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When third grader Griffin Silk was born, his dad called him “the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, the period at the end of the Silk family, and the icing on the cake.” He was the youngest in a family of six and the only boy; his older sisters, all named for colors (Scarlet, Indigo, Violet, Amber, Saffron), were dubbed the “Rainbow Girls.”

Life turns upside down for Griffin when his parents have another baby. Although he is happy to have a new sister, Griffin grapples with the feeling that he won’t be a “period” anymore. Instead, he’ll be a comma. When tragedy strikes and Griffin’s mother and sister go away, he feels responsible because of his selfish feelings about the baby.

At its heart, Glenda Millard’s The Naming of Tishkin Silk is about finding joy after tragedy. Young readers will become engrossed in the moving tale of the Silk family and delight in a wacky cast of characters. Layla, Griffin’s friend in a school full of bullies, is particularly memorable as she coaxes the Silks to move beyond their loss.

Adults will admire the author’s stunningly simple language and descriptions of scene and personality, which pair nicely with Patrice Barton’s black-and-white drawings. To introduce a flower-bedecked Layla, Millard writes, “A person who believed in the magic of daisies, a person skilled in the art of crown making, was likely to be an uncommon kind of person.” Griffin—himself named for the mythical part-lion, part-eagle—says of “Tishkin,” the name of his lost sister: “That’s the sound I hear the leaves make, when I see her face looking down at me.”

Millard is especially adept at describing the unspoken, such as when Griffin realizes that loved ones don’t need “ears to hear and they don’t need words to talk.” As Layla and his family have taught him, sometimes, “they just know.”

The Naming of Tishkin Silk addresses a heavy topic in a sensitive manner. Young readers will be touched by the quirky and thoughtful personalities of Griffin and Layla and will learn a powerful lesson about family resilience.

The mind of Newbery Award-winning writer Neil Gaiman must be a very animated, busy and slightly offbeat place—and thankfully so. Otherwise, adults and children alike would be missing out on some of the most inventive characters and stories of our time.

In this fantastical romp, laden with the echoes of Norse mythology, readers meet Odd, a 12-year-old Norwegian boy who is down on his luck. He recently lost his father, a master carver who dove overboard on a Viking ship to rescue a pony. Then, Odd crushes his leg in a tree-felling accident and is left to hobble about with one good leg, one bad leg and one wooden crutch.

Despite his moniker, Odd’s name doesn’t really fit him. He is, perhaps, the most normal character in this short, yet extremely compelling, novel. There are far more odd fellows the boy will encounter when he ventures out of his village—fed up with grumpy villagers and a drunken stepfather, and eager for adventure. It isn’t long before befriends a fox, a bear and an eagle—at least that’s what he initially believes them to be. Odd is soon enraptured and entwined in their spectacular tales of powerful gods, teasing goddesses, intimidating Frost Giants and a magical place known as Asgard.

Nothing is as it seems, Odd will soon learn. The woods are full of surprises, minds can play tricks and animals can transmogrify. The world of what is real and what is imagined soon melds together—with Odd smack in the middle.
In this magical novel, dry humor is woven into the concise text. Anthropomorphic animals, vivid imagery and fantastical happenings provide an extremely quick-paced and accessible introduction to mythology.

Readers, especially young boys, will easily be drawn into Odd’s excellent adventure, which is ultimately a satisfying coming-of-age story wrapped in magic and mythical overtones.

Sharon Verbeten is a freelance writer and former children’s librarian in De Pere, Wisconsin.

Bran Hambric has a crummy home life. His foster parents, Sewey and Mabel Wilomas, make Bran sleep in the attic and do chores around the house; they won’t even add his name to their “Wilomas Family” sign.

But Bran is no ordinary orphan. When he was six years old, Sewey mysteriously found him in a locked bank vault. Nobody knows how Bran got there, and Bran has no memories before the vault. Because mages and gnomes are strictly outlawed in the city of Dunce, Bran would never imagine himself part of a magical plot, until he involuntarily performs magic at the Duncelander Fair, and allies and foes suddenly appear from an underground magical network. Bran quickly learns that his dead mother was a mage who created a terrible curse, and only he holds the key to the curse’s completion.

As readers devour Bran Hambric: The Farfield Curse, the experience may feel like a rolling snowball. The momentum of the plot builds as the pages turn, and we only discover the truth of Bran’s background in the book’s final chapters.

It is impossible to read about Bran Hambric without thinking of a certain lightning bolt-branded wizard who came before him. Both Bran and Harry Potter live with unpleasant foster families and discover their unusual abilities late in life. Bran is not a wannabe Harry Potter, though; rather, his story is a delightfully different take on a magical population.

Younger readers will enjoy this story because of the general silliness of its characters. Most memorable is Sewey Wilomas, a “Schweezer”-driving wacko who refuses to pay his bills. Older readers may take away lessons from the book’s themes: the difficulty of making big choices, the nonsense behind discrimination and the deep thinking involved in navigating right from wrong.

Aspiring young writers will find a role model in Kaleb Nation, the precocious 20-year-old who spent his teenage years writing Bran Hambric (among other pursuits). At kalebnation.com, readers can listen to music composed by this talented author and watch self-produced videos documenting his journey to publishing success.

Eliza Borné writes from Nashville.