James Webb

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When Phillippa and Timothy Ledger move from their city home to an old English country manor, the MTV-generation twins have a hard time believing that the house might be haunted. But when Pip hears knocking deep within its 500-year-old walls, and Tim's knocks are answered back, things start to get scary. Then, when a strange youngster named Sebastian Rawne appears from one of those walls claiming to be the son of the medieval alchemist who built the place, events in the house go from scary to very strange indeed.

Doctor Illuminatus: The Alchemist's Son is British writer Martin Booth's first entry into the fantasy fiction genre, and young fans of writers like Eoin Colfer and J.K. Rowling will find much to like here. It is Sebastian's fate to sleep within the walls of the house, tasked by his long-dead father to awaken when the dark side of alchemy threatens. His father's evil counterpart, the alchemist de Loudeac, is also awake, and has commenced a diabolical plan that could threaten the lives of Pip, Tim and their parents. He is constructing a homunculus, an android-like creature made of things clean and unclean and answerable only to its creator. The twins and Sebastian are determined to stop this from happening, but they must ratchet up their courage, for de Loudeac has immense powers, can change shape at will, and even has Beelzebub at his command.

Young readers will find a bit of chemistry in Doctor Illuminatus, along with botany, a little physics and some history as well. Understanding alchemy involves all of these subjects, so in following the trio's adventures, they'll get a bit of practical to go along with the fantastical. The breakneck pace of Booth's plot should do even more to hold the attention of middle-school readers, who will enjoy this new fantasy/horror novel as long as they aren't afraid of things that go bump in the night.

When Phillippa and Timothy Ledger move from their city home to an old English country manor, the MTV-generation twins have a hard time believing that the house might be haunted. But when Pip hears knocking deep within its 500-year-old walls, and Tim's knocks are answered…

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For many years, my long hot summers have culminated in the sweet words of a man who's been dead for half a millennium. I'm lucky enough to live in a city where, as each August wanes, a plucky troupe of actors entertains with one of the Bard's works. Outside. Under the stars. Stephen Greenblatt is a Harvard professor, a world-renowned authority on English literature and a well-published author. After reading his latest book, Will in the World: How Shakespeare Became Shakespeare, however, I've got the feeling he's a fellow groundling at heart.

Over the centuries, some scholars have claimed that Shakespeare was an uneducated commoner who couldn't possibly have written such monumental works. Greenblatt doesn't deign to mention these charges, much less address them. Instead, he paints such a vivid portrait of the man that there can be no doubt that William Shakespeare, actor and entrepreneur, wrote the works attributed to him. Greenblatt presents the available evidence within the context of Shakespeare's culture and times; this cautious extrapolation of historical events and environmental influences from the Bard's work is what makes Will in the World so powerful.

Romantic love in the canon is a prime example. While Shakespeare's comedies, from A Midsummer Night's Dream to As You Like It, feature an assortment of couples coupling, Greenblatt makes the cogent point that there are comparatively few words in Shakespeare's work about marriage. Those marriages Shakespeare does portray end tragically, from Romeo and Juliet, to Othello and Desdemona, to Lord and Lady Macbeth. Greenblatt makes an obvious connection to Shakespeare's own dysfunctional marriage to Anne Hathaway, but he points out that Shakespeare's flight to London might also have been driven by his closet Catholicism in the face of an "English Inquisition" sweeping Stratford-upon-Avon. Greenblatt even speculates that the stifling anti-Catholic climate of the times may explain why Shakespeare left no personal paper trail.

Greenblatt's most compelling arguments concern the tremendous burst of creativity late in Shakespeare's career, when he wrote some of his greatest works: Othello, King Lear, Macbeth and Hamlet. Again, Greenblatt draws a personal connection the death of Shakespeare's son Hamnet but he goes further, interweaving the political and religious events of the times and showing how they turn up in the plays. He portrays the sophistication and boldness of a well-established playwright at the top of his game, who made the brilliant conceptual leap of portraying the inner life of the mind by deliberately obscuring what motivates that mind.

Artists often say they really don't create a work of art; instead, they bring out what was already there by illuminating the space around it. Greenblatt has done just that in Will in the World. By illuminating the space around the Bard, he has brought William Shakespeare to vivid life.

This summer James Neal Webb enjoyed The Comedy of Errors in the park.

For many years, my long hot summers have culminated in the sweet words of a man who's been dead for half a millennium. I'm lucky enough to live in a city where, as each August wanes, a plucky troupe of actors entertains with one of…

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Leaping Beauty is a children's book that parents will almost certainly grab before their kids will. Why? Purely because of the star power of its author, Gregory Maguire, an endlessly entertaining and inventive writer whose novel Wicked: The Life and Times of the Wicked Witch of the West, inspired a Tony Award-winning play.

But why should grownups have all the fun? Children will also love this hilarious new collection in which Maguire demonstrates his knack for turning classic tales inside out.

There's Little Red Robin Hood, for instance, which is not about that guy in tights in Sherwood Forest, or that little girl strolling through the woods with her picnic basket. Nope, in this case, the one in the hood is a robin who likes to pretend he's a superhero. While he is on his way to his grandmother's (who is living at a retirement village on the other edge of the forest), the robin is sidetracked when he hears a chickadee's distress call. What happens next is nothing like a fairy tale.

In "So What and the Seven Giraffes," a baby chimpanzee with an evil gorilla stepmother runs off to join the circus when said gorilla's plan to rub him out goes awry. Of course, evil stepmothers don't give up easily, and neither do young chimps training to be shot out of a cannon! The title tale concerns a beautiful young tadpole, born to the King and Queen of the Frogs. As in another story of similar name, our young heroine is cursed by a wicked fairy and rescued by another fairy's wish. The second fairy turns our tadpole into a serial crier a weeping beauty. How she gets from weeping to leaping is the point of the story, of course.

Ranging from wacky to silly, this wonderful compendium of literary magic will keep youngsters giggling. And as for you adults without any children, well, just tell the clerk you're buying the book for your niece or nephew. We won't tell.

Leaping Beauty is a children's book that parents will almost certainly grab before their kids will. Why? Purely because of the star power of its author, Gregory Maguire, an endlessly entertaining and inventive writer whose novel Wicked: The Life and Times of the Wicked Witch…

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When I was growing up, teenagers had adulthood thrust upon them in the form of an unpopular war and its accompanying cultural upheaval. We learned—and believed—that the only way to change the world was to be a part of it. We lobbied to lower the voting age to 18, and won. We changed the world all right, but the law of unintended consequences caught up with us, and the reverberations of that time echo across the generations. Today, that passion for change is gone, and voting has declined to a point to where our participation in democracy is no better than many third-world dictatorships. So what’s a kid to do?

Janet Tashjian has her own answer, and his name is Larry, or rather his alias is Larry. His real name is Josh Swensen, and he’s back to tweak a complacent country in Vote For Larry. It’s been almost two years since the events of The Gospel According to Larry, Tashjian’s award-winning teen novel wherein the young crusader took on America’s consumer culture via the Internet. After faking his own death, he’s been hiding out in Colorado, decidedly not practicing the anti-consumerism philosophy he espoused to the world. He’s created a new identity, enrolled in college (at UC-Boulder), and found himself a new girlfriend. His embrace of the consumer culture comes to a shocking halt when someone from his past reappears in his life.

What follows is vintage Larry. His former soulmate, Beth, along with her boyfriend Simon, is determined to be a part of the American political system, and she wants Josh along for the ride. If you’re Josh Swensen, you don’t do anything halfway, so he decides to run for the biggest prize of all: president of the United States. The fact that he’s too young to serve is only a minor obstacle, and Vote For Larry takes us along on Josh’s passionate quest to make a difference. Things won’t be easy, though, with the media and both political parties dead set against him, not to mention his old nemesis, "Betagold."

Vote For Larry is a crash course in the rough and tumble world of national politics, and teen readers will get a taste of just what it takes in idealism and courage to achieve such goals.

When I was growing up, teenagers had adulthood thrust upon them in the form of an unpopular war and its accompanying cultural upheaval. We learned—and believed—that the only way to change the world was to be a part of it. We lobbied to lower the…

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In London's Hyde Park there stands a statue of a young boy playing a flute. The well-known figure commemorates that world-famous icon of eternal youth, J. M. Barrie's Peter Pan.

Building on Barrie's timeless tale, Karen Wallace's new novel Wendy succeeds beautifully in creating a history for the famous Darling children prior to their adventures with the ageless leader of the Lost Boys. In doing so, the author presents us with the provocative idea that maybe, just maybe, Peter Pan wasn't the most interesting character in Barrie's book.

In Victorian London, children of upper-class families were meant to be seen and not heard, and that is precisely the lot of the young Darlings. Wendy Darling, a precocious, strong-willed nine-year-old, lives in fear of Nanny Holborn, a harsh, unlovable housemaid who terrorizes the children. Always making mischief, Wendy longs to go to her uncle's house in the country, where her mother's brother and his wife are the affectionate, caring adults her own parents fail to be. Meanwhile, there's Thomas, a simple-minded boy who lives close by. Thomas' remarkable artistic ability makes up for his lack of intelligence, and Wendy is strangely drawn to him. One night, Wendy sneaks out of the nursery to spy on an elegant dinner party given by her parents. What she witnesses that evening makes her wonder if she really knows her mother and father at all. Soon, a series of events is set into motion that changes her life forever, leading to a family mystery and new adventures for the Darlings.

Wendy stands on its own as an elegant narrative with an unforgettable heroine an intelligent, determined girl coming of age in turn-of-the-century London. The book is a wonderfully rendered Victorian-era period piece brimming with authentic details new-fangled motor cars, incredible aeroplanes and intrepid suffragettes. Wendy Darling is as believable as any character you'll find in fiction. Ah, but was she a real person? Was Peter Pan? All you have to do is believe.

James Neal Webb writes from Nashville.

In London's Hyde Park there stands a statue of a young boy playing a flute. The well-known figure commemorates that world-famous icon of eternal youth, J. M. Barrie's Peter Pan.

Building on Barrie's timeless tale, Karen Wallace's new novel Wendy succeeds beautifully in creating a history…

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If there's one thing writer Gary Paulsen has shown in his "Brian" books, it's that surviving in the wild is dangerous, but it can be done. His character Brian Robeson found this out when, at the age of 13, he alone survived a plane crash in the Canadian bush, only to be faced with a bigger challenge: enduring for months in the wild armed only with a hatchet.

Hatchet was the first of Paulsen's hugely successful stories concerning a city boy's life-changing encounters with the natural world. He followed the book with three sequels (The River, Brian's Winter and Brian's Return) and then declared that he would write no more Brian books. Now, thankfully, Paulsen has surrendered to popular demand with another satisfying sequel.

Brian's Hunt finds our young protagonist back in Canada, away from his parents, away from civilization, which he has come to disdain. It's a vacation of sorts for Brian, sleeping under the stars again, catching and cooking his own food, enjoying the isolation and silence, but his idyll is shattered when a frightened, wounded dog shows up at his campsite. As Brian nurses the creature back to health, he wonders where it came from, and the answer to this riddle draws him northward, to a Cree Indian camp, and the greatest danger he has ever faced. Paulsen knows the Canadian north woods, and the situation he presents to Brian (and the reader) in this book is frighteningly real. While Brian is as adept as any Native American in the ways of the forest, he's also still a kid. Fishing with a bow and arrow is easy compared to figuring out his attraction to the daughter of a Cree friend. This Brian isn't the same one we knew in Hatchet. Instead, he's cautious, careful and wise in the ways of woodcraft. It's only the girl that bothers him.

Paulsen recognizes the pull within all of us to be truly in charge of our lives, to control our own destiny. That kind of freedom is what we're all searching for, and what Brian has, in his world. In Brian's Hunt, however, Paulsen shows us that such freedom is not without its cost.

James Neal Webb writes from Nashville.

If there's one thing writer Gary Paulsen has shown in his "Brian" books, it's that surviving in the wild is dangerous, but it can be done. His character Brian Robeson found this out when, at the age of 13, he alone survived a plane…

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It's easy to run out of flattering adjectives when reviewing the books of children's author Avi. A prolific author, inventive and smart, he writes books that run the gamut of genre and age group. He has won countless awards, including three Newbery Medals, one of which he received for last year's Crispin: The Cross of Lead. But, whatever age group Avi is writing for, you can be sure that the young readers are in for a treat. The Mayor of Central Park is the story of Oscar Westerwit, resident of New York City and squirrel-about-town. It's the early days of the 20th century, and this friendly and guileless young rodent, affectionately known by his peers as the "Mayor" of Central Park, is about to have his world turned upside down. Like many a young squirrel (and man) in that day and time, his life is wrapped around that most wonderful of games, baseball. When his star pitcher, a big cat named Arty, is run out of town by a rat who doesn't like the way the feline is courting his daughter, that's just the start of Oscar's troubles. That self-same rat is known as Big Daddy Duds, and along with his henchman, a possum named Uriah Pilwick, he has decided to move his gang of thugs uptown, to Central Park! Oscar isn't the bravest critter in the world, and he's more of a dreamer than a soldier, but somehow he has to keep the park from falling into enemy hands. And then there's that pretty nurse named Maud.

The Mayor of Central Parkis a wonderful book, equal parts O. Henry, Damon Runyon and Ring Lardner. Avi has crafted an affectionate pastiche of those turn-of-the-century writers. The narrative offers plenty of humor and suspense, as well as a little romance and a lot of baseball. Young readers, both boys and girls, will enjoy Oscar's adventures. The Mayor of Central Park hits a home run.

 

James Neal Webb writes from Nashville.

It's easy to run out of flattering adjectives when reviewing the books of children's author Avi. A prolific author, inventive and smart, he writes books that run the gamut of genre and age group. He has won countless awards, including three Newbery Medals, one of…

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Kids are fantasy literature’s natural audience. After all, children are exposed to magic from the moment their little eyes are able to focus on a page and find a cow jumping over a moon or a velveteen rabbit that becomes real.

In a story that almost seems like a fairy tale itself, a young author named Christopher Paolini, only 19, has emerged with a fantasy novel of amazing depth and scope geared specifically to his own demographic. Eragon is both the title and the protagonist of Paolini’s promised Inheritance trilogy. The story of a teenage boy who by happenstance—or perhaps design—becomes the partner of a dragon, the book is set in a place much like medieval Europe.

When Eragon’s discovery and subsequent adoption of the young dragon Saphira results in danger and tragedy for his family and his town, he goes on a quest for vengeance with the help of a local storyteller named Brom. His is a world in which magic, while real, is feared, a fear based in large part on the ascendance to power of the evil lord of the land, Galbatorix, the last of the Dragonriders.

Fantasy writing is a tricky business; some authors slap on a thin coat of backdrop for their characters to parade against, and others lay on detail after excruciating detail. Paolini strikes a happy medium, showing wisdom beyond his years. He gives his world and his characters depth and reality. The dragon Saphira is a sentient creature equipped with both intellect and instinct. She and Eragon bond mentally, and their relationship deepens as the novel progresses. The old man Brom is an enigma; he serves as Eragon’s guide and teacher, and there’s more to him than meets the eye.

Paolini started this novel when he was only 15. He self-published it, and when the son of author Carl Hiaasen happened upon a copy, the book soon found its way to Random House. Four years later, Paolini is at the starting line for what may be a long writing career. Eragon is an exciting beginning.

Kids are fantasy literature's natural audience. After all, children are exposed to magic from the moment their little eyes are able to focus on a page and find a cow jumping over a moon or a velveteen rabbit that becomes real.

In a story that…

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After his successful foray into mainstream fiction with a coming-of-age tale, The Painted House (2001), John Grisham tries his hand at yet another subject with his winning new novel, Bleachers. Forgoing his usual focus on chills, thrills and courtroom drama, Grisham turns his writer’s eye on the world of Southern high school football and uses a small-town microcosm to tackle some big questions: Is it better to forget your past or to face life’s questionable judgments head on? Is the catharsis worth the price paid? And is it truly possible to forgive?

The setting for Bleachers is Messina, a town in an unidentified Southern state which becomes the center of the universe for high school football fans on Friday nights. It’s the home of the multi-champion Spartans and their legendary coach, Eddie Rake, who, on this weekend, lies on his deathbed. The bleachers of Rake Field are the gathering place for coach Rake’s “boys,” who sit and swap stories and beers as they wait for the passing of their beloved and hated coach. Among the returning players is former All-American Neely Crenshaw, who left Messina 15 years earlier, carrying a host of burdens with him from this field. Over the next 48 hours, he will face his demons and try to banish them.

A high school quarterback himself long before he became a world-famous writer, Grisham knows all about the athleticism, the bravado and the overflowing testosterone that come together to create a football team. Using his considerable skills as a dramatist, he slyly weaves a compelling mystery that pulls the reader into his tale just what did happen at that final game? With believable dialogue and vivid description, he takes us right into the heart of the huddle and into the hearts of his characters.

To his credit, Grisham manages to avoid the typical cliches that many writers use when dealing with the modern South. There are no barefoot hillbillies here. This is a world where high school football outdraws many colleges. It’s a world where prejudice has been dealt with, at least on the surface, and where race, class and sexual orientation mean nothing on the field, as long as you’re winning.

When the klieg lights are shut off, when the season is over for good, does the single-minded devotion to a goal really serve you in the real world? Bleachers doesn’t necessarily answer that question, but John Grisham certainly gives it the old college try.

After his successful foray into mainstream fiction with a coming-of-age tale, The Painted House (2001), John Grisham tries his hand at yet another subject with his winning new novel, Bleachers. Forgoing his usual focus on chills, thrills and courtroom drama, Grisham turns his writer’s eye on…

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Traveling is invariably an adventure for children. Their fresh eyes and minds can make even the most mundane trip memorable. The short stories in Donald R. Gallo’s marvelous collection, Destination Unexpected, are all about the journeys young people make, both literally and figuratively, from city to country, from ignorance to understanding.

Author Joyce Sweeney leads off the anthology with “Something Old, Something New,” the story of a black teenager’s bus trip across town to accept an award a small journey with big consequences. Distances increase in Margaret Peterson Harris’ “My People,” when a shy girl from Appalachia journeys to Mercer University for a week-long camp for high school students. There, she finds undreamed-of horizons opening up for her. The teenage girl in “Tourist Trapped,” by Ellen Wittlinger, travels from Kansas to Cape Cod for a summer, but her horizons are far from open.

Not all of the trips featured here involve mileage. Some of the most important journeys take place in the mind, as David Lubar’s “Bread on the Water” demonstrates. The story follows a young man on a journey of conscience, as he gets a lesson in charity from a friend. Not all of these young characters are innocent, either. Will Weaver’s story, “Bad Blood,” concerns the youngest member of a family of grifters, and his dogged quest to convince an old woman to give him a classic Corvette. In “Keep Smiling,” Alex Flinn’s protagonist seeks redemption after a drunk driving fatality, and Kimberly Willis Holt shows how an adopted Chinese girl and her big brother are drawn together in “August Lights.” Travel can be both an internal and external experience, but the most wonderful journey is, in the end, the one made from adolescence to adulthood. Destination Unexpected is a fine tribute to that journey. Serious, contemporary literature for young people, it’s a book that teen readers will enjoy.

Traveling is invariably an adventure for children. Their fresh eyes and minds can make even the most mundane trip memorable. The short stories in Donald R. Gallo's marvelous collection, Destination Unexpected, are all about the journeys young people make, both literally and figuratively, from…
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M.T. Anderson has come up with a mantra for the 21st century: I wanted to buy some things, but I didn't know what they were. So says Titus, the protagonist of Feed, a very scary and provocative look at what the future might be like for teenagers. It's no wonder Titus wants to buy things; he's subject to a never-ending bombardment of advertisements that come through an internet hookup, or feed, hardwired into his brain. His every movement is tracked, his every taste is tallied and pandered to. He can barely read; he can't write, and his only thoughts are of what fun things he and his friends are going to do.

Titus and his pals begin this roller-coaster ride into the future by spending spring break on the moon. While there, he meets Violet, a shy, cerebral young girl who teaches him the importance of fighting against the power of the intrusive feed. Shortly after they meet, Titus and his friends are the victims of a creepy stranger's terrorist attack, the consequences of which affect all their lives, one of them tragically.

It's exhilarating to decipher Anderson's futuristic adolescent slang, but his story is a serious one. He has an uncanny gift for depicting how teenagers see the world. The way in which he envisions their future lifestyle feels believable. With a manipulative corporate monster that puts a trademark on both school and the weather, trips to the beach in protective suits and mysterious lesions that become fashion accessories, Titus and Violet's world seems ominously possible. Feed is a cautionary tale for young people, but be warned, parents this is a book for young adults. Feed has profanity, drinking and drug use, as well as sexual situations. You might want to read it yourself before passing it on to your youngster. It's certainly worth your time.

James Neal Webb has raised two teenagers.

 

M.T. Anderson has come up with a mantra for the 21st century: I wanted to buy some things, but I didn't know what they were. So says Titus, the protagonist of Feed, a very scary and provocative look at what the future might be like…

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Sitting down to read a book by Avi is like visiting a wise and trusted friend; you know that whatever he wants to talk about, you'll come away informed, entertained and looking forward to your next meeting. Avi's imagination roams far and wide, and his award-winning books have earned him millions of young fans. His last effort, The Good Dog, dealt with the world of dogs and men in a Colorado town. Crispin: The Cross of Lead, his new book for young readers, has a radically different milieu that of an orphaned boy in medieval England.

When a poor peasant woman named Asta dies, her nameless son, numb with grief and reeling from the death tax that promises to make his life even more miserable, runs away to the forest. There he discovers he is marked for death because of a crime he did not commit. Fleeing the only home he has ever known, with his neighbors and the steward of the manor in hot pursuit, he is given his mother's cross and told his name Crispin by the village priest.

It is in his fearful and baffled flight that Crispin meets a giant of a man named Bear. A juggler, singer and musician by trade, the irascible entertainer forces Crispin to become his servant, and later (and less reluctantly) his apprentice. Yet the shadow of the past stalks the boy as he struggles to understand why anyone would want him dead, and he wonders if he can trust his huge companion, who apparently has secrets of his own.

It's easy to see why Avi is such a popular writer. He has the storyteller's gift, the ability to make you ask, What happens next? His prose is direct and elementary, without being simple. His characters are understandable to young readers, but at the same time wonderfully original. He introduces historical elements to the story elegantly and naturally. Overall, Crispin will entertain readers with a compelling story, while at the same time giving them an intimate peek into life in 14th century England. And when your child is through with the book, you can enjoy it too!

Sitting down to read a book by Avi is like visiting a wise and trusted friend; you know that whatever he wants to talk about, you'll come away informed, entertained and looking forward to your next meeting. Avi's imagination roams far and wide, and his…

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There's a great Far Side cartoon by Gary Larson about what we name our dogs "Rex," for instance and what dogs name themselves: "Tybor Stalker of Cats" or "Queen Thickfur of the Stained Rug." Larson is making an important point: as much as we think we know about our domesticated companions, a lot remains hidden. I think children's author Avi would agree. Certainly his new novel The Good Dog reflects this belief.

Avi tells the story of McKinley, a malamute who is sheriff, mayor and psychologist all rolled into one to the canines of Steamboat Springs, Colorado. He's also "raising a human pup" named Jack and protecting the boy's family. McKinley's world is changed forever when a she-wolf named Lupin comes from the mountains in search of recruits for her decimated pack, and he's faced with some hard choices. Should he stay or should he go? And if he stays, how will he handle the threat that Lupin presents to his town? When an abused greyhound escapes his master to join Lupin, McKinley must somehow find a way to balance the good of the pack, the fear (and respect) he feels for Lupin and the responsibility he has for his human companions.

On the premise that dogs probably know more than we think, Avi has crafted a detailed and realistic world for his characters. McKinley and the other dogs in this story have a simple grasp of some (but not all) of what the humans around them are saying, and consequently the dogs' understanding of why humans do what they do is limited. This can be amusing, like the dogs' concept of garbage trucks as being human donations of food to one another. Within the dogs' own world, the rituals that humans are familiar with marking territory, howling and submission all take on new meanings. The Good Dog also reveals parts of a dog's life that humans generally aren't privy to, like the animals' secret nighttime gatherings.

Avi sustains a balance in his tale. He doesn't present Lupin's life in the wild as superior to McKinley's existence as a domesticated animal. When Lupin is wounded, McKinley helps her in the only way he knows using man-things. Though superior to McKinley in a canine sense, Lupin is definitely out of her element in the human world, and she comes to respect McKinley as a result.

Young readers will find The Good Dog intriguing. Avi has won two Newberry Medals, and it's easy to see why.

 

James Neal Webb has a 13-year-old Keeshond.

There's a great Far Side cartoon by Gary Larson about what we name our dogs "Rex," for instance and what dogs name themselves: "Tybor Stalker of Cats" or "Queen Thickfur of the Stained Rug." Larson is making an important point: as much as we…

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