Meg Wolitzer is best known for her clever novels for adults—most recently, The Uncoupling, a Lysistrata-inspired suburban drama. In her latest book, The Fingertips of Duncan Dorfman, she writes for a different audience: middle-schoolers. The novel is told from the perspective of three children attending the National Scrabble Tournament in Yakamee, Florida, where they’re competing for different reasons: to fit in (and attempt to win money for a single mom); to achieve a parent’s childhood dream; or to prove worth to a sports-obsessed family. In a Q&A with BookPage, Wolitzer answered questions about her own love of Scrabble and why she decided to write for kids. We’re glad she did, since her first effort is funny, charming and surprisingly suspenseful.

When did you first become interested in playing Scrabble? Do you remember your first bingo (play that uses all seven tiles)?

I played Scrabble with my mother from a very young age; she was very good at it, and she taught me the rules. I seem to recall a lot of outdoor Scrabble in my childhood, including at the town pool and the local beach. I don’t recall my first bingo, no, and I don’t even think we called them bingos back then. But I do remember learning the word CALYX in school and then miraculously having all the letters on my rack to make that word in Scrabble the following day. It was weird.

Louis Sachar wrote a book last year about a boy who becomes obsessed with bridge (The Cardturner). Now you’ve written a book about a kid who becomes obsessed with Scrabble. Are old-fashioned games seeing a resurgence of interest, or did they never go out of style?

I know that parents often try to re-create certain aspects of their own childhoods when they have kids, and I have very strong memories of Scrabble with mother, Monopoly with my sister and Mystery Date with my best friend. It seemed natural to me to insert lots of board games into the life of my new family when I grew up and had kids. I suspect a lot of people felt the same way, and as a result board games haven’t really gone away. My kids are now 16 and 20, and are deep in all things electronic, but I am still finding little cards and dice and tiles all around the house.

You’ve written many novels for adults (including BookPage’s Top Pick in Fiction for April, The Uncoupling). How did you have to modify your writing style when writing for children? Did you ever worry about “talking down” to your readers?

When I write a novel, I try to write the one I would like to find on the shelf. With a book for children, I kind of needed to do a mind-meld between my current writer/reader self, and the self who I used to be back in, say, fifth grade, in Mrs. Secunda’s class. I’m not all that different now, really, and because of this I didn’t worry too much about talking down to readers. I think the litmus test is essentially: Am I engaged with this as I’m writing it? Am I completely drawn in? Do I care about the characters and what happens to them? Would fifth-grade me have liked it?  

Your main characters who converge at the tournament each have a different set of concerns. There is Duncan—the outcast with a single mom; April—the girl who doesn’t fit in with her siblings and who is searching for a long-lost crush; and Nate—the skateboarding New Yorker whose dad forces him to play. Do you identify with any of these characters in particular?

I identify with all of them, but I particularly liked April’s sense of longing, which I remember feeling pretty strongly at her age. (My longing largely concerned Donny Osmond, but that’s another—embarrassing—story.)

From your town of women who are overcome by a spell in The Uncoupling to Duncan’s magical fingertips, your work seems to have taken a turn for the (slightly) supernatural. Why do you think that is?

It must have been something in the water . . . Truthfully, with The Uncoupling, I didn’t want the book to be whiny or complainy, with women talking endlessly about how their sex lives had fallen off. I knew I was trying to reach something a little bigger than that, using the spell as a metaphor to have a look at what happens to female desire over time. I suppose the same must have been true with The Fingertips of Duncan Dorfman. I liked the idea of giving him a “power,” but not some huge thunderbolt of ability. Instead, I gave him something low-key and odd. Defined that way, most kids have a power, a special ability that contributes to who they are. I felt that a very light layer of fantasy would help underscore that idea.

Is there any message or lesson you’d like readers to take from Duncan’s experience?

I think listening to your own instincts is essential in life. Making hard decisions based on what your own inner voice—not anyone else’s—tells you. Oh, and also: I’d love it if the book made them see that Scrabble is a terrific game.

Do you have plans to continue writing books for children? What is your next project?

Yes, I am writing a second book for Dutton. It’s at a very early stage right now, that lovely moment when the book can go off in many different directions, and you can experiment a lot and not have to commit to anything. I’m still at that time in the writing when anything seems possible.

Much of the time, Sarah Weeks feels like she’s still in middle school. As the author of some 50 books for kids, that’s a very good—almost essential—thing. 

“I remember what it feels like to make believe,” Weeks explains during a call to her home in Nyack, New York. It’s an attitude that has stood her in good stead over the last 20 years, during which she has written picture books and middle-grade novels, including the award-winner So B. It and her new novel, Pie.

To write for kids, Weeks says, “you have to have arrested development on some level. It probably makes me annoying to live with, because I’m basically a kid. I think of myself as being very deeply rooted in sixth grade.” 

When it came to writing Pie, the author says it “was by far the most fun I’ve ever had writing a book.” It’s certainly fun to read: Pie combines stories of family, food and friendship with comical shenanigans and well-crafted characters—including a mysterious pastry thief and a cranky cat named Lardo.

Things start to get strange when Aunt Polly bequeaths her prized pie crust recipe to her cranky cat.

There are pie recipes, too. The first, apple pie, was provided by Weeks; for the rest, she “wrote to friends and family and teachers and schools I’d visited. . . . I got back recipes, stories and lots of pictures of pies.”

Pie has long been part of the author’s life: Growing up, she and her mother baked together, and Weeks bakes for her own family. But despite the pastry’s prominence in Pie, the author says, “It was not my intention to write a book about pie, but to write about gratitude. I have a huge amount to be grateful for.”

Alice, the young heroine of the book, learns gratitude from her beloved Aunt Polly, who shows her by example the joy of doing things for the experience, whether or not it results in plaudits or paydays. Polly is the Pie Queen of Ipswitch, Pennsylvania. People come from near and far to bring Polly fresh ingredients that she makes into delicious pies. This makes her visitors very happy—but leaves Alice’s mother feeling jealous. And when Polly dies in 1955, she leaves her Blueberry Award-winning pie crust recipe to her cat, Lardo . . . and she leaves Lardo to Alice.

That’s when things start to get strange. There’s a green Chevrolet rolling slowly through town, Alice’s mother insists on baking pies (even though she’s terrible at it), and it turns out Alice’s friend Charlie possesses strong amateur detective skills (which come in very handy).

Although Alice’s life gets chaotic after her aunt’s passing, the goings-on are set against a simpler backdrop: a small town in the 1950s. “I was born in 1955, and Pie takes place there,” Weeks says. “I wanted to set it in a time where there were no worries about cell phones, computers, Google.”

She also kept research to a minimum. “I’m very lazy about it,” she says with a laugh. “My dad was always reading the newspaper, and I watched ‘Sky King’ every day. I used references that were actually relevant, rather than searching to find things.”

In fact, this focus-on-the-actual approach is what got Weeks started as an author. For many years, she was a singer-songwriter. Then she met an editor who suggested she turn her songs into books: “It was a fairly direct translation, because many of my first picture books had a CD in the back with me singing. I segued to picture books without songs, and then chapter books.”

Weeks had two young sons when she started writing, and they weren’t big readers—a boon to her writing, too. “The way they fought and talked to each other was very funny. It was a goldmine—I could put embarrassing things in my books and they’d have no idea. They know now, though. Gabe got a girlfriend, and she started reading all my books.” 

Although her own kids are on to her, Weeks’ abiding fascination with the younger set provides ample story fodder. “I’m interested in what makes them tick. I like the weird kids, the ones that do something unusual.”

Perhaps that explains her fondness for the final recipe in Pie: Peanut Butter Raspberry Cream Pie. “It’s the one I feel most grateful for, from a teacher whose school I visited in Illinois. Her grandma was a little senile and mixed up two recipes. We now call it PBJ.”

If events thus far are any indication, Weeks will get to taste plenty more pie—unusual or otherwise—as the word spreads about Pie. Her publisher, Scholastic, hosted a “Pie Palooza,” she’s scheduled to judge a pie contest in Connecticut and she will visit “everywhere there’s pie.” 

Here’s hoping the crusts are flaky and delicious, just like the ones on Aunt Polly’s award winners.

Author Lisa McMann took some chances with her latest book, The Unwanteds, and her unexpected choices have clearly paid off. For the first time, she aimed her work at a middle grade audience, rather than the teen readers who have made her Wake trilogy a bestseller. And she tackled a genre—dystopian fantasy—that's much more popular in the YA world than in middle grade fiction.

The result is an original and exciting novel that's not only fun to read, but also a great way to get kids thinking about issues like creativity, conformity and the power of the individual vs. society. In The Unwanteds, children who are too creative or expressive are "purged" from their repressive community at age 13 and driven away to face the Eliminators and (they assume) certain death. In the Stowe family, young Aaron is selected for the prestigious "Wanted" group, while his twin brother Alex is labeled an "Unwanted" and led away in chains.

Critics and young readers alike have embraced the book, the first in a planned series. We contacted McMann at her home near Phoenix, where she lives with her husband and two teenagers, to find out more about how the book came to be.

What experiences have you had as a parent that helped to inspire this story?

It’s funny—the whole idea for the Unwanteds series came from an incident involving my kids. One day, when they were 12 and 9, they came home from school with news that the school would be cutting some of the arts programs due to budget shortfalls. I was really bummed out because my kids liked art, music, theatre, etc. And I said, sort of off the cuff, “Wow, guys, I’m so sorry. It kind of feels like you’re getting punished for being creative.” And then I thought about that for a minute and said, “Hey, what if there really was a world where children were punished for being creative?”

My son, who was 12, looked at me very seriously and said, “Not just punished, Mom. Sent to their deaths!”

And my daughter and I said, “Yeah!” And that’s how it all started.

Did you ever feel “unwanted” as a creative little girl?

Absolutely. I’m pretty sure everyone feels unwanted at one point or another. There were several years there where I felt like Charlie Bucket from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory was my only friend. And when it came to my secret desire to be a writer, I just never felt like I could tell people that for fear of being teased. Being a writer wasn’t something people around me aspired to be. It was very “artsy” and out there, not at all cool.

What considerations did you give to the scary aspects of this story since it is aimed at middle grade readers, instead of your usual teen audience?

I didn’t really think about it while writing it, though the scary scenes are definitely less graphic in this series than in my teen books. I wrote The Unwanteds with my kids in mind, and my main goal was to write a book that my then 9-year-old reluctant reader would want to read (yay, it worked!). So I guess a sort of parental comfort level played a part instinctively—I knew what my kids could handle, but I also knew what they would expect. Action. Love. Evil. Danger. Conflict. In the end, they were delighted to discover that if they lived in Quill, they’d be doomed.

I believe kids know the difference between fantasy and real life. A few parents might wince at the “to the death!” concept, worrying that their vulnerable little one isn’t ready for such a heavy topic. But children view the scary stuff in literature as a chance to experience risk and adventure from the safety of the couch. The truth remains that characters in grave danger and extreme peril make us care deeply about them, no matter what our age. And I’ve seen it time and again—when children feel uncomfortable with a book, they put it down. They are not going to waste precious fun time reading a book that makes them feel yucky.

What influenced you in your portrayal of the special bond between twins? Do you know any twins or did you do any research on the bonds between twins?

I had five sets of twins in my graduating class in school and I’ve always been fascinated by how much the identical ones looked alike, but were often very different personality-wise. I also researched a bit about the intense bond twins have with each other, sometimes to the point of being able to feel each other’s pain, or intuitively know when the other is in trouble.

I decided to use twins because I loved the intense conflict—brother against brother. One a Wanted, one an Unwanted. Identical, yet so totally opposite. One trying hard to be evil, one very good, but with an unbreakable bond between them. That’s just so exciting to me.

What reactions have you gotten from young readers to the book?

Enthusiastic! I should start by saying that after touring high schools with each of my four previous teen novels, I was a little bit afraid of doing presentations to fourth through eighth graders. But wow, I forgot how much I love this age! Kids aren’t afraid to tell me what they think should happen in books two, three, four and beyond. It’s such a delight. Often I’ll talk about how my husband and kids and I sat around the living room coming up with spells based on art supplies, and I tell them that maybe over lunch or on the bus ride home they can do the same thing with their friends. That always gets 45 zillion hands shooting up so they can tell me the magic spells they’d create. I love it.

What message do you hope readers will take from The Unwanteds?

I suppose I should say something responsible like “Everyone should accept others no matter what,” or “good prevails over evil,” or “eat your Brussels sprouts,” but the truth is that I just want kids to have a book they can fall into and love and experience just for the fun and adventure of it all. And maybe the kids out there feeling unwanted can find a little comfort knowing they’re not alone.

What were your favorite books as a young reader?

Oh, I love this question. Charlie and the Chocolate Factory because Charlie suffered more than me, and I loved him for that. Little Women because of Amy and the limes, and because of Jo and the hair, and the suffering . . . do you sense a theme here? I loved Narnia, which was definitely an influence in my writing of The Unwanteds. I loved all the original dark fairy tales (the ones that ended with children being killed, not the fake ones with happy endings), and I loved Charlotte’s Web, because I just knew deep down that with the right combination of pig, girl and spider, they’d all be able to talk to each other, and that story could really happen. (And I knew I was the right girl.)

How do your two children feel about having a mom who’s a successful writer?

At first they were embarrassed, but then when Miley Cyrus and Paramount optioned the film rights to the Wake series, they thought I was probably sort of cool, and then when they started seeing kids in school walking down the hallway reading my books, they decided I was worth keeping. But I’m still not allowed to speak at their school.

What's coming next in the Unwanteds series?

So. Much. Drama. Book two (The Unwanteds: Island of Silence) will be out in September 2012. The suspense and danger ramps up as the momentary stability between Quill and Artimé crumbles. In Quill, Aaron tries to recover from his failures and get revenge, and in Artimé, Mr. Today has a surprising plan in store for Alex. New characters are introduced in both worlds, there is mass chaos, disappearances and death. I would never say this out loud, but secretly? It’s the best book I’ve ever written, and I can’t wait for you to read it.

Do you have any advice for parents on what they can do to encourage creativity in their children?

You know, we parents are all bozos on this bus together, just trying to figure it out and get it right, aren’t we? But now that my kids are 18 and 15, I can think of some things I could have done better in those middle grade years.

I think it’s really important to realize that creativity comes in many packages. In the world of Quill, it’s only the artistically creative kids who are considered to be Unwanted. But the ruler of Quill overlooks the nature of the very people she promotes—like Aaron, the Wanted twin. He’s extremely creative in coming up with ways to improve their society’s resources, but because he is obedient to the law of the land, his kind of creativity isn’t feared, so he’s safe.

For the child who is artistically creative, I absolutely love and recommend children’s community theatre, and not just for actors. There are wonderful experiences to be had for singers, painters, kids creative in building sets, and for those interested in the technical side of things—sound and lights and backstage managing. There’s so much camaraderie in putting on a show as a team—the friendships they build will be deep and strong.

For the child who doesn’t like to draw or sing or act or tell stories, why not encourage them to help with landscaping, or ask them to fix things around the house, or figure out the best way to lay out the furniture in a room? Ask them to estimate how much you’re spending based on the groceries in the cart, and maybe they can create a computer generated grocery list or expense spreadsheet. Maybe they can’t draw a giraffe to save their life, but they can take an old clock apart and put it back together, or create a go-cart out of two skateboards, a lawnmower and a broken dining room chair. Or maybe they’re really gifted with patience for younger children, and could shine as a babysitter or a volunteer in afterschool daycare. Maybe they can create a better cup holder in your car that keeps your coffee from sloshing around. Or maybe they can tutor students in science, or sell lemonade like it’s going out of style and raise money for charity. And maybe they can run or swim or play football with a natural instinct that makes you marvel. Creativity knows no bounds. Every child has a gift we can encourage.

One last thing. A few years ago my daughter said “I’m going to perform on Broadway,” and I very nearly told her that the chances of that were slim to none. What was I thinking? And who am I, shy nerdy girl from small town Michigan-turned-NYT best-selling author, to crush my kid’s creative dream? We think we’re protecting them by telling them the odds. But what they hear us say is, “I don’t believe you are good enough to do that.”

So when your child says “I’m going to win ‘American Idol,’ ” or “I’m going to be on the space shuttle,” or “I’m going to play for the NBA,” say something like, “If anyone can do it, it’s you. Go for it.” There are plenty of other people who will discourage them along the way. Somebody’s got to have your kid’s back. Let it be you.

Many people are familiar with the 1957 Central High Crisis—when nine African-American students integrated the Little Rock public high school in the face of segregationist threats and protests—but less famous is the “lost year,” which happened the year after the Crisis. In 1958, the Arkansas governor closed the Little Rock public high schools in order to prevent integration, leaving students and teachers in limbo and the city divided. Kristin Levine’s novel The Lions of Little Rock is about an unlikely friendship that develops during this tumultuous period of history.

In the story, the painfully shy 12-year-old Marlee becomes friends with Liz, an outgoing new girl at her middle school. Liz helps Marlee gain the confidence to give a speech in class, but on the day of the presentation, Marlee learns that Liz has withdrawn from school. Turns out Liz is actually African American, and she was passing as white. After this discovery, Marlee must first decide whether she wishes to remain in contact with Liz—then the two courageous girls face violence and the disapproval of their families as they fight for their friendship.

BookPage spoke with author Levine about her sensitive and compelling historical novel.

During your research about the “lost year,” what surprised you the most?
I actually didn’t start out to write about the “lost year.” I was planning to write a book set during 1957-58 when the Little Rock Nine were integrating Central High School. But when I went to Little Rock to do some interviews, everyone I talked to had much more to say about 1958-59, the year when the schools were closed.

I had never heard about schools being closed to prevent integration. It seemed like such a drastic thing to do—cutting off your nose to spite your face. But as I did more research, I realized this had happened in other places as well, including in my home state of Virginia.

And in some ways, more people were affected by the events of 1958-59. Nearly everyone had a sibling, friend or neighbor who was affected by the four public high schools being closed. Also, the events of the Little Rock Nine have already been written about by those who were there. I eventually decided I could add more to the discussion by writing about the “lost year.”

Did you come across evidence of black children passing as white in Little Rock public schools of this era?
My uncle attended Little Rock public schools, including Central High School, a few years before the Little Rock Nine. While I was interviewing him for The Lions of Little Rock, he mentioned that when he was a student at West Side Junior High, there was a boy who was “there one day and gone the next.” The rumor was that the boy had been black.

While I have no way of knowing if that boy had indeed been “passing,” my uncle and his friends at school believed that he was. I needed a way for my main characters to get to know each other. With a bit of poetic license, passing became a way for my main characters to meet and become friends.

Is the friendship between Marlee and Liz based on a real relationship? Do you believe close interracial friendships like theirs existed in Little Rock of the 1950s?
Yes and no.

On the one hand, I was inspired by the friendship Melba Pattillo Beals (one of the Little Rock Nine) describes in her book, Warriors Don’t Cry. She talks about becoming close to a white boy who pretended to torment her with the others at school, but actually tried to protect her. She often talked to him on the phone at night, and he would warn her about harassment that was being planned for the next day at school. I was especially struck by the episode she describes of driving with him to visit his beloved black nanny. The woman had been dismissed from her position with his family once she became too old and sick to work for them, and the boy and Ms. Beals tried to get her medical care.

On the other hand, I think a friendship of the kind I describe in my book would have been quite unlikely at this time. As I did research, I realized there was very little contact between blacks and whites in Little Rock in the 1950s. My first book, The Best Bad Luck I Ever Had, was set in a small town in Alabama in 1917, and it was surprising to me that there was actually much more contact between blacks and whites in that place and time.

In the end, I guess I’m an optimist. Based on Melba Pattillo Beals’ recollections, I like to imagine that a friendship like Marlee and Liz’s could have happened, even if it wasn’t very likely.

How do you think you would have reacted to the integration had you been a student at Central in 1957?
I believe I would have been supportive of it. Even as a child, I was very interested in issues of moral fairness and doing what was right. My parents have always been interested in social justice as well, and I guess that rubbed off on me.

But it is so hard to say what you would have done until you’ve lived through something like that. I know I would have started out being friendly, but once the threats or name-calling started, would I have continued to be friendly? Or would I have become silent like so many others? I’m not sure, but I hope I would have continued to speak up.

For this book, you had to research historical events as well as identify day-to-day details from ‘50s-era Little Rock. How did you know when you had done sufficient research and could go on to writing your narrative?
I don’t think I was ever quite sure I’d “done enough” research. After a while, I decided I had to just start writing to see if the story would work. If I came to a section where I needed more details, Google made it simple to look up popular “candy flavors” or “fast-food restaurants.” But I continued to do research as I was writing, up until the very end, using books and films, and emailing contacts in Little Rock when necessary. (My favorite comment was from a friend in Little Rock telling me that the elephant’s name was really Ruth, not Bessie as I had imagined. I made that change with the final edits.)

In the end, I guess I’m an optimist. I like to imagine that a friendship like Marlee and Liz’s could have happened, even if it wasn’t very likely.

Between your book and David Margolick’s Elizabeth and Hazel, it seems the Central High Crisis and its aftermath are receiving quite a lot of attention in the public eye. Why do you think Little Rock’s chapter in Civil Rights history remains interesting to writers?
Because school integration is an ongoing issue. In some way, I feel like we’ve recently taken some steps backwards. The schools I attended as I child that were paired to increase their diversity have been “un-paired.” More attention is being given to test scores than promoting equality.

In fact, a few weeks ago I was talking to a group of fifth and sixth graders about The Lions of Little Rock, and explaining how I believe we are still dealing with many of these issues. They immediately understood what I was talking about. “Oh yeah,” one boy said, “Everyone calls [school name] the white school!” An interesting discussion followed about the fact that, although we live in a diverse area, our local schools do not always reflect that diversity.

Why that happens— and what we can do about it—is something I hope my book, and others like it, will inspire people to think about.

Both of your novels frankly address racism and unlikely friendships. Even in 2012, these are not easy topics to write about or discuss. What motivates you to tell your stories?
As a child, I had a wonderful friendship with a boy who was unlike me in many ways. After third grade, he was held back for a year, while I went on to another school, and though we continued to live in the same town, we grew apart. I’ve always remembered that friendship fondly, even though I was teased a lot because of it.

As a white woman, for a long time I felt like I wasn’t qualified to write about race. But then I realized that wasn’t true. Racism isn’t a black issue, or a Hispanic or Asian issue, it’s an issue for anyone who cares about fairness and equality. These are values I hold very dear, which is why I write about them.

That doesn’t mean it’s easy, however. At times, I worry I will say something stupid or unintentionally offensive. In the end, however, I decided that that was a risk I needed to take because being silent just wasn’t enough.

What is your next project?
​I’m still trying to figure out exactly what I’m going to do next. I’ve always wanted to write sci-fi or fantasy, which at first seems like a big leap, but I guess it’s really not. In historical fiction, you’re trying to create a time and place, just like you’re creating a different world in sci-fi or fantasy.

But of course I also really enjoy historical fiction. And now that I’ve based one book on my grandfather (The Best Bad Luck I Ever Had) and one book very loosely on my mother [a Little Rock native], my father is clamoring that it’s HIS turn for a book. So there may be a book about a paperboy in Chicago in my future.

One of our favorite new children's books is Three Times Lucky, a middle grade mystery from first-time author Sheila Turnage. With a lead character who reminds us more than a little of Scout from To Kill a Mockingbird, a rollicking cast of Southern eccentrics and plenty of strange goings-on in the tiny town of Tupelo Landing, this beautifully told story is guaranteed to make kids smile, think—and keep turning the pages to see what happens next.

We caught up with Turnage between stops on her book tour to find out more about the spunky young heroine of Three Times Lucky and how the book came to be.

Mo LoBeau is such a wonderful character. How did she first spring up in your imagination?
I know it might sound odd, but one day this 11-year-old girl in plaid sneakers just started kicking at the door of my imagination and saying things like, “Hey, I’m Mo LoBeau. You got a minute? I got a story to tell.”

And there she was, Miss Moses LoBeau. Rising sixth-grader, part-time detective, yellow-belt karate student. I liked her immediately. I listened to her. I started writing and didn’t stop until she’d told her story and solved her mysteries.

What do you like best about Mo? What do you think young readers will admire or identify with when they read about her?
I love Mo’s smarts. Also her humor and toughness—and the vulnerability those qualities hide. I think kids will identify with those traits. And I think they’ll identify with her search for her missing “Upstream Mother” and her place in the world. Oh yeah, and there’s a murder to solve. . . . Everybody loves a mystery!

Author Sheila Turnage near her home in eastern North Carolina.

Why do kids make such good detectives? Would you have been a good detective as a child?
Kids make great detectives because they ARE great detectives. Kids have to figure out everything! How things work, what things mean, how our lives all fit together. I think kids are naturally curious, creative thinkers—two qualities detectives need to ferret out clues and put them together in a way that makes sense. If I’d gone into the detective business as a kid, I like to think I would have been a great one. Maybe not as great as Mo and Dale, but darned good.

The novel includes a very full cast of eccentric characters! Did your friends, family and neighbors in North Carolina inspire many of these characters or are they purely fictional creations?
Good question! All the characters in Three Times Lucky are fiction. As I wrote this book, bits and pieces of my own life morphed into Tupelo Landing, where Three Times Lucky takes place. But no particular person inspired any specific character.

What kind of books did you enjoy as a child and how did that influence your work in Three Times Lucky?
I loved books with vivid characters, and with a sense of place strong enough to make me think I could live there if I wanted to, no matter how unlikely the scenario. That’s what makes a book exciting to me. I loved Tom Sawyer, Peter Pan and Winnie the Pooh for those reasons. I also loved mysteries, like the Hardy Boys—exciting books with a puzzle to solve. I guess I like to write what I like to read: exciting books with vivid, heart-felt characters and a strong sense of place.

When you wrote Three Times Lucky, did you set out to create a children's book?
No! I didn’t know it was a novel for kids until it was almost finished, and my agent told me. I wasn’t thinking about who would read it, I was just doing my best to write Mo’s story. I am delighted that it turned out to be for kids!

Can you give us a brief description of the place where you do most of your writing?
At this moment I’m writing in a high-ceilinged room at 9 a.m., with lots of sunlight flowing through the east-facing windows. A ceiling fan swipes overhead. The room’s a little messy: stacks of spiral notebooks, a box of paper for the printer, manuscripts lolling about. I see a half-consumed cup of coffee in my Harry Potter cup, a winter scarf tossed over a chair back, though it’s now May. My computers sit on a large oak teacher’s desk I got at a second hand store years ago. (I consider getting a new desk from time to time, but this one is too heavy to carry downstairs so I will probably use it forever.)

The farmhouse near Greenville, North Carolina, where Sheila Turnage lives and works once belonged to her great-grandparents.

You’ve attended the same writing class for 30 years. What kind of help and support did the class provide while you were writing this novel?
I wrote the first draft of this book at home, and the first time I wrote Three Times Lucky it was three times too long! So I rewrote it to shorten it, and took it to Pat O’Leary’s writing seminar at Pitt Community College in Winterville, North Carolina, for other writers to critique.

There are great writers in that ongoing class—which is for new writers and more experienced writers. We offer each other encouragement, feedback and friendship. The class gives me the chance to develop new skills. Reading about writing is one thing, but for me it’s important to practice the same way a musician practices.

I love that class because it gives me a chance to get good at what I love doing, and it gives me a chance to be part of a creative community.

If you could name yourself something outrageous and a little famous, what would it be?
Wow, I don’t know. How about Tupelo Turnage? It doesn’t have the snap of Sheila Warrior Princess, but I think it works. Don’t you?

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Read a review of Three Times Lucky.

Rebecca Stead, the Newbery-winning author of When You Reach Me, has written another heartfelt and funny novel set in New York City. In Liar & Spy, an awkward seventh grader, Georges, moves to a new apartment building and is recruited to join the Spy Club, run by a mysterious boy named Safer. Along with his little sister, Candy, Safer shows Georges that everything in life is not as it seems.

In a Q&A with BookPage, Stead shares the top qualities in a spy—and tells us if lying is ever okay.

Were you nervous about living up to high expectations for your work after you won the Newbery? How did you prepare yourself for writing again?
The bitter truth is that writing always makes me nervous, because to write well I have to expose my innermost self while simultaneously trying to entertain people. It’s a little like dancing in public, without music. Newbery attention makes it harder only because more people are watching.

And I don’t ever prepare myself to write. I have no writing routine. What I do is walk around feeling frustrated that I am not writing, and that frustration builds until finally I start writing. Reading something wonderful is usually what allows me to begin. Something that opens me up and makes me think “oh, what the heck. I may as well go for it.”

Which character do you most identify with in Liar & Spy?
Probably Candy. She is a watcher. And she feels responsible for the people she loves. But if you ask me again tomorrow, I might have a different answer.

What are the most useful qualities in a spy?
An observant personality, the ability to work alone and a good sense of direction.  The sense of direction would be my downfall.

Is it ever okay to tell a lie?
Yes. To be kind, for instance, or to save your life. But I believe that most people probably lie for lesser reasons, almost every day.

Have you ever been tempted to spy on someone or ever caught a glimpse of someone surreptitiously?
Not deliberately. But I live in New York City, where there are a lot of lit windows at night.

A spy needs to have an observant personality, the ability to work alone and a good sense of direction.

When you start writing a book, do you know how it will end? There are twists and turns in your novel, but they feel so natural once the reader figures out what’s going on.
I know very little at the beginning. I have a sense of what I want to get at, but few clear ideas about how I’m going to get there. I write slowly. I don’t think about plot because when I think about plot my mind goes blank and I feel desperate. Instead I think about which characters attract my interest, because where there is interest, there is potential for emotion, and where there is emotion, there is plot. Sometimes I just stop writing for a while, and wait for ideas to bubble up. That’s nerve-wracking. And most people would say it’s the wrong way to go about it.

You have a lot of fun with words and messages in this book, from Georges’ notes with Scrabble tiles to wacky fortune cookie fortunes. Does this interest extend to your real life?
Well, I don’t have the patience for Scrabble, most days. I like Bananagrams. My notes are boring and practical. But I love thinking about why things are the way they are, and how they might be different. I guess you could say that I love to question the premise, especially when I’m writing.

When you were in middle school, where did you sit in the cafeteria? Like Georges, did you ever have to remind yourself to look at the big picture and realize that social awkwardness will (hopefully) pass?
I can’t even remember what my middle-school cafeteria looked like. We mostly went out for lunch. But middle school was the only time in my life when I was regularly called names—names that had to do with how I looked, or what I wore, or who my friends were. I remember the feeling of walking down the hall and not knowing when some verbal or physical jab might be thrown at me. But I was lucky—I had one good friend. So I was always basically okay.

Safer and Candy are allowed to name themselves. If your parents had let you name yourself, what would you have chosen?
Probably something awful. I don’t have a middle name, and when I was little I used to try to think of good ones. For a while I decided my middle name was Mario, pronounced ma-REE-oh. And when I was about six, my middle name was Amanda, because I was trying desperately to please a girl named Amanda. I remember eating Chap-Stik when she asked me to. Apparently I would do anything for her.

What’s the last book you read that you really want to recommend to someone else?
The Orphan Master’s Son, by Adam Johnson. It’s a beautifully written, amazing (and fictional) story about one man’s life in North Korea. World-building at its best.

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Read a review of Liar & Spy.

Author Shannon Hale set the bar high for herself with the publication of Princess Academy in 2005. The fairy tale won a Newbery Honor, and countless fans were taken with the book’s heroine, Miri, and her home in Mount Eskel. Hale intended the novel to stand alone, but Miri, Britta and friends bubbled to the surface of her thoughts over time, and a new story took root.

In Princess Academy: Palace of Stone, Miri journeys to Asland and is caught up in a fledgling political movement. Her loyalties are tested as she tries to unite intellect and instinct and do right by her new friends, along with her home and family.

We contacted Hale at her home in Utah to ask a few questions about how the magic happens.

You originally thought Princess Academy would be a stand-alone story. How did you know you weren't done telling it? What prompted you to write a sequel?
It was one word: revolution. I thought I knew what Miri and her friends were up to after Princess Academy, but about three years ago that word popped into my mind and changed everything. I was so intrigued by the idea of it that I had to tell the story.?

Politics run deep throughout Palace of Stone. Issues of class, fairness and appearance vs. reality infuse the story. What (if anything) do you hope young readers will take away from this that might be useful when studying present-day events?
I hope they get whatever they need from the book. Stories have that wonderful elasticity to them, don't they? We can read about long ago, compare to our day and see things anew. I didn't write the story toward any particular moral or lesson. I tried to be as true to the characters and their story as I could with the hope that readers today could relate and allow the story to help them think through whatever questions they have.

Miri's letters home to Marda are short but bring us so much closer to Miri. Her heart, intelligence and humor come through in an intimate way, apart from all the action. Why did you decide to incorporate letters into the story?
Thank you! It was really one of those moments of grace that I can't plan for. Somewhere in those muggy fourth or fifth drafts, I depend on an idea to occur to me that will help make the story better. I wanted to hear Miri's voice more, I wanted her to be able to connect with home and family so far away and keep Mount Eskel real and present in the action. And then I wrote the words, "Dear Marda," and thought, "Ah-ha!" I had about four letters in one draft, my editor said, "I wouldn't mind more," and they ended up adding this extra layer and voice I was grateful for.

Adolescence is that wonderful time when we start to decide who, exactly, we are. So much of who we are is who we choose to be with. As part of growing up, Miri had to make that choice.

Why do most chapters open with a bit of verse or song?
Ay yi yi, the sticky situations writers get themselves into! In Princess Academy, singing was an important cultural exercise, so I started writing out bits of their songs to help create the setting. I naively thought, "Wouldn't it be nice to have a song at the beginning of each chapter that reflects the upcoming action in an interesting way?" It ended up being one of the most challenging parts of writing that book. I'd set a precedent so I had to do the same for Palace of Stone! I love them now and am glad I put in the sweat. In Palace of Stone, I was able to use not only songs but poems, plays, chants and mnemonic devices. Miri encounters such a bigger, more complicated world in the second book, and I wanted those verses to reflect that.

Miri loves Peder, but his seeming indifference leads her to infatuation with Timon, who may or may not be good for her. This theme occurs in so many ways in YA fiction; why do you think that is? Why did you want Miri to have two suitors?
I think the love triangle is a very effective tool for exploring romance and protracting romantic tension in any book. However, I never thought "love triangle" when I was writing Palace of Stone. A core question of this story is Miri's choice; Mount Eskel or Asland? Peder was her first love from her home, her childhood friend. I wanted her to meet someone who represented the excitement, passion, and complications of the capital city. I wanted the tension of her choice to be reflected in those closest to her. Adolescence is that wonderful time when we start to decide who, exactly, we are. So much of who we are is who we choose to be with. As part of growing up, Miri had to make that choice.

The magic in this book seems to say that where you come from holds great power. Linder can be a communication tool, but too much exposure can crowd the mind and be distracting. Where did the idea of linder first come from, and how did it grow over these two books?
Ooh, I love all your thoughts on the story. That's really beautiful. In Princess Academy, I knew I wanted the setting to be rustic or remote, in contrast with the royal errand placed on it. Once I decided mountaintop quarriers, the story really started to take shape. In researching quarrying, I learned how dangerous the profession was and how the deafening sounds made it impossible to hear warnings or commands. I wanted the villagers to have some talent that was all their own, and so this silent communication made sense. I enjoyed using quarry-speech to explore all those ideas of communication, balance, memory and kinship. For a second book, I knew I'd have to raise the stakes. As Miri grows, so does her power and influence. ?

Female friendships are important to the story, but often fraught with complications due to class or etiquette expectations. What can readers learn from Miri's use of diplomacy to improve relationships?
I think there's a real art to friendship. I think as a young girl, I would have liked to know that friendship is both vital and a struggle for everyone, but that one can learn how to be a better friend. There were tools that could help the earnest, lost little girl I was navigate those tricky relationships. I hope if anything from Miri's experiences resonates with readers, they might feel less alone and better equipped to be the kind of friend they'd like to have.

If Miri lived in the U.S. in the present day, her age notwithstanding, do you think she'd have a shot in politics?
Oh sure! Why not? She's got passion, a strong sense of justice and equality, and intelligence . . . wait, are those prerequisites for politics in the U.S.??

Fill in the blank: If I ruled the world, my first act would be ______.
To guarantee every child access to a good education.?

The skills Miri acquired in the first book are put to use in this one, and she ends up finding a way to fulfill several of her desires. Her future holds great potential, which begs the question: Might there be a volume three?
I was very secretive when writing Palace of Stone. For about a year, no one knew I was working on it besides my husband. But I feel less shy about it now. Yes, there will be a third. I want each book to stand alone. I'm not great at writing a traditional series, I think. But a question came up while writing Palace of Stone, and I soon realized that the answer was another book. And hopefully this one won't take me seven years to complete.?

It all started in a doctor’s office more than 20 years ago. Alice Randall (The Wind Done Gone, Ada’s Rules) and her daughter, Caroline Randall Williams (now 25), filled their hour-long wait not with old editions of Highlights magazine, but instead with their own story of a little black princess on a magical island.

Since that day, like the staples of early African-American folklore—Br’er Rabbit, John Henry, Stagger Lee—the fairy tale of B.B. Bright has grown, layer upon layer, enveloped in oral history by a mother and her daughter. Precocious B.B. comes to life in their first book together, The Diary of B.B. Bright, Possible Princess.

“B.B. was the princess of infinite possibilities,” Caroline says. “One of the big things my mom always said to me is ‘Smart people are never bored.’ She’s said that since I was very little, so B.B. was a way of creating my own entertainment.”

The three of us are talking at Longpage, Alice’s home in Nashville, on a sweltering Thursday afternoon. Alice and I are seated at the far end of her colossal handmade dining table, and Caroline joins us via Skype from the University of Mississippi, where she has just started her first semester as a poetry grad student. For both mother and daughter, it’s clear that B.B. represents far more than entertainment: She’s a princess to outshine other princesses, and a black heroine to transform the landscape of black children’s literature.

Black Bee Bright, or B.B., is a 13-year-old orphan under the care of three godmommies on Bright World, an island seemingly suspended among the stars, keeping B.B. separate from the reader’s world (“The Other World”) and her own homeland, Raven World. B.B. is secretly the royal heir to the Raven World throne, but she cannot leave the island until she passes her Official Princess Test and meets the eight princesses on the dangerous side of the island. That’s a tall order for any girl, but B.B.’s not just any girl. She might have dreams of boyfriends, best friends and the cool clothes she sees in magazines, but she also knows the Harlem Renaissance writers, loves Shakespeare and faces the unknown with little fear. B.B. shares her dreams and goals to change the world through smart, zippy entries in her diary.

Any little girl, regardless of race, will find B.B. to be funny, adventurous and inspiring—as well as a quintessential middle school girl—but her rich black cultural heritage is personally important for both Alice and Caroline, who spent their respective childhoods searching in vain for a strong black character.

“As I was writing these stories with Caroline initially, it spoke to me,” Alice says. “It was almost like having the black doll I had wanted in my own childhood.”

“I think that’s a great celebration for all kids in humanity—that your race shouldn’t be a tragedy for you. That, I think, is the most revolutionary thing about our book.”

Caroline did have a black doll, the American Girl doll Addy, but she found Addy’s experiences to be harsh and traumatizing in comparison to the other American Girls’ stories. “The other American Girls, they have their trials,” Caroline says, “but Addy gets whipped by an overseer in the first book.”

Alice chimes in, “And forced to eat a tobacco louse or something!”

“I remember one of my best friends’ moms telling me not to tell her daughter about that,” Caroline says. “We’d all gotten the American Girl books together, and we were talking about them at a sleepover. . . . I was telling what happened in Addy’s first book, and [my friend’s] mom was like, ‘No, we don’t talk about that.’ And I was like, ‘Well, it’s my American Girl book!’ But it is crazy; I shouldn’t have been reading it either!”

Through B.B., Alice and Caroline were able to create a character who is proudly black, well informed about her cultural history, and whose trials have nothing to do with the color of her skin. “One of the things that I really love about this book,” Alice says, “is . . . there’s no trauma over the race. Which is one of the things I think is strange about reading books with black central characters, in particular children’s books, is race is always a trauma. . . . [For B.B.,] it’s not a tragedy. No part of her sadness is around her race, and I think that’s a great celebration for all kids in humanity—that your race shouldn’t be a tragedy for you. But in black children’s literature, it almost always is. That, I think, is the most revolutionary thing about our book. That’s something that Caroline insisted on.”

B.B.’s difficulties come more from the process of growing up and becoming a smart, confident young woman, but her main hurdle, the Official Princess Test, reflects a growing reality in children’s lives: test anxiety. Caroline, who taught elementary school in Mississippi for Teach for America, witnessed first-hand her students’ stress about the upcoming National Assessment of Educational Progress (NAEP) test.

“Our students already at six years old were starting to worry about the state test,” Caroline says. It’s no wonder: For children in Mississippi, failure is a real possibility. One out of every 14 kindergarteners and one out of every 15 first graders in the state repeated the school year in 2008. And once behind, Mississippi kids tend to stay behind, as results showed only 61 percent of Mississippi’s students graduated from high school on time, 10 percentage points below the national average. (source)

“[Kids] are constantly being tested,” Alice says, “and their parents are being reproached and praised based on these tests, and the kids were moving on or not moving on based on these hard-and-fast test numbers. . . . We’re coming to an age when people want to see results. And we obviously critique that in certain ways, that these kids are not just test results.”

Plucky B.B., despite the fact that her entire future will be decided by her Official Princess Test, sticks to her guns and answers questions in her own way, even going so far as to interrupt the exam, speak her mind in a very un-princess-y manner and walk out entirely. Afterwards, B.B. must wait to hear her results, but the pressure of possible failure doesn’t keep her down. She works on her candle business (her friendship with bees comes in handy), furthers her involvement in the Heifer Project (though she cannot leave Bright World, she can send mail to the Other World and is very involved in charities there), and then heads off on her own to the other side of the island, where she learns more about herself than any test can prove. B.B.’s no Snow White; she tackles her own problems head on.

“B.B’s sort of actualizing her own things,” Caroline says, “and taking possession of her future as a princess and feeling confident about her own testing choices and having her own sense of self, despite whatever the result may be. She’s gathering her courage from her experiences.”

After encountering such an unforgettable character as B.B., it’s great news to hear that Alice and Caroline hope to continue the series with a second book for B.B., a B.B. picture book and, most excitingly, three more princesses with two books each.

“This is a journey that we are inviting every girl to make,” Alice says. “You’re finding your own leadership skills and your own creativity and your own nurturing, your own intellectualness, your own physical prowess. If you want to say it in a highfalutin way, the Jungian girl-power power.”

At this, Caroline laughs. “Mom,” she groans.

Alice laughs, too. “I said if you want to say it in a highfalutin way! One of Caroline’s great qualities is, she may be smarter than me, but she always keeps it simple. She’s the younger one, but she’s the one who’s wise enough to say, ‘Let’s bring it down to earth.’”

Jacqueline Kelly has had a mole, a badger, a rat and a toad in her head for 50 years. But not to worry—it wasn’t due to anything frightening or medically improbable. Rather, the four are the charming protagonists of The Wind in the Willows, one of Kelly’s lifelong favorite books.

Kelly, a 2010 Newbery Honoree for her first book, The Evolution of Calpurnia Tate, told BookPage in an interview from her Austin, Texas, home that she was eight years old when she first turned the pages of Kenneth Grahame’s classic tale (which was first published in England in 1908). “I was in bed with the flu, and [the book] immediately transported me to the riverbank,” she says. “I loved everything about it, and reread it over the years. The characters never went away.”

And now, she’s set them free in Return to the Willows, a charming sequel that’s faithful to the original book while adding creative touches of her own.

Some might suggest that Kelly’s got a lot of moxie for writing a sequel to a beloved classic—and adding new characters, to boot—but, she says, “It didn’t occur to me that people would think that. I’m just being a worshipful fan of the original, my favorite book when I was a child.” She is aware there are other sequels out there, and says, “When I started writing, I didn’t know about them, and was rather dismayed when I learned they existed. I made the decision I wasn’t going to read them. . . . I still haven’t.”

When she began to write her sequel, Kelly says it was because she “felt compelled to do it. The characters were being insistent!” Judging from the hilarious and heartwarming result, Kelly (and those characters) made the right decision. Return to the Willows is an engaging, imagination-stimulating read for longtime fans and first-time visitors to the River, Wild Wood and Toad Hall.

"I'm just being a worshipful fan of the original, my favorite book when I was a child."

The author’s adoration shines through in the book’s tone and rhythm; reading Grahame’s book, then Kelly’s, does feel like a continuation, rather than a re-interpretation. She attributes that to the sounds and words of her youth: “My childhood was in Canada, and kids there read more British-based literature than kids in the States do, so I heard that sort of language and tone at an early age. Plus, my family is from New Zealand. . . . It’s easy for me to hear an English accent in my head while I’m writing.”

For American readers who might be puzzled by phrases like “bib and tucker” or words like “tittle” (that’s “best clothing” and “little bit,” respectively), Kelly included footnotes. “I wrestled with it,” she recalls. “Do I keep the British terms? If I convert to American terms, wouldn’t the text look very strange? So I thought I could deal with it by using footnotes, and try to make them entertaining.”

And of course, as a devotee of the book (and author—she’s a member of the Kenneth Grahame Society), she carefully considered things like new technology and those new characters. “I did contemplate—for about two seconds!—giving them computers and cell phones. But I just couldn’t see it. I’m too old-fashioned to see these characters texting each other,” she says.

Kelly decided that new additions would serve the story well, so readers will meet Matilda, a lovely and clever rat, and young Humphrey, the intelligent (and adorable) nephew of Toad. “I thought Matilda needed to be added for contemporary girl readers,” Kelly says, “and Humphrey would be a good foil for Toad, who’s not so smart.”

Speaking of the irresponsible yet irresistible Toad, readers needn’t fret: He’s just as wacky and daring here as he was in Grahame’s original. In Kelly’s story, his new mode of delightful destruction is a hot-air balloon (which is, of course, not unrelated to his own propensity for gassing on). He also sustains a head injury that transforms him into a genius with a seat at Trinity College in Cambridge, where his smarts (and Kelly’s sly humor) know seemingly no bounds. He does the Sunday Times crossword in pen; publishes a scientific paper called “Jam Side Down: A Discourse on the Physics of Falling Toast”; and casually memorizes the score to Gilbert & Sullivan’s HMS Pinafore . . . which comes in handy when he serves as a virtuoso last-minute replacement for the female lead.

There are river excursions, giant explosions, swimming lessons and an all-out animal-on-animal war, too; adventures, friendships, dramatic plots and all sorts of excitement abound (not to mention references ranging from Austen to Shakespeare to a certain Disneyland ride). The striking realism of certain events was aided by consultations with Kelly’s husband, who attended Cambridge and has connections there—and with the explosives experts who work in the federal building in Austin where Kelly practices medicine part-time.

That’s right: Kelly went to medical school, then law school (she no longer practices), and then began to write when she was in her mid-40s. “I always wanted to be a writer, from the very beginning, and I took these long divagations along the way,” she says. “I’m very grateful now . . . this is how I want to spend my time.”

Thanks to Kelly, readers certainly will enjoy spending their time catching up on old friends and meeting new ones along the riverbank. Clint Young’s illustrations add much to the experience; his artwork is masterfully done, with detail, depth and plenty of emotion. Return to the Willows will inspire us to respect nature, be kind to our friends, be open to change, embrace hilarity . . . and perhaps take another, closer look at any furry or amphibious creatures we encounter.

In his first published book, acclaimed director and screenwriter Gary Ross takes young readers on a high-flying journey that stretches all the way from a boy’s bedroom to a pirate-infested island and a hidden canyon. Bartholomew Biddle and the Very Big Wind is a rousing adventure story with a nostalgic feel, told entirely in rhyme and featuring lively illustrations in oil by noted artist Matthew Myers.

Ross is best known as the director of The Hunger Games but his Hollywood breakthrough came in 1988 as screenwriter of the Tom Hanks’ hit Big. He went on to write the screenplays for such films as Dave, Pleasantville and Seabiscuit, and made his directorial debut with Pleasantville. It was during his work as a co-writer on the animated film version of Kate DiCamillo’s The Tale of Despereaux that Ross first made contact with Candlewick Books, which is publishing his new children’s book.

We asked Ross to tell us about the inspiration for Bartholomew Biddle, who swoops and soars across rooftops and questions the status quo wherever he goes.

The character of Bartholomew Biddle was created in 1996 when your friend needed an unpublished children’s story to be read in a film. Why did you decide to turn the story into a book?
I didn't really think about it for a long, long time. I wrote a few stanzas for my friend’s movie then forgot about it for years. After a while inquiries started popping up on the Internet—people asking where they could buy the book. I wrote a little bit more for fun and then put it away again. A few years ago I showed it to Karen Lotz from Candlewick when we were making [the film of] The Tale of Despereaux. She loved it and they bought it and I sat down to write the bulk of the book that year. It was a lot of rhyming that year.

Bartholomew flies through the sky with a bedsheet after he discovers the “granddaddy of winds” outside his room. What inspired this image?
I've always loved to fly. I took flying lessons when I was young. I still take occasional lessons in a helicopter. I'm fascinated and drawn to it. I've always flown in my dreams (the good ones). I think flying is about freedom—literally breaking free from the constraints that hold you down. There is honestly nothing more exhilarating than being up in the air.

Bart encounters several situations in his journey that make him challenge the status quo. Is this part of the message of your book? What lesson do you hope young readers will take from Bartholomew Biddle?
He is constantly questioning. But he challenges rules for rules’ sake. I don't think it's a process of rebellion—it's more about coming to know himself. To have his own ethical code. His own set of rules for himself. Hopefully we all acquire that in life.

How was the process of writing a children’s book different from writing a screenplay?
Honestly, it's completely different. For one thing, you're writing the finished product every day. When I write a film, it's a document that is a plan for a movie that will be filmed one day. When I write a page of verse, that's it. Its a direct communication from me to the reader, so it feels very different and it's very satisfying. Some people have said that there is a cinematic quality to the book, so in that sense, I guess it was influenced by my day job. I suppose I can't help it.

What inspired you to write the book completely in verse? How do you think the rhymes add to experience of reading the book?
Well it's a little like having the music and the lyrics all at once. Rhyme imparts a feel, rhythm, sound: Something that operates beneath the conscious level of the text. When it’s working well, it underscores and supports the content of the text. I have always liked to rhyme and it seemed like a wonderful challenge to tell a long narrative in verse. I wondered if I could sustain that. As I went, the rhyming (thank God) started to feel like second nature. It was a great experience.

Were you involved in choosing Matthew Myers as the book’s illustrator? What do you think his drawings add to the story?
Candlewick showed me several illustrators and I fell in love with Matthew's work. I thought it was loose and free and gestural and at the same time very emotional. I couldn't be happier with the illustrations.

Your twins were one-year-olds when you began the tale of Bartholomew Biddle. Is this story for them? Now that they’re teenagers, what do they think of the book?
They really like it. They've heard it along the way. They both love to read and they love poetry so it was great sharing it with them.

When you were a kid, what did you dream of doing?
My first aspiration was to operate a caterpillar tractor. I thought they looked amazingly cool. Maybe it was the bright yellow. Along the way I wanted to be a surveyor, a chef and president of the United States. But all the time I was writing and acting and putting on shows, so I guess this was always happening even when I didn't realize it. I've also rhymed from a pretty early age so maybe this was inevitable.

What were some of your favorite books as a child?
Wow, so many. Much of Dr. Seuss: If I Ran the Circus, And To Think That I Saw It on Mulberry Street, McElligot’s Pool. . . . There was a great book that won the Newbery called The Twenty-One Balloons that I read over and over. As I started to get older it was stuff that many kids love: Huckleberry Finn, Catcher in the Rye. It's honestly hard to make a list. I remember loving A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court even when I was very young.  

Are there more children’s books in your future?
I hope so. Several years ago I spent time studying the Civil War era with a professor at Harvard named John Stauffer. He and I have talked about writing a children's history of the era. I love Gombrich's A Little History of the World, a world history written for kids. I think it would be great to tell the story of the era in terms that kids can understand.

Image from Bartholomew Biddle and The Very Big Wind, reprinted with permission of Candlewick Books.

In both of Clare Vanderpool’s artfully written novels, the young protagonists’ fathers yank them out of the lives they’ve known and deposit them in unfamiliar surroundings, where they must make sense of the past and find their way in a strange new present.

But while Abilene (the main character in the 2011 Newbery Medal winner Moon Over Manifest) and 13-year-old Jack Baker of Navigating Early both narrate richly layered tales that explore memory, loss, discovery and redemption, their stories are in fact quite different.

Vanderpool says in an interview from her home in Wichita, Kansas, “Abilene has never lived in one place or been grounded in a community, and that’s what she’s sent to.” By contrast, “Jack was comfortable and grounded, and now he’s at the edge of the country without any bearings.”

Indeed, when Kansas-boy Jack sees the ocean for the first time, he throws up. A bumpy cargo-plane ride to the Maine coast contributed to his stomach upset, but his disorientation also stems from emotional upheaval: World War II has just ended, Jack’s mother has recently died, and his father has brought him east to attend a boys’ boarding school near his military post in Portsmouth. Although Jack can appreciate the salty air, the ocean waves are forbidding and the multi-hued sand reminds him of his beloved mother, who was like “sand that clings to your body, leaving its impression on your skin to remind you of where you’ve been and where you come from.”

Even as he grieves the loss of his mother and his home, Jack begins to explore his new surroundings, goes out for the crew team and becomes friends with a boy named Early Auden. Early is an intelligent, eccentric sort: He’s obsessed with the Appalachian brown bear and timber rattlesnake, plays Billie Holliday only when it rains, and he has excellent water-sports skills, too.

That bundle of attributes make Early irresistibly intriguing to Jack, and as the boys grow closer, Early reveals something even more fascinating: The numbers of pi have colors, and he can read in the numbers a dramatic and exciting story that’s going to help him find that brown bear—and his brother, a soldier who was lost in the war.

Jack listens to each installment of the adventures of Pi (the hero of Early’s tale), but is skeptical about the story, let alone the possibility of finding bear or brother. Even so, he joins Early on his quest: The two explore on land and sea along the Appalachian Trail, and encounter a range of unusual people with their own stories—some scary, some poignant, all of them mysteriously similar to the people and places in the tale of Pi’s journey.

Navigating Early is a complex story, to be sure, and it’s all the more satisfying for its poetic language and intimation that not everything has a logical explanation. Vanderpool herself is quite comfortable with the latter notion. “Jack’s mom introduces that idea to him . . . the way our paths cross, our lives intersect and collide,” she says. “They’re all things I’ve experienced in my own life. I know this story pushes magical realism just a tad, but I’m okay with that because, in my own life, there are amazing things that happen, coincidences and connections you would never expect.”

The novel’s exploration of the ways in which physical places can shape our emotions is also a theme that’s been central to Vanderpool’s experience. “That absolutely comes from me,” she says. “I’ve traveled a lot, and have lived in the same neighborhood my whole life, which I love. It’s very much part of my makeup.” She adds with a laugh, “When I was dating my husband, I joked with him and said, ‘Where you go, I go! Pick any house on these four streets.’” And so he did: They and their four children live in a house two blocks from Vanderpool’s childhood home.

Having her mother nearby is something Vanderpool enjoys, not least because the idea for Navigating Early was touched off by her mother’s description of a vivid dream about a young man who was an exceptionally talented pianist. “That got me thinking,” she says. “I thought it would be interesting to write about a younger character with some type of savant ability.”

She began to do research about savants, and about pi, which, she says, “is the be-all, end-all for people that are into [math]. . . . It has a magical, mystical quality.” A trip to Maine helped solidify the landscape in her mind. And then, Vanderpool says, Early made himself known: “At a certain point,” she explains, “you let go of the inspiration and research and the characters take over. . . . It might sound strange because they’re characters you’re making up, but it’s the only way I can describe it. You give them a chance to tell you who they are.”

Fortunately, Vanderpool was listening. In doing so, she has created a memorable story that is by turns poignant, funny and exciting—and reminds us not to rule out the possibility that there might be a bit of magic in our everyday lives.

Previously best known as the co-author of the mega-selling Animorphs series, Katherine Applegate vaults into the ranks of literary luminaries in the children’s book world as the 2013 winner of the Newbery Medal. Her moving novel, The One and Only Ivan, was inspired by the real-life story of a gorilla caged at a shopping mall in Washington state for 27 years. We caught up with Applegate during the whirlwind that followed Monday’s awards announcement to find out how she was dealing with all the excitement.

What was the first thing that went through your head when you found out you had won the Newbery Medal?
There must have been a clerical error.

Who was the one person you couldn’t wait to tell about your award?
My husband, Michael Grant; my editor, Anne Hoppe; my agent, Elena Mechlin at Pippin Properties—those go without saying. But I also couldn’t wait to tell John Schumacher, librarian extraordinaire, and Colby Sharp, teacher extraordinaire, because they both were such supporters of the book.

Do you have a favorite past Newbery winner?
Sarah, Plain and Tall. Patricia MacLachlan is such a gift to children’s literature.

What's the best part of writing books for a younger audience?
When a kid loves your book, you’re a total rock star.

What kind of reaction have you gotten from your readers about this book?
An outpouring of love for the characters. It’s so touching and humbling.

Have you read or listened to past Newbery acceptance speeches? Are you excited (or worried!) about your own speech?
Yes and yes. I’m thinking of hiring a surrogate.

What’s next for you?
Another blank page. And lots of smiling.