Norah Piehl

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Near the end of Sarah Nicole Smetana’s debut novel The Midnights, her protagonist, Susannah, muses about “the strangeness of these in-between moments, these points of intersection between one thing and the next.” The Midnights follows Susannah through a sort of in-between year, one in which she loses someone precious and perhaps gains something priceless.

Susannah’s dad was once the guitarist for a band called the Vital Spades, a rock group that was on the verge of greatness until personal circumstances broke them apart. Ever since they called it quits, her dad has mourned what could have been. Susannah secretly harbors her own musical ambitions but has always been too unsure of herself to share them outside of the midnight music lessons with her father. After he dies suddenly at the start of her senior year, Susannah and her mother move from Los Angeles to Orange County, California, where Susannah discovers she’s not the only one in her family with secrets. In her new surroundings, Susannah quickly makes friends with a charismatic free spirit and finds an opportunity to redefine herself as a fearless musician with a strong voice of her own—but is it possible she’s still undervaluing her own worth?

Smetana’s debut is ambitious but thoughtful, especially when it comes to Susannah’s knowledge and intuitive understanding of music and lyrics. Some narrative paths turn into dead ends while others (especially romantic ones) remain at times frustratingly unexplored, but the story’s occasional meanderings mirror Susannah’s own circuitous journey toward knowledge and self-respect, one on which readers will be more than happy to accompany this talented young woman.

Near the end of Sarah Nicole Smetana’s debut novel The Midnights, her protagonist, Susannah, muses about “the strangeness of these in-between moments, these points of intersection between one thing and the next.” The Midnights follows Susannah through a sort of in-between year, one in which she loses someone precious and perhaps gains something priceless.

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Fresh from winning the 2018 Newbery Medal for her previous novel, Hello, Universe, Erin Entrada Kelly brings readers another beautifully written story of hard-won friendship. Charlotte Lockard and Ben Boxer may live hundreds of miles apart—she’s in Philadelphia, he’s in Louisiana—but they have plenty in common. Both are passionate about their interests. Both excel at online Scrabble (which is how they met). Both are having a hard time navigating their first year of middle school, and they’re experiencing family crises. And even though they don’t know it, both Charlotte and Ben are each other’s only real friend.

Charlotte is busy navigating shifting allegiances at school and her father’s illness at home. Meanwhile, Ben launches a student council campaign, in part to distract himself from his parents’ divorce. When Charlotte and Ben chat during their Scrabble games, they inevitably overstate their happiness and understate their loneliness—but will their long-distance friendship give them the courage to be more authentic, both online and in real life?

Kelly’s novel takes on some challenging topics, from divorce to aging parents to bullying. Both Charlotte and Ben are flawed—they misrepresent themselves and are sometimes unkind—but these flaws are also what make their stories feel honest and real. For the kids who read this story, Charlotte’s and Ben’s stumbles will make their journey toward happiness so much more satisfying.

 

This article was originally published in the April 2018 issue of BookPage. Download the entire issue for the Kindle or Nook.

Fresh from winning the 2018 Newbery Medal for her previous novel, Hello, Universe, Erin Entrada Kelly brings readers another beautifully written story of hard-won friendship. Charlotte Lockard and Ben Boxer may live hundreds of miles apart—she’s in Philadelphia, he’s in Louisiana—but they have plenty in common. Both are passionate about their interests. Both excel at online Scrabble (which is how they met). Both are having a hard time navigating their first year of middle school, and they’re experiencing family crises. And even though they don’t know it, both Charlotte and Ben are each other’s only real friend.

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Wordy Birdy, as her name suggests, is one talkative bird. From the moment she wakes up in her treetop home, she’ll happily give you a running commentary about, well, anything—from what she likes (“spaghetti and unicorns and library books”) to what she doesn’t (“tall grass or turtlenecks or long lines or tuna salad”). She is also good at asking a lot of questions, but what Wordy Birdy is not so good at? Listening to the answers.

So when Wordy Birdy sets off on a walk into the deep, dark forest, she is too busy talking to notice the dire signs about danger ahead, or to hear the warnings from her raccoon, squirrel and rabbit friends, who beg her to turn around. Will Wordy Birdy stop talking and start listening before it’s too late?

Obviously, Wordy Birdy is a story with a clear message that will be relevant to a lot of young readers (and their grown-ups). Author Tammi Sauer balances the story’s moral with plenty of hilarity, and Dave Mottram’s cartoon-like illustrations—including bright plumage that matches Wordy Birdy’s zany personality—amp up the fun in this silly story. Cartoon speech bubbles help highlight the importance of the story’s dialogue and bring Wordy Birdy’s voice to life. It would be fun to hear this story read by two readers—one to seriously read the narrator’s and sidekicks’ voices, and one to have fun with Wordy Birdy’s many words.

This is one story that kids will love to listen to.

Wordy Birdy, as her name suggests, is one talkative bird. From the moment she wakes up in her treetop home, she’ll happily give you a running commentary about, well, anything—from what she likes (“spaghetti and unicorns and library books”) to what she doesn’t (“tall grass or turtlenecks or long lines or tuna salad”). She is also good at asking a lot of questions, but what Wordy Birdy is not so good at? Listening to the answers.

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It’s no exaggeration to say that The Hazel Wood is one of the most anticipated books of the year. Fortunately, this is one of those cases where the hype is justified. Readers, especially those with a fondness for dark fairy tales, won’t want to miss this brilliant combination of realistic fiction and fantasy.

Seventeen-year-old Alice and her mother, Ella, have spent years living as nomads; they never seem to be able to outrun their bad luck or avoid the obsessive fans of the hard-to-find fairy-tale collection Tales from the Hinterland, written by Alice’s grandmother, whom she’s never met. But when Alice’s mom is mysteriously kidnapped, Alice and her classmate (and die-hard Hinterland fan) Finch set off to find her in the supernatural Hazel Wood. Along the way, the two encounter dangerous situations and memorable—and sometimes terrifying—characters.

Readers may wish they could get their hands on an elusive copy of Tales from the Hinterland, and they’ll be more than happy to stay up late to accompany Alice on her perilous journey.

 

This article was originally published in the February 2018 issue of BookPage. Download the entire issue for the Kindle or Nook.

It’s no exaggeration to say that The Hazel Wood is one of the most anticipated books of the year. Fortunately, this is one of those cases where the hype is justified. Readers, especially those with a fondness for dark fairy tales, won’t want to miss this brilliant combination of realistic fiction and fantasy.

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Eleven-year-old Leonora (Leo) comes from a long line of talented bakers in Rose Hill, Texas. This Día de los Muertos, however, Leo starts to suspect that a talent for baking isn’t the only thing that runs in the family—and she soon discovers that her mom, her Tía Paloma and her four older sisters are all brujas, witches of Mexican ancestry whose recipes double as magic spells.

Leo has always felt a little separated from her Mexican heritage—she can’t even understand much Spanish—but she’s eager to discover whether she, too, is a bruja. Her sister Isabel assures Leo that she’ll acquire her own special power once she turns 15, but there’s no reason why Leo can’t start practicing some spells now, right? When Leo finds a spell to help her grieving best friend, it seems easy enough—but soon Leo’s magical baking project is wreaking havoc both at school and at home.

Chock full of humor, magic, friendship and sisterhood, Anna Meriano’s debut launches a new series that celebrates Mexican-American culture and traditions. Spanish-speaking readers will appreciate Leo’s renewed desire to learn Spanish, and readers of all backgrounds will be eager to try out their own baking (or magic?) skills with the recipes included at the end of Leo’s story.

 

This article was originally published in the January 2018 issue of BookPage. Download the entire issue for the Kindle or Nook.

Eleven-year-old Leonora (Leo) comes from a long line of talented bakers in Rose Hill, Texas. This Día de los Muertos, however, Leo starts to suspect that a talent for baking isn’t the only thing that runs in the family—and she soon discovers that her mom, her Tía Paloma and her four older sisters are all brujas, witches of Mexican ancestry whose recipes double as magic spells.

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What if the British Empire had never diminished in power or scope? What if Queen Victoria’s heirs had looked outside Western Europe for mates, as a calculated bid to cement their dominion? In That Inevitable Victorian Thing, E.K. Johnston imagines a near-future world based on that alternative historical premise, and the result is a delightful mashup of tradition and technology.

It’s debut season, and Helena is about to have her coming-out party, which means that a month of formal parties and dances in Toronto will culminate with logging in to the Computer, which analyzes her DNA and recommends genetically compatible mates. Helena has long suspected that regardless of the Computer’s recommendation, she’d make a love match with her childhood friend, August.

At one of those fancy balls, Helena and August meet Margaret, another debutante visiting from England. Little do they know that Margaret Sandwich is actually none other than Victoria-Margaret, heir to the throne and the Empire. Margaret is eager to have one summer of living like a normal person before taking up the mantle of the monarchy.

Johnston’s imagined world is utterly original, one in which Victorian decorum and religiosity blend with cutting-edge science, and the ethnic diversity and open exploration of sexual identities makes the novel feel contemporary. One senses right up until the surprising ending that Johnston had a really great time creating this world—and one suspects that readers will have an equally enjoyable time inhabiting it.

What if the British Empire had never diminished in power or scope? What if Queen Victoria’s heirs had looked outside Western Europe for mates, as a calculated bid to cement their dominion? In That Inevitable Victorian Thing, E.K. Johnston imagines a near-future world based on that alternative historical premise, and the result is a delightful mashup of tradition and technology.

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There’s no shortage of books for young readers about grief, but it’s safe to say that Michelle Cuevas’ new novel isn’t quite like any of them. Set in the mid-1970s, The Care and Feeding of a Pet Black Hole is poignant, funny, inventive and downright wacky, and at its center (literally!) is an unforgettable metaphor for the grieving process.

Stella Rodriguez’s world hasn’t been the same since her joke-telling, science-loving dad passed away. As the story opens, she is swinging by NASA headquarters, hoping to ask them to include a recording of her dad’s laugh—alongside other iconic Earth sounds—on the Voyager interstellar spacecraft.

On her return home, Stella discovers that she’s picked up a stray—and very hungry—black hole. She soon realizes that the black hole, which she names Larry (short for cosmic singularity), is also starving for companionship. Stella wonders whether Larry might be her best hope to get rid of now-painful memories and reminders—but when that plan begins to backfire, Stella realizes that perhaps the only way to escape the black hole is to travel through it.

In addition to being a powerful story about how to live with—and through—grief, Stella’s tale is a wild adventure, featuring talking garden gnomes, mutant sweaters, a not-too-annoying little brother and the world’s smelliest hamster. Just like Larry, this book will absorb pretty much any young reader—whether they are coping with a loss, love scientific speculation or just enjoy an imaginative tale.

 

This article was originally published in the September 2017 issue of BookPage. Download the entire issue for the Kindle or Nook.

There’s no shortage of books for young readers about grief, but it’s safe to say that Michelle Cuevas’ new novel isn’t quite like any of them. Set in the mid-1970s, The Care and Feeding of a Pet Black Hole is poignant, funny, inventive and downright wacky, and at its center (literally!) is an unforgettable metaphor for the grieving process.

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In Kes Gray and Jim Field’s earlier collaboration, Frog on a Log?, a frog who’s tired of sitting on logs is provoked by a somewhat doctrinaire cat who insists, beyond all logic, that animals must sit on particular rhyming surfaces. With some trepidation, the frog finally asks, “But what do dogs sit on?” and the cat responds, “I was hoping you weren’t going to ask that.”

That book closes where Dog on a Frog? picks up, as the hapless frog desperately tries to find somewhere else for the dog to sit. He decides to turn the cat’s rules upside down, suggesting it’s the dog’s turn to sit on a log. As for cats? They now sit on gnats, not mats. And things only get sillier from there, as leopards sit on shepherds and cheetahs sit on . . . fajitas. I won’t give away the surprise ending, but let’s just say the frog is in a more comfortable place this time!

Kes and Claire Gray’s whimsical rhymes are perfectly illustrated by Jim Field’s colorful and droll illustrations, which capture an astonishingly wide range of animals’ facial expressions—from delight to dismay—arising from their assigned sitting arrangements. There’s a short window in children’s language development before they really understand puns, when rhyming pairs of words seem both magical and hilarious. And the interplay between the disgruntled cat and the gleefully vindictive frog will leave grownups chuckling, too. If you know a child who loves rhymes or language play, don’t hesitate to pick up this laugh-out-loud read-aloud.

In Kes Gray and Jim Field’s earlier collaboration, Frog on a Log?, a frog who’s tired of sitting on logs is provoked by a somewhat doctrinaire cat who insists, beyond all logic, that animals must sit on particular rhyming surfaces.

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Two blobs of clay (with eyes) sit on an artist’s bench. The gray one seems mischievous; the brown one looks a tad nervous. When the artist (or at least her hands) shows up, she bends and stretches and smooshes and scratches the blobs into a gray wolf and a brown owl. But that’s only the beginning.

The wolf (true to its playful origins) isn’t satisfied with its chosen form and starts improvising, crafting crazy ears, funny hairstyles and dramatic eyelashes out of clay. The more cautious owl isn’t so sure—until it starts tentatively experimenting with its own clay and soon discovers the joy of reinvention. But what happens when all that creativity gets out of control? Perhaps the two clay creatures will go beyond being just “claymates” and prove they’re true friends.

The charming story in Claymates is told through humorous cartoon-style dialogue, hand-lettered in ink (matching the speaker’s clay color) on torn scraps of paper. The expressive characters, made only of clay and dolls’ eyes, come to life in memorable color photographs, which are remarkable for showing an artist’s studio and an artist at work, complete with all the tools of her trade. Parents be forewarned: You might want to purchase some modeling clay before giving your child this book. They’ll come away inspired and eager to create their own claymates.

 

This article was originally published in the July 2017 issue of BookPage. Download the entire issue for the Kindle or Nook.

Two blobs of clay (with eyes) sit on an artist’s bench. The gray one seems mischievous; the brown one looks a tad nervous. When the artist (or at least her hands) shows up, she bends and stretches and smooshes and scratches the blobs into a gray wolf and a brown owl. But that’s only the beginning.

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Since the drowning of her beloved brother, Cal, 10 months ago, Rachel feels like she’s lost everything. She’s lost her academic drive and consequently failed year 12 at school. She’s even lost her passion for the ocean, a love that has sustained her in the years since her former best friend, Henry, broke her heart just as her family moved to the seaside. Now, compelled by her aunt to make a change, Rachel is returning to Melbourne and—more than a little reluctantly—to her old job at the used bookshop Henry’s family owns, where they once spent so much time together.

Henry is going through a crisis of his own. Amy, the girl he once chose over Rachel, has been toying with his heart for three years, and she’s just done it again. Meanwhile, the bookshop is struggling, and Henry is tempted to side with his mother and sell the place—at least then he’ll have money to spend on Amy. But when Rachel shows up to catalog the shop’s so-called Letter Library (where strangers leave notes for one another in the margins of beloved books), things seem more confusing than ever.

Cath Crowley’s latest novel is a complex but comforting love story about resilience, second chances and the power of stories to uplift (and in many cases outlast) human lives. Words in Deep Blue offers nourishment to readers who love words, books and the thrill of discovering the unexpected within the pages of a dusty old volume.

 

This article was originally published in the July 2017 issue of BookPage. Download the entire issue for the Kindle or Nook.

Since the drowning of her beloved brother, Cal, 10 months ago, Rachel feels like she’s lost everything. She’s lost her academic drive and consequently failed year 12 at school. She’s even lost her passion for the ocean, a love that has sustained her in the years since her former best friend, Henry, broke her heart just as her family moved to the seaside. Now, compelled by her aunt to make a change, Rachel is returning to Melbourne and—more than a little reluctantly—to her old job at the used bookshop Henry’s family owns, where they once spent so much time together.

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“We all have a deep desire, a deep need, to ignore what is happening here,” writes Marcus Sedgwick midway through Saint Death. Sedgwick, who sets his new novel amid the violent borderlands of Juarez, Mexico, might be describing human migration or death itself, embodied in this story by the mystical appearance—both literal and figurative—of Santa Muerte, or Saint Death. Either way, Sedgwick’s latest novel forces readers to look at what’s happening in regions of Mexico, and at the pressures that have created the drug cartels, which are provoked by U.S. demand and, in many cases, armed by the U.S., too.

Caught in the crosshairs of this volatile situation is a lonely young man, Arturo, a cardsharp who is enlisted to help save the life of his old friend Faustino—but who finds himself in a bargain he has no real way to win.

With Saint Death, Sedgwick offers a timely story that often reads like a thriller—or like a fable. Suffused with elements of magical realism and informed by real-world facts and statistics, Sedgwick’s narrative is remarkably immersive, providing both context and a human face for an issue that too often remains abstract but that, as he suggests, cannot be ignored.

 

This article was originally published in the May 2017 issue of BookPage. Download the entire issue for the Kindle or Nook.

“We all have a deep desire, a deep need, to ignore what is happening here,” writes Marcus Sedgwick midway through Saint Death. Sedgwick, who sets his new novel amid the violent borderlands of Juarez, Mexico, might be describing human migration or death itself, embodied in this story by the mystical appearance—both literal and figurative—of Santa Muerte, or Saint Death. Either way, Sedgwick’s latest novel forces readers to look at what’s happening in regions of Mexico, and at the pressures that have created the drug cartels, which are provoked by U.S. demand and, in many cases, armed by the U.S., too.

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Not since A Monster Calls, the novel Patrick Ness wrote based on a story idea from the late Siobhan Dowd, has a collaboration from two of my favorite authors felt so bittersweet. But Beck, Mal Peet’s posthumously published novel finished by his friend Meg Rosoff, comes close.

Rosoff is perhaps the perfect writer for the job; her sensitivity to language allows her to meld her narrative voice with Peet’s, and her prior work has shown her ease in writing introspective characters like the title character in Beck.

Born in 1908 in Liverpool to a prostitute mother and an unknown Ghanaian father, Beck becomes an orphan at a young age. What follows over his next two decades is violence, abuse, rejection and outright hatred—due in no small part to the color of his skin—interspersed with brief moments of acceptance and joy. Only when he meets an older woman—auspiciously named Grace—during a journey across Canada does Beck dare to hope for something resembling a future infused with love.

“Go on the way you’re facing until you can’t go no further” is the motto that keeps Beck walking in the face of adversity. Luckily for readers, Peet also kept writing in the face of illness and impending death, and his friend Rosoff carries on his legacy.

 

This article was originally published in the April 2017 issue of BookPage. Download the entire issue for the Kindle or Nook.

Not since A Monster Calls, the novel Patrick Ness wrote based on a story idea from the late Siobhan Dowd, has a collaboration from two of my favorite authors felt so bittersweet. But Beck, Mal Peet’s posthumously published novel finished by his friend Meg Rosoff, comes close.

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It was just another late summer day before the start of senior year at Nashville’s Academy for the Arts. Carver was eager to meet up with his best friends Mars, Blake and Eli to celebrate their end-of-summer traditions. So he sent Mars a text: “Where are you guys? Text me back.” And in an instant, his friends’ lives were over—and Carver’s was destroyed.

After all three boys are killed in a car accident caused, in all likelihood, by Mars’ attempt to text Carver a response, Carver is left with little but a series of increasingly scary panic attacks. Eli’s twin sister despises him, Mars’ powerful father threatens to press charges, and even his new friendship with Eli’s girlfriend is far from uncomplicated. When Blake’s grandma suggests that Carver join her in a “goodbye day” to share their memories of Blake, Carver wonders whether this might be an opportunity for healing or just a route to more pain.

Carver is an aspiring author, so storytelling plays a central role in his grief and recovery. Morris Award-winning author Jeff Zentner, a talented musician and songwriter, suffuses his new novel with all kinds of art forms, from Eli’s music to Mars’ illustrations to Blake’s zany but brave form of comedy. Fans of Jennifer Niven’s All the Bright Places will find much to ponder in Goodbye Days’ sensitive exploration of loss and strong sense of place.

 

This article was originally published in the March 2017 issue of BookPage. Download the entire issue for the Kindle or Nook.

It was just another late summer day before the start of senior year at Nashville’s Academy for the Arts. Carver was eager to meet up with his best friends Mars, Blake and Eli to celebrate their end-of-summer traditions. So he sent Mars a text: “Where are you guys? Text me back.” And in an instant, his friends’ lives were over—and Carver’s was destroyed.

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