Twelve-year-old Rebecca’s mother has just packed up their car and carted off Rebecca and her two-year-old brother Lew with barely any notice, driving from their home in Baltimore to stay with Gran in Atlanta, Georgia. Rebecca knew that her mother and father were having some issues (ever since her father wrecked his cab and became unemployed, the house hasn’t been the same), but the moments of fights and utter silence hadn’t prepared her for this, this utter abandonment of her father. She didn’t even get a chance to say goodbye to her best friend, Mary Kate. She was just pulled along, with her mom making all the decisions, uprooted from her beloved city of Baltimore, her comfortable row house home, to an utterly unfamiliar landscape. Atlanta is fine enough, she guesses. It’s warmer (which is actually completely strange), and it’s nice to see Gran again. But how is it that Rebecca had no choice in the matter? She misses the seagulls that flew overhead constantly at home, misses her father and his love for anchovies on pizza, misses her old school and the way she just fit there.

But everything changes when she finds a magic breadbox in the attic of her Gran’s home. Yes, a magic breadbox, one that can instantly provide anything that Rebecca asks for (with conditions, of course, as any proper magic item has). While experimenting, she finds that the items requested must be able to fit within the box itself, and must be real. No magic wands or unicorn horns allowed! But even with these restrictions, Rebecca soon finds that this magic breadbox, while not making her current situation any more palatable (missing her father never truly goes away, and she is still ridiculously mad at her mother’s lack of consideration in this whole matter), some things really do help: lip glosses and extra sticks of gum are handy presents to get the popular girls at school to like her, an iPod that plays her father’s favorite song (“Hungry Heart” by Bruce Springsteen) makes her feel a bit closer to her father, and a collectible spoon for her mother’s collection pleases her mom beyond belief and helps heal their rift just a bit.

However, soon Rebecca realizes that these items are not just appearing out of some void. They’re actually coming from somewhere, from other people. Has she become a thief without even realizing it? In addition to straining to understand both her mother and her father, Rebecca now has to try to figure out who she is exactly–what she has done, what kind of a sister she wants to be to Lew, and how she can make amends for this magic that at one point was her only consolation.

Magic breadboxes, Bruce Springsteen songs, and divorce. Laurel Snyder weaves these seemingly disparate elements into Bigger than a Breadbox for an incredibly realistic (despite the magic), charming, bittersweet, and poignant book. Snyder’s Penny Dreadful was one of my favorite books of last year, and with this book, she has cemented her place among my favorite middle grade authors. Rebecca is an incredibly realistic character, one whose emotions, like any twelve-year-old facing a family crisis, run the gamut from hurt to angry to vengeful to selfish to apologetic. She hides her feelings inside at first, unable and unwilling to see her mother’s point of view. And, honestly, what twelve-year-old, ripped from her beloved home, would be willing or able to see an adult’s point of view? The selfish aspects of Rebecca make this character, make her relatable and true. Twelve year olds are concerned with themselves and their lives above all else, are concerned with fitting it at school and having a place in the world. Snyder’s ability to make Rebecca flawed yet lovable is spot-on. Rebecca only begins to soften once she realizes that she is not the center of her world and that she is not the only one who is hurting: Lew is, too.

Another strength of Bigger than a Breadbox is its sense of place. Snyder vividly evokes both Atlanta and Baltimore. Even though barely any of the novel takes place in Baltimore, we are transported there by Rebecca’s wistful memories. The reader can see the beady eyes of the seagulls that Rebecca brings to Baltimore through her box, can hear the crunch of the Kandy Kakes wrappers that she wishes for Lew, and can taste the saltiness of the hot gravy fries she “requests” from her favorite diner in Baltimore. We feel the closeness of the Atlanta community, in which Rebecca can walk to school, and we see the changing landscape as a taxi brings her from one neighborhood to the next. Homesickness and new surroundings are truly brought to life in these sensory details.

It is a rare author who can mix magic into a book and still maintain the book’s “realness,” who doesn’t necessarily let the book spiral off into a world of fantasy. Because even with the magical breadbox in this book, every detail feels like it could happen, that it has happened. I ached for Rebecca and her family. The emotions, the setting, the girl, the family, even the breadbox itself: even with the magic–especially with the magic–it was all so real.