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Bigger than a Breadbox by Laurel Snyder

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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.

Reviews, Twitter-Style

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Back by popular demand, more reviews Twitter-style. These are all longer than 140-characters, but they’re quick looks at recent reads that didn’t necessarily merit a long review on their own.

Jasper Jones by Craig Silvey: This Australian import has been getting quite a bit of buzz because it’s earned the most starred reviews this year. But honestly, it was disappointing. I was engaged with the story from the beginning, as the mystery and the mental anguish within Charlie reminded me a lot of Paranoid Park and Gentlemen, but the last third of the book becomes one large information dump, essentially bringing the pace to a dead halt and killing any character growth. Moreover, even though I’m not a big mystery reader, I knew the solution to the story near immediately and never found myself questioning the plot twists — they weren’t really twisted. I’m sort of surprised the acclaim this one is getting. It’s not a poorly written book, but I don’t get the rave reviews, either. It was simply okay.

Okay for Now by Gary Schmidt: I was a huge fan of The Wednesday Wars, and though I am glad I read the companion (not sequel), I found it falling into some of the middle grade tropes I really dislike. The writing is strong, and Doug’s voice is well-done, but there are situations I felt were rushed in the end of the story. Though I’ve read arguments suggesting the end makes sense in context of the title, that doesn’t forgive it for me. The bigger issue I had was with what happens to Lily, as I feel it’s almost an eye-rolling cliche at this point. But, I do think Schmidt might earn his redemption with this novel, as I think it’s a Newberry potential title. It’s clean, though it tackles some challenging issues, and it’s perfectly appropriate for middle schoolers and up.


Chain Reaction by Simone Elkeles: This is the third and final book in the Perfect Chemistry series, and I think it is the weakest. That’s not to say I didn’t enjoy this because there were times I had to put the book down because it gets that steamy. Rather than give us a bad boy this time, Elkeles mixes up the storyline and gives us a good boy and a bad girl. The Fuentes family returns to Illinois, and for me, the setting is what really makes this novel. The manner it deals with gangs and associations has huge appeal to teen readers. The writing itself is not spectacular, but Elkeles’s books are less about that and more about the pacing and characters, and with those, she does a good job. Fans of the first books will appreciate this one, and though you could read this book without reading the other two, I’d suggest starting with Perfect Chemistry to become acquainted with the back stories and to see the strongest entry in the series.

Blood Wounds by Susan Beth Pfeffer: I’ve really come to dislike the reviews of this one that suggest Pfeffer has strayed from her well-loved “Moon” series. I believe an author can branch out wherever they want to, and it’s unfair to compare the works cross-genre. That said, I thought this family drama was interesting, and it’ll have appeal for many teen readers, I think. There’s a fast pace to it, and there are a lot of questions of what if. I felt like I never got a good grip on where the story would take me, and I kind of liked that. However, there are a number of subplots that are underexplored in the story, including ones on social class and on cutting, that are almost unforgivable. There is a huge issue of social class, right within Willa’s family, but they’re left there unexplored and Willa herself wasn’t as emotionally invested in that as I was (wouldn’t you hate if your step sisters got everything and you got nothing?) Had these subplots been played upon a little more, this book would have been stronger for me. Also, the cover is terribly unappealing — there’s a house involved in this story, and I kept imagining how cool that could have been as a cover and how it would have been a little truer to the plot. Alas.

Blink & Caution by Tim Wynne-Jones: This has been another book that’s gotten a lot of acclaim lately, and while I see it, I don’t necessarily think it’s the strongest book I’ve read this year. This thriller will appeal to a lot of readers who stick it out through the clunky beginning of the story, where we’re introduced to two characters, Blink and Caution. We’re introduced separately, and we’re not entirely sure how the two of them will fall into each other’s orbits; as soon as we get to that part, though, things speed up. This story of two street kids tackles issues of class and survival quite well, and there’s enough twisting and turning to keep the pages moving. That said, I was not into the use of second person. I find that to be a very tricky way of writing, and with the story here being strong as it is, I felt the second person actually slowed the narration down. It wasn’t necessary. It was a means of heightening the tension in the story when it didn’t really need to be heightened, as there was enough tension without it.

Peter Nimble and His Fantastic Eyes

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Jonathan Auxier opens his debut novel, Peter Nimble and His Fantastic Eyes, with a description of Peter’s early childhood: 
“He was nursed on the milk of a wounded mother-cat, whom he met after crawling beneath the local alehouse. The cat permitted baby Peter to live with her in exchange for his picking the lice and ticks from her fur – until one tragic day some months later when the alehouse manager discovered them huddled beneath his porch. Furious at finding vermin in his establishment, the man shoved the whole family in a bag and tossed them into the bay. Using his skillful fingers to untie the bag…he managed to make it back to shore without too much trouble.”
Silly and quite sad, no? But then Auxier sums it up for us thusly:
“Until this point, you have been witness to Peter’s rather typical infancy – probably not unlike your own.”
That was the first laugh out loud moment of the book, and there were many more to come. The irreverent tone of the omniscient narrator characterizes the book and is its greatest strength. It was refreshing to get away from the first-person narratives that pervade children’s books, and especially delightful to read a voice that so consistently caught me off guard (in a good way).
When Peter Nimble was a baby, his eyes were pecked out by ravens. Blind, he made his own way on the streets and was eventually taken in by an unscrupulous man named Mr. Seamus. Mr. Seamus forced Peter to steal for him, keeping him locked up in a basement when he wasn’t picking pockets and robbing residences. Peter became a terrific, and terrifically unhappy, thief.
His fortunes change when he runs into a man – a huckster, really – selling magical hats to an eager audience on the street. Peter is picking the crowd’s pockets when the man calls him up to the front for a demonstration of a hat that will cure bad odor. The man seems to know quite a bit about Peter, and after the demonstration, he leaves his cart alone with the master thief. Peter can’t help but take a look inside, and it is there that he finds the box of Fantastic Eyes. When he pops the first pair of eyes in, he is magically transported to another place. In this place, he meets Professor Cake, who sends him (and Sir Tode, a cat/horse/knight) on a quest to save a faraway kingdom. Numerous exciting and silly adventures ensue.
Auxier’s imagination is impressive and tends toward the silly, but he keeps the stakes high. Children are used as slaves, ravens peck out infants’ eyes, and monstrous sea creatures threaten to gobble up everyone we have grown to care about. Some plot points are easy to decipher, but others are completely out of left field (and intentionally so). Peter Nimble and His Fantastic Eyes is a bit of a throwback to classic children’s fantasies. It reminded me a little of the Oz books, which are also full of imaginative creatures and incredibly strange bits of magic. 
That said, I wasn’t ever able to really connect with the story as a whole. I approve wholeheartedly of silliness and a rollicking adventure, but I never felt much heart in the story. I don’t mean there has to be a lesson, but I wanted more depth out of the tale – deeper friendships, deeper meaning, something beyond silliness and clever phrases. Auxier almost gets there with the friendship between Peter and Sir Tode, but it never reaches what it could have been.
While I enjoyed Peter Nimble and His Fantastic Eyes, it seemed to lose a bit of steam toward the end. Even younger readers will realize where the story will inevitably end, and watching Peter and his friends get there isn’t as exciting when that happens. The narrator remains wonderfully witty, the creatures and people that populate the tale are imaginative as ever, and the idea behind the Fantastic Eyes is wonderfully grotesque and should have great appeal to its target audience. The book is certainly delightful, but I wanted more.
Review copy received from the publisher. Peter Nimble and His Fantastic Eyes is on shelves now.

The Visconti House by Elsbeth Edgar

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In Elsbeth Edgar’s debut, The Visconti House, fourteen year old Laura Horton lives in a crumbling old mansion in Australia with her parents and her pet cat, Samson.  She loves living there, but the kids at her school consider it to be haunted and tease her for hanging out with “ghosts.”  Laura is somewhat ostracized in other ways too: she likes to write (her current project is an illustrated dragon encyclopedia), her parents are always having weird visitors over (although she does love these weird visitors), and socializing with other girls doesn’t come easily to her.
Then Leon moves in with his grandmother, who lives next door to Laura.  Leon is considered just as weird as Laura, if not more so, and the kids speculate as to why he doesn’t live with his parents.  His father is occasionally around, but his appearance is scruffy and the kids start to spread rumors that he’s a criminal.  Leon himself is somewhat odd-looking – he’s always a little scraggly – and his attitude is sullen.  He also turns out to be a math whiz, which doesn’t endear himself to his peers.  His grandmother is already seen as odd by the other kids, so that doesn’t help Leon’s situation either.
It’s inevitable that Laura and Leon will become friends, although it takes some time, since Laura is desperate to fit in and initially pushes Leon away, not wanting to be ridiculed for being friends with him.  What eventually brings them together is the mystery of Laura’s house, which was built by a man named Mr. Visconti in the early 20th century.  Mr. Visconti built the strange but magnificent house as a young man and remained in the town afterward, alone and quietly friendless.  He, too, was seen as odd by the townspeople.  Laura and Leon know this much about Mr. Visconti, but they want to know more – why he built the house in the first place, if he built it for anyone in particular, and why he remained there alone for so long.
The mystery of the house is really just a frame story and isn’t the focus of the book.  In researching Mr. Visconti, whose tragic story mirrors Laura’s life to some degree, Laura and Leon’s friendship (and sweet, semi-romance) blooms and Laura learns that it’s OK to be different from everyone else.  The mystery is purely a device whose purpose is to reveal this lesson to Laura, so it doesn’t really succeed as much of a mystery in the end.  The clues are pretty obvious and Laura and Leon encounter very few stumbling blocks on their path to the truth.  The book is more concerned with developing the friendship between Laura and Leon, and it’s more successful there.
Although the book’s protagonist is fourteen, this is really a middle grade book.  The Visconti House is definitely a Book With a Message, and I think it needs a bit of a lighter touch to really appeal to teens (the message is blatantly stated by at least three characters near the end of the book).  For younger kids, however, the overt lesson they are supposed to take away may not interfere so much with their enjoyment of the book.  Many kids can relate to Laura’s feeling of alienation from her peers.  Laura wants to fit in at school, but she also really likes her odd house, her family with its strange visitors, and Leon, who no one else seems to like.  I don’t have to think too hard to remember how this felt when I was a kid.
Review copy received at TLA.

Guest Review: The Fourth Stall by Chris Rylander

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Today, we’ve got a guest post from Paul Stenis, a reference librarian at the University of Central Oklahoma. Paul attended University of Texas with Kim and I, and in addition to being a librarian, he holds an MA in creative writing and is in the midst of working on a novel for middle grade boys. When he talked about starting a blog about books for boys, we couldn’t help but ask if he’d like to offer up a review for us to share, and today we bring his first.

Chris Rylander chose to write The Fourth Stall in the first person point of view, a brilliant choice, I believe, because Christian “Mac” Barrett is his point of view character. You see, Mac is a guy you can count on for a favor. He’s a die-hard Cubs fan. And he tends to do a lot of his favors pro bono. That’s right. Mac talks tough and has a tough nickname, but he’s a champion for loveable losers and he’s got a pretty good sense of humor about it. Add it all up, and you get a kid who is tough but compassionate and pretty funny too. If you’re going to spend three hundred pages inside someone’s brain, Mac’s is a darn good choice. I liked it there. A lot.

Mac’s troubles begin when Fred enters the fourth bathroom stall that doubles as Mac’s office. Fred has a big problem: a twenty-year-old bully named Staples, who’s more ghost than guy, more rumor than fact. Staples runs gambling rings in several schools and uses high school cronies to beat up bookies and then terrorize them into making more foolish bets. Fred is one of his victims, and he’s only in the fourth grade. Fred has no money and no one to turn to. He’s come to the right place. Mac and his right-hand man Vince agree to protect Fred, pro bono of course, and that’s when the trouble really begins. Somehow Staples is on to their game from the start, and Mac soon realizes he is facing his toughest job yet.

Rylander’s achievements aren’t limited to the byproducts of Mac’s engaging voice, they’re also tied to his ability to both parody The Godfather and transcend it. The Fourth Stall isn’t just a clever book about Mac’s mafia-esque business, it’s a story of loyalty, compassion, and the strength of a life-long friendship. It’s a buddy book, and a lesson on how to forgive your friends and enemies. Christian’s first name is no accident. And so it’s moving in a way that the source material isn’t.

In other words, Rylander’s decision to move the Godfather story into the realm of junior high is brilliant on a couple of levels. It’s funny to hear sixth graders talk and act like gangsters. Indeed. But more important is the elbow room Rylander gave himself as a writer with the decision to give Mac compassionate side that wouldn’t fly in the adult world equivalent.

If I have a complaint to share, it’s this: there is a glaring lack of three-dimensional female characters here. But that’s forgivable, in my view, because Mac’s experience is limited in that department, as it would be for a lot of male characters his age. Perhaps that’s something Rylander will take on in the sequel. Whatever he decides, I can’t wait to read it.