Page by Paige by Laura Lee Gulledge
Paige’s family moves from Virginia — where she’s always lived — to New York City, and suddenly, she’s torn from everything she’s known. Her life has fallen into a new place, and she’s lost any sense of who or what she is. She knows she’s an artist, but having that label applied to herself is tough to understand. She doesn’t know where she fits into the new scheme of her high school, an urban high school where everyone seems to know exactly who they are and where they fit in. She doesn’t want to be the “new girl” forever, but it’s tough finding a place to slide into.
Paige pours those feelings into her notebook, one where she’s also noted the rules her grandma gave her when it comes to making art. As she begins unraveling her feelings about her new life and about who she is, Paige begins making new friends — both by accident and by purposeful interaction on her part (though she’d never admit to that). While making these new friends, she begins to understand what her purpose in this new life is, as well as begins to understand that being an artist is part and parcel of who she is. It’s how she deals with things, and it’s how she processes and understands the world around her.
Page by Paige is a new addition to the slight world of stand alone graphic novels geared toward teen girls. There are no superheroes in here. Instead, it’s a fully fleshed story about growing up and about change. It’s perhaps most about better understanding who you are as a person and embracing the things about you that make you unique. It’s a bit of an artist’s manifesto, even. As a reader, I understood everything that Paige said and struggled with when it came to making art and to valuing the role art plays in understanding oneself. I think anyone who has ever done something artistic, something that really requires delving deep inside to express a feeling or a thought or an idea, will relate to Paige easily; there’s a real tension between going out and living, sometimes and sitting back and letting life live around you, and Gulledge captures that strongly in both the words she’s written and in the illustrations that heighten those words.
The book is structured around the nine rules which Paige’s grandmother told her about creating art, and I think that the set up and execution of the book are successful because of this. The rules help Paige process herself and her place in this new, foreign, even exotic world she’s entered, and at the same time, they serve as her guidebook to creating meaning in her art. What was extremely smart on Gulledge’s part in illustrating the story, though, was not putting all of the rules out there from the beginning. Had she done that, we’d know the whole of Paige’s story from the set up; instead, we’re given the first three rules in an early illustration, but we’re lead through the remaining rules as the story progresses and as we begin to sympathize and urge Paige on in her path to finding who she is.
Characters in this book were well done, and I appreciated that they never swerved into stereotypes. Paige falls into a group of artistic kids, but they’re not set up as the strange ones in school, and neither are they outcast or the popular kids. Instead, they’re all individuals, and I could keep them apart in my mind. Since the book’s told through Paige’s point of view, it would have been easy to have these secondary characters fall into a trope, but they didn’t — which is both proof of Paige’s ability to grow up and work toward her goals, as well as proof of Gulledge’s ability to flesh out individuals quite well.
The illustrations in the book — done in black and white only — are unique, and I found them to be strong and in harmony with the text. The details included in the illustrations make it modern, as many of the characters wear t-shirts sporting favorite bands (that are current), and perhaps my favorite little details included seeing what the characters were reading at different points in the story (Paige, for example, delves deep into Y: The Last Man). I found these little details important because they really spoke to an idea Paige brings up in her own art and in the rules she follows: inspiration. It was fun to be right there with her as she sought and found moments of inspiration in the world around her, and again, it makes these things relatable to readers who also find inspiration for their own art all around them. I won’t lie: I found the fact Paige has her own treadmill desk one of the highlights of this book for me.
Perhaps my only issue with the graphic portion of this story is that at times it felt very young, given the strength and the wisdom in the text itself. For me, the cover and font used on it speak more to a middle grade readership than a young adult one, and this is not a book for a middle grade audience. Middle school, definitely, but not middle grade.
My biggest challenge with the book, though, is that at times it borders on didactic. The points Gulledge wants to make with readers are important, but they’re almost served a little too clearly and obviously in the story. The rules from Paige’s notebook work perfectly to service the story’s goal, but there are instances throughout the book that these points are hammered home a little too much. As an adult, I found myself a little frustrated with those things being hit on again and again, and I can imagine that might turn some teen readers off entirely. Paige is a quieter character, and she’s one who is very internally focused. In no way does this make her dumb or unaware of herself and the path she needs to take to fit in and to understand the role art plays in her life. I think a lot of times characters who are quieter and more focused internally are branded as the kind of characters who need things repeated to them since they’re not showing off these lessons or their thoughts out loud or in showy ways; as someone who’s had people talk down to me because of my own need to process internally, I was annoyed for Paige that these “big lessons” were repeated and repeated and repeated. At the end, it felt like Paige’s coming to terms with herself was too adult-like, too reflective and insightful. It was a little too idealized.
While reading, I spent a lot of time thinking about audience for Page by Paige and actually had little trouble figuring out who’d like this book — fans of realistic fiction, artists, or anyone who has ever felt like an outcast or experienced a huge change in their life. I read this at the same time I was rereading Siobhan Vivian’s Same Difference, and I saw countless parallels between Emily and Paige. In fact, I almost brought Gulledge’s book to my teen book group’s discussion of Vivian’s book because I thought they’d be an excellent pairing. Fans of Liz Gallagher’s recent title, My Not-So-Still Life will also find great parallels between the stories and characters.
This is the kind of book you could sell easily to regular fans of realistic fiction, even if they’re not usually fans of graphic novels. Fans of Cecil Castellucci’s Plain Jane books will also enjoy this one. As I mentioned earlier, this book will work well for middle and high school students, though I wouldn’t feel comfortable handing it to middle grade readers. There aren’t language issues, but some topical ones that make it more appropriate for those ages. And while I think there are certainly males who will read and relate to this story, I think the audience for Gulledge’s book will be primarily female.
If you want more information about the book, want to check out the inspiration for the story, or want to download some of the cool art associated with the book (like Paige’s rules shared above), make sure you check out the author’s website. There’s also an entire blog devoted to just Page by Paige here. For anyone who does art or writing workshops, these look to be great places for ideas and inspiration.
The Revenant by Sonia Gensler
The Revenant by Sonia Gensler is a hybrid book: part mystery, part ghost story, part historical fiction, part coming of age. Seventeen year old Willie Hammond is attending a school she loves in the late 19th century when her mother writes her a letter, telling her she must take a break from school and return home to help on the farm. Willie doesn’t feel like she belongs at the farm, so she steals her classmate Angeline McClure’s teaching certificate and runs away to accept a position as a teacher at a Cherokee female seminary in Indian Territory.
Review copy provided by publisher. The Revenant is on shelves now.
Guest Review: The Fourth Stall by Chris Rylander
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.
Audiobook Review: Nation by Terry Pratchett
Mau is thirteen-years old, in the midst of the boyhood ritual that will transform him into a man, according to the beliefs of his island nation. All he has to do is cross the ocean in a canoe, return to his own island, and undergo the ritual and tattooing that will mark him as a man. He has already shed his boyhood soul and just needs to make it home to be granted the soul of a man. But just as he sets off, a vicious tsunami hits, wiping out the population of Mau’s home, called the Nation, and devastating the surrounding islands. While Mau is lucky enough to make it home, he soon finds that he is the sole survivor of his people. Well, just Mau and a girl, the daughter of a British governer, whose ship, the Sweet Judy, was shipwrecked on the island. Ermintrude, or Daphne, as she prefers to call herself, as she despises her given name, and Mau soon form an alliance and a friendship, realizing that they have only each other (and a foul-mouthed parrot) for both company and any hopes of survival. And as trickles of other shipwrecked seagoers and island-folk arrive at the island, bit by bit, seeking salavation, somehow the Nation, a new Nation, is born again.
My brother-in-law is perhaps the biggest Terry Pratchett fan (perhaps the biggest fan of any author) that I have ever met. He has been dogging me for years to try Pratchett out, and I am so, so grateful that I finally did. Nation was an absolute marvel, well-deserved of all the honors and awards that it garnered. What seems on the surface a story about re-populating an island and finding a community is enhanced by Pratchett’s exploration of some key life questions: what happens when two (or many) cultures collide? And what is the role of religion in our lives, especially in a world where the gods can warn the birds and beasts about an impending tsunami, but neglect to alert the human who worship them so ardently?
Mau is a fully developed protagonist, one who is absolutely open with the reader about his hopes, fears, doubts, and anxieties about the future. We see his trepidation and casual arrogance as he goes about the ritual to become a man. Then witness his absolute disassociation as he goes about the necessary business of weighing down the dead bodies on the Nation (dead bodies who could easily be his family or friends) with coral, so that they will sink into the ocean for their final rest. We see his gratitude when he finally meets Daphne, gratitude for having someone, something, to give him a reason to stay alive. And then, in perhaps the most powerful scenes of the book, we witness Mau questioning his faith. Why are the grandfathers, the revered spirits of his ancestors, nagging at him to restore the god stones? Why should he, if worshiping in this way before only brought death and destruction?
As Mau and Daphne also begin to navigate this new society they are building, with the “soulless” Mau as its chief, they also have to navigate the nature of gender roles. Daphne, born into a civilized family, with a grandmother with rules and standards for every possible occasion, is soon called upon to help birth a baby, learns to make beer, and eventually, in the heat of the island, sheds the layers of clothing that have been stifling her for her entire life. Mau has to venture into the “women’s place,” previously forbidden to him, as he knows this is necessary to save his new people.
But Nation does not just involve the exploration of these theological and philosophical issues. Pratchett seamlessly weaves in these themes through a fairly fast-moving plot that includes a mutinous crew, a murder, hastily re-patched cannons, scientific discoveries, and a character coming back from the dead.
Narrator Stephen Briggs, who has also narrated a number of Terry Pratchett’s other books, was an ideal choice for this production. His deep commanding voice perfectly agreed with the heavy themes of faith, gods, and survival that Nation covers, and, in fact, it often seemed like he was issuing an edict from on high. The tribal music interspersed between scenes and chapters also helped greatly in establishing atmosphere. In fact, this production of Nation won ALA’s 2009 Odyssey Honor Award for Excellence in Audiobook Production.
I will definitely be seeking out more books by Sir Terry Pratchett in the future.
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