R.L.S. Hoff's Blog, page 12

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Excerpt:

Eleanor asked him once or twice if he was all right, and he snapped out something about not breaking his concentration. He felt a bit bad about that, but he was, after all, swaying near the top of a low-grade wooden ladder, trying to figure out a computer that had probably been designed before his great-grandfather was born. He didn’t have the brain capacity for politeness at the moment.

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Ivory hears music in everything–in birdsong, and wind chimes, yes, but also in the noise of traffic and the rhythm of a dishwasher.

There is also music in her heart, making sense of the world and her feelings–much more sense of these things than she can make without it.

I liked this look at Ivory’s world, though I found it difficult to get into the story-in-verse form at first. Perhaps that is a good thing, though–it helped create a sense of disorientation that might be a bit like what Ivory felt all the time.

All in all, a good story, well told.

I love them, of course.

My middle child has a beautiful one that came with his collection of Lloyd Alexander books (His favorite books, btw). It folds out into a gorgeous poster-sized thing that looks like it ought to be framed (if you could somehow get the creases out).

My maps don’t look like that. They tend to be scribbles in the margins of notebook pages that barely give me a sense for rivers and mountain ranges–but they are incredibly useful.

Here’s the one I used for Anya’s simulation (see Leaving Hope):

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I enjoyed this fun, romantic YA, though it reminded me a bit more of Groundhog’s Day than I would prefer. (Yeah, I was never that fond of that movie.)

Still, Jack is a great character, and I love how he grows throughout this book, figuring out what is important to him.

Kate is also a well-rounded character, and I love that she refuses to be defined by her illness.

My favorite part of the book, though, might have been Jack’s friendships with Jillian and Franny, and how he (eventually) figures out how to not let his budding romance keep him from being a good friend.

I also appreciate the family dynamics here–there’s a couple of mostly functional families, and a few that are less functional–but all of them feel realistic and important to the kids in them.

All in all, a book well worth reading.

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Charlie’s not like Coco.

So, when everything seems to be going wrong, she’s determined not to be a drama queen. But keeping all her frustrations inside turns out to be a less than perfect plan.

I like how Charlie insists on being herself, and love how she comes to evaluate what’s most important to her. I kind of wish, though, that at some point she’d let somebody close to her know how she was really feeling. At the end of this book, it seems like Charlie is just as likely to keep unpopular opinions to herself as she was at the beginning, and that feels a bit isolating and confining–as if she’s only allowing herself to feel things she’s supposed to feel .

Restraint can be both wise and kind, but repression?

This story raises some interesting questions–a kind of Sense and Sensibility for a modern era.

I’m just not sure Charlie’s central problem (which I saw as her unwillingness to be open with the people around her, even those who clearly loved her) is as resolved as she thinks it is.

Check out my review of the previous book in the series, Love and Muddy Puddles (about Coco) here.

Came out in the newsletter today.

Excerpt:

Before Sam could protest, she ducked into a path perpendicular to the one they’d used to get there. Within a few steps, she completely disappeared into the wheat.

Eleanor was gone long enough that Sam began to wonder if he could find his way back to the greenhouse’s main entrance if she didn’t return. His conclusions on that score did not reassure him.

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This was a fun read that reminded me of all the intense emotion of going into middle school.

Micah may have more serious issues in her life than most young teens, but most will relate to her difficulties adjusting to the way her body, her life, and her relationships are changing.

I liked the realism of this piece, and the young voice. It reminded me a bit of Judy Blume, in good, modern ways. Micah has some heavy stuff to deal with, including her mother’s death, but I feel like she’s handling these things in a healthier way at the end of her summer than at the beginning. And the friendships she develops–with kids her own age and with older teens–are one of the highlights of this story.

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Wow.

Sometimes I read a book, and it’s so good, that I’m a bit in awe. This one is like that.

I didn’t know what to think, at first, of a book narrated by death. But it grew on me. And seemed so appropriate–Death telling a story about World War II–a time when he was unusually busy.

Liesel is a great main character, but I think my favorite was Hans Hubermann–a man both ordinary and extraordinary at the same time. He doesn’t look like anything special. He’s not super-well educated (though he teaches Liesel to read and encourages her love of words). He doesn’t have an impressive job (though he’s a competent and reasonably hard-working painter). He’s not particularly talented (though he plays the accordion with gusto).

But–he keeps promises, and he loves in extravagantly practical ways. If, at the end of my days, as much can be said of me, I will have lived well.

I haven’t cried so much reading a book in a long time.

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On the way home from school, J was crossing the street on his bike. A car hit him. He was OK, but he didn’t want to ride a bike to school anymore.

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Getting a driver’s license was hard. He took a class, but the teacher spoke only English. He didn’t understand. So, a tutor explained in Chinese.

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He understood!

He passed his test and got a permit.

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The first drive was scary (for his mom).

But now, he drives very well. Soon he’ll be able to drive all on his own.

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Literally a sketch. This girl came to me a couple of days ago. I don’t know who she is yet, but I think she wants her story told.

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