farm, except with less moralizing and a nicer aunt. It’s the story of Julie, who at seven goes to live with her aunt after her mother dies and learns new meanings of love and family as she deals with her older sister getting married, her wild uncle, school rivalries, the death of a student, and boyfriends. However, like Rebecca, it’s much less tongue-in-cheek than Anne, and it uses a ton of plot tropes and language that is extremely reminiscent of older literature and really dates the book.
The writing style is a little old-fashioned and very mature-sounding, even when Julie is only seven (something that is a bit jarring until you get used to it). As Julie gets older, however, she grows into her voice, and I do believe the whole thing is supposed to suggest that Julie is writing this as a memoir from later on in her life. As far as plot and theme go, I thought Hunt’s messages were very good, though they were often delivered in ways that wouldn’t be acceptable today. For example, the description of Agnes, Julie’s classmate who suffered from some sort of mental disability, made me wince a bit, though that would have been an acceptable description in the 60s. However, the language as a whole really gives the book much more of an old-fashioned feel than I think the decade it was written in warrants.
There’s also quite a few dark themes hidden in the book, the most notable being Julie’s old friend Carlotta being “sent away” for the winter after scandal erupts (i.e. she was pregnant). The book as a whole is really quite mature for a children’s book, much more suited for a young adult audience (who would probably understand it and enjoy it more).
I enjoyed Up a
Road Slowly, but I didn’t find it overly impressive, and I think it’s too
dated to really stand out. The maturity of the themes and the writing were
welcome after some of the rather more childish books I’ve read, but that limits
the audience as well as alienates them. A good book, but not one I’d probably
Joyful Noise: Poems for Two Voices, by Paul Fleischman, was published in 1988 by HarperCollins.
This review will be short, as befitting an incredibly
short book. Joyful Noise: Poems for Two
Voices is—as the title suggests—a book of poetry specifically formatted for
two people to read out loud. The poetry is in two columns, designed for one
reader to read the left and the other to read the right. Sometimes the lines
overlap, sometimes not. This makes for some interesting poetry, such as
“Honeybees” where the two columns say opposite things about the queen bee, or
to sort of emulate the hopping of grasshoppers or the whirring of cicadas by
having separate, overlapping lines like a round in a song.
I don’t really have much to say about the book,
however. I thought the format was clever, though the effect is a little loss as
a single reader, and the poems, all about different insects, communicated
different aspects of those insects well (also thanks to the format). I’m not
overly fond of poetry, so I didn’t spend a lot of time reflecting on the poems
beyond “Hm, cool,” and then moving on. I
am glad that a book of poetry won the Newbery Medal, however.
Walk Two Moons, by Sharon Creech, was published in 1994 by HarperCollins.
Two Moons is an interesting coming-of-age (coming-to-terms?)
story about Salamanca Hiddle, her cross-country trip with her grandparents, and
a flashback story about her friend Phoebe. The premise revolves around the trip
to Idaho because Salamanca is desperate to bring her mother (who left and never
came back) home, but a central part of the story is also Phoebe’s experience
with her own mother. In fact, the two stories serve as foils/mirrors of each
I say “interesting” for several reasons. One is
because of the voice. There’s a distinctive tone to the whole novel, helped by
words like “jing bang,” “wing-dinging,” “thumpingly,” and the like. Phoebe’s
voice is the perfect melodramatic pre-teen’s, complete with italics and mood
swings. The voice is really what got me to start really enjoying the novel
because it help me get past a few other things that I found puzzling.
Another reason the novel is interesting (and this one
is used in more of the “in-teresting…”
way, like people say when they either don’t care about what the person is
saying or find the whole thing very suspicious) is the Indian slant Creech
gives it. She includes multiple references to Salamanca’s Indian heritage and
commentary on Indian folklore and culture. Yet most of it smacks of Creech’s
ideas, and what Creech wants to communicate, rather than of the real thing.
Really, it just seems like Creech was in love with Indian culture and so added
it to her book. It’s completely useless and adds nothing at all.
I did really enjoy the book, but one thing that
puzzled me was if Creech really wanted the mystery of Salamanca’s mother to
remain so for the whole book, or if the reader was supposed to figure it out
very quickly. To support the latter theory, it states very early on, incredibly
specifically, what happened to Salamanca’s mother. Yet Creech spends the whole
rest of the book using vague terms and mystery language until the moment
Salamanca reaches Idaho, and then everything is explained. Perhaps Creech
wanted the reader to know the result, but not the why? I don’t know. I just
thought it was confusing that she kept dancing around the issue as if she
hadn’t revealed it in the second chapter.
Walk Two Moons falters a bit because of its random and useless inclusion of Native American culture, as well as the baffling “Wait, don’t we already know about Salamanca’s mother?” question. However, the story itself is great, especially Phoebe’s, and the way Creech deals with themes like death and change is well done.
yet another Newbery Medal winner that baffles me. It’s a book about grief, and
learning to move past grief, but there’s nothing overwhelming special about it
and the book is so short that it’s hard to get a firm grasp of the characters
or even their development. The entire book hinges on a trip to some
Spiritualist Church so that Summer, Cletus, and Ob can summon the ghost of Ob’s
wife May (or something). And then everything is resolved in the space of a
Okay, so there’s a little bit more going on than that.
There’s the relationship between Cletus and Summer, Cletus and Ob, and Cletus,
Summer, and Ob. There’s Summer realizing that Cletus isn’t the person he
appears, and that other people don’t view him the way she does. And there’s a
bit of a peek into Summer and Ob’s relationship, though most of the book is
focused on May and Summer. But, again, the book is so short that there’s not
enough time for all of these dimensions to be fully explored. Rylant does a
fairly good job, but it mostly relies on cramming development into single
sentences (like with the resolution of the novel).
Plus, the whole premise is strange. Ob “sense” the
“ghost” of May, then is determined to go call up her ghost because he misses
her so much, so they plan a trip to make a séance. The exploration of grief is
interesting and needed, but the ghost stuff skews the focus, in my opinion.
And, again, the book is too short to achieve any sense of fulfillment or
go on the “How did this win?” list, as well as the “I won’t remember this in
two days” list. The theme of the story—grief and overcoming grief—is important,
but the spiritualism makes the whole book strange, and the character
development, like the plot, is rushed and poorly resolved.
Books written in the time of Jesus (a.k.a the early ADs and the Roman occupation of Israel) are hard for me to read. It always feels strange to have someone put words into Jesus’s mouth that aren’t the ones given in the Bible by people who were actually there. A part of me is always like, “Okay, well, it sounds good, but…” So, I’m basically the least well-suited person to thoroughly enjoy The Bronze Bow.
However, I did enjoy it, mostly. I mean, the plot is
blindingly obvious, but Speare does a great job of showing how the Jews hated
the Romans, and how they longed for someone to come and free them from Roman
control. Daniel and Joel both show different sides, with the outright hatred of
Daniel and the more reserved, religious dissent of Joel. And there are numerous
other facets of that time involved, too, like Leah, Daniel’s sister, and her
fear that is attributed to demonic possession, and all the Jewish laws and
customs as well.
And yes, Speare’s portrayal of Jesus did make me
uncomfortable, though I do think she did a fairly good job. And her description
of him did show me that she seemed to be writing from the Christian perspective
of him (the Son of God) rather than a more secular view of him (merely a
prophet/teacher), though she may have simply been borrowing from the Christian
tradition as opposed to being a Christian herself.
Mostly I really enjoyed Daniel’s transformation, which
I think was the most accurate representation in the book. There is, perhaps,
not quite enough build-up or resolution, but as a children’s book Speare
perhaps felt that a more abrupt change would work best. It is certainly
effective, and it shows even beyond the words Speare puts in Jesus’s mouth the
heart of his mission and of Christianity.