Dark Dude-- Oscar Hijuelos

Rico is a "dark dude" growing up in Harlem; ironically, it's because he is a fair-haired and freckled cubano. Tired of the constant hassling on the streets, the violence in his school, and his best friend Jimmy's drug problem, Rico persuades Jimmy to hitchhike out to Wisconsin. Life on a farm has its benefits, but Rico misses the Latino community and, most of all, his family.

Rico's narrative voice is well-developed and the story's pacing is quick despite the fact that time passes slowly on the farm. I would consider the book solid, rather than extraordinary, but there is some sentimental raising of identity and family issues that will appeal to some young readers.

Leaving Yesler-- Peter Bacho

This book was a gift from my friends D &P. Thanks, guys. For everything.

Bobby is unmoored and drifting. His protective older brother, Paulie, was killed in Vietnam. His mother died a few years before. His father is losing his grip after head trauma in the Korean War and too many bouts in the boxing ring, and has made it clear that he is dying too. Without an example to follow, Bobby decides he wants out of his neighborhood and housing project for good. Assistance come in the forms of boxing lessons from his father, life coaching from Paulie's ghost, and a vision of the future in the form of lovely Deena.

Bacho does a number of things very well here. His vibrant descriptions of Seattle neighborhoods in the 1960s make for amazing reading, as does his nuanced exploration of Filipino and masculine identities. What trips up the narrative are the developments that, like a fast right hook, we don't see coming: Bobby sees dead people? Deena is in love with him? There is some weirdness surrounding his early education in Catholic school? While these threads may have added richness to the narrative, they are abruptly introduced and woefully underdeveloped.

Deena's character, as a whole, is a disappointment... doesn't every well-developed male character deserve an equally three-dimensional female counterpart? That said, this book is remarkable in its portrayal of emotional relationships between men; the tenderness between Bobby and his father and tough-guy brother are touching, if seemingly uncomplicated.

Jacob Have I Loved-- Katherine Paterson

I didn't read this book in fourth grade. I think just about everyone else did.

I clearly wasn't listening to my classmates' book reports, because I thought it was about something else. It was only recently that I discovered this widely-read novel is about a place I have come to love: the Chesapeake Bay. More specifically, about what the waterman community was like there 50 years ago.

Sara Louise Bradshaw lives on Rass Island, descended from generations of Bradshaws who have been watermen there for the last 200 years. It's a small community, perhaps too small for how Sara Louise wants to live her life-- doing a man's work on a boat, harvesting crabs and oysters. Instead, her identity is reduced to being the twin of the lovely Caroline, whose singing voice is the pride of their small community. When Caroline begins to monopolize Sara Louise's friendships as well as the their parents' affection, Sara Louise resigns herself to incidental status rather than succumb to guilt over hating her own sister. Years go by before Sara Louise finally realizes that if she wants something of her own, she has to make it herself.

This book could easily be written for adults. Though the plot and characters are streamlined, there are many parts of this that will resonate with older readers-- changing relationships within families and with God, and the transition from childhood aspirations to grown-up ones. The most interesting family dynamics portrayed here are not necessarily the obvious ones; we see the grandmother slowly losing her grip in old age, the twins' mother explaining her life's choices to Sara Louise, and Sara Louise herself finally understanding her parents. I was intrigued by Patterson's choice to follow Sara Louise into adulthood, a place where young adult novels seldom go.

Long Season of Rain-- Helen Kim

The Long Season of Rain starts out rather in a rather unassuming fashion. A young boy is orphaned when a mudslide buries his home and family. Junehee's grandmother brings him to their house until they can find a home for him. The family's dynamics unfold for the reader with a powerful subtlety until it's clear that this book is not about the orphan at all.

Based on the reviews, it seems that younger readers responded very well to the depiction of life in Korea in the 1960s. There is certainly a richness of detail that, in fact, dominates the early narrative. But as an adult, this book struck me as an incredible testimony to the struggles women and female children face in their own homes. The mother is depicted indirectly through her daughter's observations, and yet she becomes the book's most compelling figure.

Though the narrator, Junehee, is 11 years old, I would recommend this book in a heartbeat to older readers.

Marcelo in the Real World-- Francisco X. Stork

What happened, amiright?

I admit that I have sadly neglected this blog (and my reading habits) for several weeks now. I would blame work or the weather, but it seems that I have also been in a bit of a reading rut. I discovered my local library does not have most of the older books some of you have recommended to me (which is really not shocking, as our library is only two small rooms). In addition, I have encountered a sad spot of reading burnout--there are so many gems out there, but the market is also flooded with things I have no interest in reading.

I needed something solid to get me back in the reading habit. The library, in spite of its small size, delivered with this-- Marcelo in the Real World. I found this book compelling and interesting, despite the use of some familiar story elements.

Marcelo is a 17 year old with a form of autism that resembles Asperger's Syndrome. He has been in a special school since he was young, and is happy to be in a safe environment. Marcelo's father, however, wants him to attend public school for his senior year. They make a deal: Marcelo can choose for himself, so long as he works in his father's law firm mailroom for the summer.

In a matter of weeks, Marcelo's black-and-white, objective world becomes more nuanced and difficult to understand in a matter of weeks. Central to this plotline are his mysterious supervisor, the arrogant son of his father's law partner, and a picture of a young girl with half her face missing.

The story, through the narrator, touches on religion and spirituality, adult relationships, difficult decisions, and choosing a life path.

I cannot speak to Marcelo's narrative tone and whether it accurately depicts AS. I did appreciate, however, the careful breaking down of life situations for someone who is a moral absolutist. I don't know how this would have resonated with me as a kid, but as an adult I thought it was interesting. I can certainly speak to the depiction of corporate law firm culture-- yes, folks, it can be this bad.

Though it's easy to see where this book was headed, I appreciate it for its broaching of difficult subjects, compelling readability, and exploration of what exactly it means to live in the "real world." Recommended for older readers (high school) on account of some adult themes.

Walk Two Moons-- Sharon Creech

This another book from superstar friend E! E has so many great books, and is a great writer too! You can visit her here.

Walk Two Moons is fascinating in its attempt to articulate the inexplicable decisions of grown-ups. Why would your mother pick up and leave you if she loves you? Why do some parents leave and others come back? How do we recover from loss?

Sal is driving to Lewiston, Idaho with her grandparents. She wants to get there before her mother's birthday, believing that she might be able to bring her mother home. While tracing her mother's path across the country and trying to put herself in her mother's place, Sal tells Gram and Gramps the story of her friend Phoebe. (Phoebe's story is like Sal's, with the exception of a few critical details.) This is a story about learning to see through the hurt and the annoyance to really understand someone else's pain or fear-- profound stuff for a little book.

Walk Two Moons strikes me as very honest. Here, as in life, there are all kinds of love and all kinds of relationships, not all of them easy to navigate or explain. It may have been over my head as a kid, but there are readers who will welcome this book based on personal experience.

The book has plenty of mysterious elements, but they are not bound together; tangents of plot spring all over the place, in unexpected directions. It's not clear what's material to the plot; things just happen right and left. The word choice and narration are colorful and fun; you don't have a sense of where it's headed, but it's fun to be along for the ride.

The Not-So-Star-Spangled Life of Sunita Sen-- Mitali Perkins

I have been trying to slog through this book since the end of February, which is really saying something because it's only a little over 150 pages.

Sunita Sen is enjoying her little 7th grade life until her grandparents come for a visit from India. Her mother takes time off teaching to stay at home and play housewife to keep her parents happy, and she tells Sunita she can't invite boys over to the house. Apparently, this is the equivalent of torture and Sunita blames her grandparents for ruining her life. She keeps thinking the object of her affection, Michael, is so all-American that he would be weirded out by her family.

Here is a short list of my issues with this book:

1) Even though Sunita claims to be confused about her heritage, she doesn't seem have any connection to it. This is despite the fact that her parents are recent immigrants. I find this disconnect improbable, especially since it is not explored or otherwise explained.

2) When Sunita finally spills the beans about what's going on at home, Michael says that Sunita being "different" makes her "all the more fascinating" to him. Ugh. Orientalism for middle schoolers.

3) The writing is lackluster, the dialogue not believable, the characters completely flat. The author does a lot of telling instead of showing (including telling us that Sunita used to have a really happy personality, even though we never see her as anything other than an insufferable brat). Sunita always anticipates her grandparents acting entirely out of character, which is irritating, and her grandmother's attempts to "speak American" are just insulting.

I thought this book might resonate a little bit with me, but it only left me appalled. This book only got press marching under the banner of multiculturalism; good for the book, but not so good for everyone else.

A Step From Heaven- An Na

When I went hunting for contemporary young adult novels about immigrants' experiences, An Na's name came up everywhere. A Step From Heaven is her first book. I thought I'd start there.

Young Ju is only four when her family leaves her beloved grandmother, their comfortable home, and Young Ju's best friend behind to move to the United States. Young Ju believes the US is heaven, where she will be reunited with her deceased grandfather and there will be no more arguments, but her family's life as immigrants is full of new challenges. Young Ju works hard in school and at home to make her parents proud, but nothing can change her father's stingy praise or violent temper.

This slim novel is incredibly powerful, told by the protagonist in a series of vignettes spanning Young Ju's childhood in Korea to her senior year of high school in the United States. The protagonist's younger years are full of particularly delightful sensory imagery. I was struck by the way in which each scene captured so much in terms of the family dynamic and Young Ju's innermost feelings in just a handful of words.

Kira-Kira-- Cynthia Kadohata

"She was going to be the best in the world and live at the top of everything, and she was going to bring her family with her. This is one of the themes of my sister's life."

Lynn, through the eyes of her younger sister Katie, is perfect. Lynn teaches Katie that life is beautiful ("kira-kira" means "glittering"-- it's Katie's first word, which Lynn taught her after many nights of looking up at the stars). Their parents also leave it to Lynn to break difficult news to Katie (and before her first day of school, Lynn tells Katie that she may be called names and treated as different). Katie doesn't want to do anything without Lynn, but when her sister is struck with mysterious illness, Katie has no choice.

The focus of Kira-Kira is the bittersweet sibling relationship, but the book is extraordinary in its exploration of growing up nikkei in the Jim Crow south. In a world divided along the lines of black and white, Katie doesn't know how she fits in. Katie's parents, like the other members of the small Japanese community, work in the chicken hatcheries in town. The hours are long and hard, without even breaks to use the bathroom, and the wealthy owner of the enterprise tries to crush the workers’ attempts to unionize.

I wish these compelling features of the book had more been the focus, but the family issues make this an accessible read.

Swimming in the Monsoon Sea-- Shyam Selvadurai

Swimming in the Monsoon Sea is billed as an LGBTQ book for young adults, but I think it's got something much more universal at its heart. This is very much a book about that dark, irrational place where we live at some point in our young lives. This particular book is about being 14, being alone, being a young man, having stuff in your life that needs figuring out, and not being totally in control of how you think and feel.

Amrith is adopted at the age of 6 by his mother's best friend when both his parents die in a freak accident. He loves his Aunty Bundle, Uncle Lucky, and adopted sisters, and it's clear that they love him too. But Amrith does not have anyone of his own-- no friends, no flesh-and-blood relations. He is estranged from his parents' families until his cousin Niresh shows up for a visit. Amrith's affection for Niresh is even stronger than he anticipates, and Amrith soon discovers depths of himself he didn't know existed--love, but also jealousy. (In an effective albeit not-so-subtle allusion, Amrith's drama society is performing a scene from Othello.) By the end of the book, Amrith has started to reconcile some of his complicated feelings about his past, his family, and his identity.

The metaphor of the monsoon sea is perfect for adolescence-- after a monsoon, the ocean becomes muddy and turbulent, with strong currents that can pull you under. Amrith is a good kid, but at times he is possessed by malice and anger, capable of hurting the people he loves the most.

The writing is simple but highly evocative. Selvadurai sets the scene in his childhood home-- Sri Lanka circa 1980-- complete with his fond memories of the place. Very low on plot action, which might be a deal-breaker for some, but the emotional side of this book is incredible.

1001 Cranes-- Naomi Hirahara

Over the course of this year, I hope to come to peace with the so-called “middle reader” novel. These books are rather awkward things, much like the age group for which they are written—mature readers as young as 10, up to 14 years. The language of these novels must be relatively simple, but the story itself must speak to the vastly different experiences within this age group. Four years is an eternity when you consider how much your world can change between sixth grade and your freshman year of high school.

I remember thinking that the protagonists of these books were ridiculous, because as ridiculous as the actions of 12 and 13 year-olds may seem to an adult, they were beyond what I as a 10 year old could relate to. I also found them annoyingly predictable. Yet, as an adult, I have a theoretical respect for what middle reader books attempt to do—that is, to sustain an interest in reading and guide young people from picture books to young adult novels. I think of middle readers novels as a long, rickety bridge between Chris Van Allsburg and J.D. Salinger (although there is also the route taken by the precocious M, who headed straight for Stephen King). I have respect for authors that embrace the challenge and write stories that speak to the difficult realities and inner turmoil of their young readers.

Naomi Hirahara’s 1001 Cranes, had me thanking my lucky stars that I was no longer 12 years old, but it’s one of the better middle reader novels.

Angie Kato arrives in the L.A. suburb of Gardena to spend the summer with her mother’s parents and sister. In the beginning, she longs for the familiar world of her northern California home—her friends, the leisurely afternoons, and her parents. Instead, Angie’s world is full of unfamiliar people, days in the family shop folding paper cranes, and occasional phone calls from her mom and dad as they prepare for a divorce.

In the typical narrative arc of these “formative summer” books, a crush plays itself out towards heartbreak, the protagonist learns that she is more like her mother and grandmother than she originally thought, and her relationships with others become more responsible and emotionally engaged.

The book involves some interesting identity issues. Angie has difficulty identifying with Japanese-Americans; she describes her trips into San Francisco’s Japanese community as part of her “weekend life” as opposed to her “real life.” Observations such as these might be close to home for some readers, insulting to others. Angie has uneasy relationships with other people in general, and she finds the Japanese church-going neighbors, youth group kids, and her culturally knowledgeable grandmother particularly intimidating.

Angie’s family histories are a major highlight of the story: her parents participated in sit-ins in their undergraduate days at Stanford (Angie is named after Angela Davis), her grandmother Michi grew up in an orphanage for Japanese-American kids, and her grandfather was interned in Arkansas during WWII. The Inui family’s experiences allude to the diversity of experience in the Japanese-American community, which may be an interesting introduction to young readers.

A Tree Grows in Brooklyn- Betty Smith

A Tree Grows in Brooklyn came with me on a cross-country flight. On the plane and in the airport, three different people came up to me and asked if I was enjoying the book, because they remembered reading it when they were young. For many, the book is not only about the experience of childhood, but part of childhood itself.

Not so with me. I first attempted this book as a 12 year-old; I abandoned it because the first scene was just too rosy—it opens on 11 year-old Francie enjoying a glorious summer Saturday. She buys penny candy (“oh! The glorious things I could buy with this nickel!”), checks out a library book (“I am reading every book in the library, starting at the beginning of the alphabet, oh how I wish I could read all the books in the world!”), and surveys her neighborhood from the fire escape of her home (“isn’t Brooklyn the most wonderful place you could ever imagine?”).

At the onset, I was irritated by Francie’s naivete. But then I felt like a huge jerk, because 50 pages in I realized that Francie’s childlike wonder was illustrated largely so readers could observe its near-instant evaporation. The charming father slowly drinks himself to death, the hard-working mother barely conceals her favoritism for the other child, and Francie grows up feeling painfully alone. She plays “North Pole” with the family when they have no more food in the house. She receives poor grades in school when she writes about her life and a teacher lectures her that “poverty, starvation and drunkenness are ugly subjects to choose.” She is nearly abducted by a rapist.

There is a hard edge to the narrative, but it is not without sweetness— the grim bits are folded in the golden honey of nostalgia, by turns poignant and cloying. Ultimately, I was won over by Francie—as the story wore on and she was faced the premature responsibilities and disappointments of adulthood, I was relieved when her old sentimentality and sensitivity bobbed to the surface. I was also touched by Francie’s complicated and yet kindred relationship with her mother, and their shared resolve to keep the family alive.

The most compelling character, however, is Brooklyn itself. The book offers a window into early 20th century New York City, the indignities of tenement life, the troubled diversity of immigrant neighborhoods, and the anticipation of the Great War. The horrors and wonders of Brooklyn are what make this book, particularly for those who know and love Williamsburg.

The ending of A Tree Grows in Brooklyn seems facile but, frankly, had the book ended 20 pages earlier it would have destroyed me. I am therefore willing to forgive the dubious/ highly convenient change in circumstances that allows Francie’s family to pull through. This plot resolution is essential, because otherwise this book would be called A Tree Tries Desperately to Survive in Brooklyn and Tragically Fails.