thieves

I wrote a brief review (shocking I know) but after “recommended” I continue with a few thoughts that will be spoilery. I just wanted to share them, and maybe have them there to look back on if I end up continuing on in the series.

Thieves’ Gambit by Kayvion Lewis

Nancy Paulsen, 2023. HC, 384pp

Ages 13-18. YA; CF; Mystery; Adventure; Heist

Includes: Black girl protagonist + significant Black and Asian characters; slight LGBTQIA+ rep.

The Inheritance Games meets Ocean’s Eleven in this cinematic heist thriller where a cutthroat competition brings together the world’s best thieves and one thief is playing for the highest stakes of all: her mother’s life.

At only seventeen years old, Ross Quest is already a master thief, especially adept at escape plans. Until her plan to run away from her legendary family of thieves takes an unexpected turn, leaving her mother’s life hanging in the balance.

In a desperate bid, she enters the Thieves’ Gambit, a series of dangerous, international heists where killing the competition isn’t exactly off limits, but the grand prize is a wish for anything in the world–a wish that could save her mom. When she learns two of her competitors include her childhood nemesis and a handsome, smooth-talking guy who might also want to steal her heart, winning the Gambit becomes trickier than she imagined.

Ross tries her best to stick to the family creed: trust no one whose last name isn’t Quest. But with the stakes this high, Ross will have to decide who to con and who to trust before time runs out. After all, only one of them can win. (Publisher’s Copy)

Thieves’ Gambit delivers on what it promises: a tournament-style heist novel with the kind of action and intrigue that’ll have its YA-audience turning the pages. Alongside satisfying action sequences, Kayvion Lewis also throws in a healthy dose of romance and family drama. Thieves’ Gambit moves, hurtling the protagonist and her reader into a conclusion that will be difficult to escape.  Don’t worry,  this is just book one. Lewis will be back with more Ross Quest and her shadowy world.

It’ll be interesting to see Lewis develop wisdom in her main character. In Thieves’ Gambit, Ross is a naive but adept protagonist, who despite her aptitude for heist-related shenanigans is painfully vulnerable to the manipulation of others. Her ability to escape relatively unscathed (physically) is unparalleled—but where will she actually land emotionally and professionally after that harrowing conclusion?

Recommended for young Ocean Eleven (2001) fans and readers of The Inheritance Games by Jennifer Barnes or The Loop by Ben Oliver. If you like heists: few write it better in YA than Leigh Bardugo in the Six of Crows duology.  I’ve heard Hunger Games referenced as a description: take it only as I think it’s truly intended: as a sub-genre indicator that the novel has a tournament-style premise. I wouldn’t recommend comparing the two.

Thoughts with Potential Spoilers: The daughter and I were talking about a novel (2^nd in a series) she was reading that had her frustrated by the true lack of agency of one of its protagonists (and, really, in some way, all three of them). The character made decisions, but they felt like they were not really choices because survival/oppression. She’d experienced this a couple months ago with another character/series. It isn’t an unrealistic situation for a character to find themselves in—just a relatively unusual one when it comes to fictional heroes.

The conversation moved to the tricky business of plotting court intrigue and developing character trajectories in and around them. I thought of this conversation as I was mulling over the Thieves’ Gambit post-read.

I finished Thieves’ Gambit and felt at ease in recommending it to teens as a great addition to the relatively small shelf of heist novels. I still feel that ease; and I can see why it was optioned for film. But I also experienced despondence—not unlike what I think the daughter was communicating to me.

It’s in the lingering after, that I felt sadness for how vulnerable to manipulation Ross was and is. Why choose Devroe as a partner when she had better and more effective partners in the other two? You realize that just as the organization wants the contestants  to be not only good at thieving, but entertaining as well, the novel has the same aims. The story wants characters making questionable choices that won’t actually spell disaster, just suggest it for a while. And to clarify, it is the novel (or organization) that defines “disaster” not Ross or anyone else.

There is nothing surprising or disappointing in noticing how the characters merely serve the plot; nor how any sense of agency is so adeptly outmaneuvered as to suggest it was only there to increase dramatic interest to begin with.  Such devising only echoes the premise: the thieves’ gambit exists to merely serve the “organization.” It isn’t just to accomplish the heist, but to manage it in an entertaining way. And there is where the rub lies. As much as the young thieves invite us alongside them as they struggle to distinguish themselves, the novel itself has put us readers in the balcony alongside the organization. The contestants needn’t only succeed at their tasks, they need to do so with dramatic interest–that is the only way they can be spared; to proceed. In the end, the readers aren’t actually that different from the organization and that doesn’t feel great considering who they are. And I wonder if the novel had ended differently, we would have been able to see ourselves differently. But I suppose our ending is Ross’ ending: where escape is an illusion; and maybe some part of us likes the future into which we’ve been coerced.

Seems Kayvion Lewis is quite the mastermind. I’m hoping she will devise a path upon which Ross Quest will be to realize for herself. Or will she just stick around for the sake of her mother or the hot boi—neither of whom deserve her?

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Kayvion Lewis is a young adult author of all things escapist and high-octane. A former youth services librarian, she’s been working with young readers and kidlit since she was sixteen. When she’s not writing, she’s breaking out of escape rooms, jumping out of airplanes, and occasionally running away to mountain retreats to study kung fu. Though she’s originally from Louisiana, and often visits her family in The Bahamas, these days you can find her in New York—at least until she takes off on her next adventure.

with flying colors

Legends of Lotus Island : The Guardian Test (Book 1) by Christina Soontornvat

Illustrator: Kevin Hong

Scholastic, 2023. HC, 151pp

Fantasy, Magic, Belonging. Ages: 7-11

For readers who love stories about animals, magic, and kids like them embracing their power to change the world.  Young Plum is shocked to discover that she’s been accepted to the Guardian Academy on Lotus Island, an elite school where kids learn how to transform into Guardians, magical creatures who are sworn to protect the natural world. The Guardian masters teach Plum and her friends how to communicate with animals and how to use meditation to strengthen their minds and bodies. All the kids also learn to fight, so they can protect the defenseless if needed.
To her dismay, Plum struggles at school. While her classmates begin to transform into amazing creatures, Plum can’t even seem to magic up a single feather! If she can’t embrace her inner animal form soon, she’ll have to leave school ― and lose the first group of real friends she’s ever known. (Publisher’s copy).

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Unlike the other children who arrive at the Guardian Academy, Plum was content to live on a small island with her grandparents and farm. Believing she was special, it was her Grandfather who applied on her behalf. It is her Grandmother who encourages her to try it.

Unlike the other children, Plum didn’t spend most of her life dreaming of becoming a Guardian and can’t claim any relationship to one. She’s just a girl from the farm who isn’t sure who she is supposed to be.

Plum’s reasons for wanting to succeed at the Academy changes over the course of the story. She wants to become a Guardian so she doesn’t disappoint her grandparents; she doesn’t want to fail like a bully expects; she wants to succeed because this could be a dream her (deceased) mother has for her. But she’ll only succeed by getting out of her own way and allowing herself to just become who she is supposed to be.

Plum struggles with trusting the process and allowing other voices and self-doubts to get in the way. Of course the Readers will know what Plum won’t allow herself to suspect. She does have a special way with plants and animals. She does belong.

Plum has a charming gift rooted in the way she was brought up. It fuels her humility. But her abilities prove tricky to classify and has baffled her instructors which fuels her continued feelings of difference. She can’t see what we all see as Readers is that most of the children are “different.” They come from different backgrounds, have different skills and interests.

Soontornvat only delves into characterization as far as she needs, but she definitely reminds us (and Plum) that new information changes our perspective; we can’t assume things or rely only on our first impressions. That said, Plum is different from the others and as this is Book One, we’ll have time to explore that further.

Plum; Kevin Hong’s interior illustration from The Guardian Test by C. Soontornvat

The Guardian Test is a relatively short novel with short chapters and illustrations. It’s a delight to enter such a rich world with charming lore, interesting characters and relationship dynamics, and to do so with only 151 pages. Sure, it is Book One in a series, but Soontornvat seeds future intrigues while giving us a focused, satisfying story in one volume.

Quick with the world- and character-sketches, Soontornvat allows the plot to unwind in an effortless and effective way. Tension builds quietly and soon an uncertain and unfocused Plum finds herself misguided, the pressure to succeed allowing a temptation that brings us to a very tense moment—and a breathtaking one. Soontornvat makes so many great decisions and can afford incredible turns because she has skillfully laid the groundwork.

I’m looking forward to reading what Soontornvat builds from such a strong and promising beginning. Into the Shadow Mist is already out. Shall we see what happens next?

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There is a strong environmental bent that should appeal to readers who love Studio Ghibli films. The looking for belonging, figuring yourself out, and the threat of capitalism sounds like one of my recent reads: Nell of Gumbling: My Extremely Normal Fairy-Tale Life by Emma Steinkellner. The reluctant, noble hero brings to mind: The League of Beastly Dreadfuls by Holly Grant; Nevermoor: The Trials of Morrigan Crow by Jessica Townsend; The Accidental Apprentice by Amanda Foody

who is jessica mathers?

Star Splitter by Matthew J. Kirby

Dutton 2023. HC 320pp

YA. SF. Horror. LGBTQIA+. Ages 12-18.

CW: suicidal ideation.

Crash-landed on a desolate planet lightyears from Earth, sixteen-year-old Jessica Mathers must unravel the mystery of the destruction all around her–and the questionable intentions of a familiar stranger. Pulse-pounding YA science fiction from award-winning author Matthew J. Kirby.

For Jessica Mathers, teleportation and planetary colonization in deep space aren’t just hypotheticals–they’re real. They’re also the very real reason her scientist parents left her behind six years ago. Now she is about to be reunited with them, forced to leave behind everyone she knows and loves, to join their research assignment on Carver 1061c, a desolate, post-extinction planet almost 14 lightyears from Earth.

Teleportation is safe and routine in the year 2198, but something seems to have gone very, very wrong. Jessica wakes up in an empty, and utterly destroyed, landing unit from the DS Theseus, the ship where she was supposed to rendezvous with her parents. But Jessica isn’t on the Theseus orbiting Carver 1061c. The lander seems to have crashed on the planet’s surface. Its corridors are empty and covered in bloody handprints; the machines are silent and dark. And outside, in the alien dirt, are the carefully, and recently, marked graves of strangers.

Questions of self-determination and survival collide in this expertly crafted science fiction novel from Edgar Award-winning author Matthew J. Kirby. Kirby builds spine-tingling tension page-by-page in this imaginative and haunting story that spans both space and time. (publisher’s copy)

Star Splitter was promised to be unputdownable by more than a few sources. They were right.

Star Splitter feels like a Star Trek or Doctor Who episode where futuristic science and haunting encounters inspire philosophical questions about what it means to be. Who are we when we can be printed (literally) and imprinted (altered; scarred)? Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind (2004) comes to mind as well, because the novel’s explorations involve how the sum of our parts are influenced, if not defined, by our experiences. What makes us our selves, but also what changes us, and what happens in those experiences’ absence?

When Jessica Mathers’ parents left her six years before, they left her feeling abandoned. She experiences their long absence. She is left both unchanged and marked by it; aggrieved by the ‘how it could have made her differently.’ In the intervening years, she has settled into a nice normal life with her grandparents, friends, and was looking forward to experiencing a romance (after a singular moment changes something in her and her relationship). Her earthbound experience is a big part of what she has since become.

Jessica isn’t interested when her parents decide they should reunite—14 lightyears from Earth. And she is driven to ask: “What gives you the right to decide what becomes a part of me?” The offered reply: “We (parents, elders, etc.) create the experiences that shape you, but how those experiences shape you isn’t up to us.” The speaker there, by the way, has an impossible time apologizing for anything and will continue to demonstrate some rather selfish decision-making. We are reminded of how much we rely on youthful resilience. (I’m not sure we should.)

Given no other choice in the matter, Jessica finds herself teleported to a ship orbiting the planet her parents have been assigned to research—or she’s supposed to be teleported to the DS Theseus. Both the plan and the story begins to unravel from here. Jessica is left making some difficult decisions. How will she respond to the experiences she’s finds herself in such an alien landscape? Wondering if she has real say in how it will shape her.

Star Splitter becomes a survival story with multiple layers. Kirby measures time, draws shadows, writes really intriguing dilemmas and characters worthy of confronting them. There will be crying and raging and physics. He creates a world carefully in a future where technology has changed some of our thinking. Its influence on how the world works is important to keep in mind as we are caught up in questions of what it means to be us—not that Kirby will truly allow us to forget it. It’s just that the horror has layers as well; we’ll forget what is possible.

That ending was always going to be tricky and the reader won’t be able to help but hurdle themselves toward it. Kirby sticks the landing, but not without cost—like any good space horror, if you’re alive to experience the ending, you won’t be left unchanged.

“The stories we tell ourselves are powerful. They’re how we know who we are, and they make us who we are. But it’s important to remember that we can change our stories. Sometimes, all we need to do is start telling ourselves a new one.“

Kirby constructs a compelling mystery and a bid for survival that is hard to leave unobserved. He won’t answer every question, but he will answer these: Who is Jessica Mathers? What is she capable of? Will she survive an experience she neither wanted nor felt prepared to undertake?

unruly creatures

The Jinn-Bot of Shantiport by Samit Basu

Tor Books, 2023. HC, 416pp.

cover artist: Sparth

SFF; Fairytale Retelling (Aladdin); Bots

Out October 3^rd!

Thank you Netgalley and Tor Books for access to the eARC.

Shantiport was supposed to be a gateway to the stars. But the city is sinking, and its colonist rulers aren’t helping anyone but themselves.

Lina, a daughter of failed revolutionaries, has no desire to escape Shantiport. She loves her city and would do anything to save its people. This is, in fact, the plan for her life, made before she was even born.

Her brother, Bador, is a small monkey bot with a big attitude and bigger ambitions. He wants a chance to leave this dead-end planet and explore the universe on his own terms. But that would mean abandoning the family he loves―even if they do take him for granted.

When Shantiport’s resident tech billionaire coerces Lina into retrieving a powerful artifact rumored to be able to reshape reality, forces from before their time begin coalescing around the siblings. And when you throw in a piece of sentient, off-world tech with the ability to grant three wishes into the mix… None of the city’s powers will know what hit them. (publisher’s copy)

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Samit Basu set out to write an Aladdin retelling. And he does it; exploring the themes and characters at play. You’ll find familiar plot points and dilemmas even as Basu adapts the setting, the power structure, swaps out some genders and offers single roles to multiple cast members. The Jinn-Bot of Shantiport will be familiar to Aladdin, but Basu delivers so much more.

In the “Acknowledgments,” Basu admits that while building a “new house for a fable that I could see was tired and lost,” […] “ the place I set the new story in, and the people who lived there, started demanding to be let in. This book is what happened after they took over and invited their friends.” He goes on to call them “unruly creatures” and the novel reflects that. The Jinn-Bot of Shantiport has some unusual aspects to its structure.

Basu opens the first chapter in third person introducing us to Bador, a Bot in the sincere likeness of a monkey but for his eyes which are a length of screen that telegraph “eyemojis.” Partway through, Basu introduces a Bot, Moku, whom Bador has recently salvaged and awoken. With the turn of the page, we are in a first person narrative via Moku and the novel will continue through the self-described biographer Bot for as long as we have them. It felt odd, the shift, and I appreciated the turn of the page even if we didn’t get a more conventional new chapter to observe the unanticipated shift in POV. The thing is, it actually works in the greater scheme of the novel. While Basu needed to set the stage, dropping us mise-en-scène and quickly grounding the characters of Shantiport, Bador, and his sister Lina, there is a necessity for Moku to be just as present as the others from the very beginning, Chapter 1.

Moku becomes the narrator, going against their standard protocols and splits their time between the siblings. At first Moku is able to access Bador’s thoughts so we gain some third person limited observations of his thinking, but once that stops—for narrative reasons—we are left solely to what Moku observes, feels, speculates, and self-reflects. They are an enjoyable narrator and they foreground a lovely aspect of the novel which is emotional-passionate self-determining Bots. Bots who have personhood and struggle in a human-ruled society/culture to win that acknowledgement (to say nothing of the rights that follow).

What it means to be limited to Moku’s observer function is to follow the logic of the plot and not a logic in conventional structure. There is no predictive alternating between protagonists and their plan. In a way, Moku becomes as subject to the characters and their antics as the author claims he was. Whoever gets Moku’s company delivers the action and develops their part of the story. This looks like going from an mob-run Arena Bot fights involving kaiju to local and planetary history lessons to the introduction of a galactic space hero to the seduction of a Not-Prince to standard familial drama to chase scenes or narrow escapes to pages of debate on governance delivered by revolutionaries—this is not the order, just a gist of the kind of blocking of narrative that can occur. It means setting down the novel could mean picking it up and finding yourself in a new facet of the story. It can be unexpected, and it works—if you find the passionate, articulate characters compelling. It can feel dense at times (I can’t say a slog, because Basu is lending you energy from the text, but I see some of us scanning pages).

Moku’s observer function also means that at times we are given huge blocks of dialog between characters. Some may need to annotate who is saying what. I like Basu’s decision to rely on the reader tracking a two person exchange for pages, because ‘X says’ will drive you around the bend. And while the discourse may feel heavy with inaction, it’s still part of the action-intrigue of the novel, just as much as the Bador’s more bombastic mob-interactions and Lina’s romantic endeavors.

The characters with their own distinct personalities and agendas may add an unruliness to the way the story is told, but Basu brings it all together with plenty of twists and turns. He uses the growth of already un/predictable characters to glorious effect. Whose plan will succeed? And what is their plan?! Will a character follow through? What is actually going on?

Lina is the hardest to read for Moku and everyone else in her life (including the reader). You get a better sense of her as the story progresses, but mostly through the ways in which she defies expectation—the narrator’s, not just ours. Bador is the more expressive, declarative sibling. He communicates his desires as he has them; admits he’s winging it; and is not only comfortable with, but seeks to integrate chaos. He reminds me of Rocket from Marvel’s Guardians of the Galaxy—the films (I haven’t read the comics). Bador has an overt ferocity, a similar sense of humor, and experiences incredible conflict with his difference and his place within a family unit. He is both incredibly selfish and incredibly loyal; and so is Lina. It’s a gorgeous aspect of the novel, the divergences between companions-turned-siblings and how the two of them, as a unit, work. I love that they work; not how they were designed to, but how they each determined to work.

Self/determination is a much talked about conversation in the novel. Besides the setting and the ways the Bots function and are described, explorations of what it means to be autonomous find familiarity for those who’ve read Martha Wells Murderbot Diaries. It makes sense in the context of Aladdin as well. Reinvention, reprogramming. What would it look like to live under different circumstances? And who will empower you—or leave you alone—to do it? Who has the power to determine people’s fortune? Who sets the terms and conditions? Who and what is the collateral damage?

The Jinn-Bot of Shantiport is unafraid of weighty topics (have I mentioned imperialism…colonialism?). Jinn-Bot will find its counterweight via questionable strategies on the part of the heroes and bad-ass secondary characters (even the villainous kind). The characters and their various activities dictate the novel’s pacing, but eventually, even they will get swept up into a page-turning conclusion. Basu manages to bring everything and everyone together into a conclusion that none of them could actually foresee. The unruly creatures played their roles to the fullness of their being, holding nothing back (not even Lina or Moku). Like Aladdin, who defied expectation and took hold of the power he found himself in possession of, the world could not be left unchanged. Of course, the consequences of that is on the novel’s mind, all the way through to its conclusion. It’s a wild ride, involving things well outside of one’s control—rich or poor; Bot or human; Author or Reader.

a very real fairy-tale life

Nell of Gumbling: My Extremely Normal Fairy-Tale Life  by Emma Steinkellner

Labyrinth Road, 2023. HC 224pp.

Graphic Novel, SFF. Ages: 8-12

Thank you Netgalley and Labyrinth Road for the eARC for review.

OUT SEPT. 26^TH.

Raina Telgemeier meets the Land of Stories in this charming graphic novel-diary hybrid about a twelve-year-old girl and her perfectly average magical life.

To everyone else, the Magical Land of Gumbling is something out of fairy tales. But to Nell Starkeeper, it’s just home. Sure, the town community center might be a castle, her dads run a star farm, and her best friend Myra is a fairy, but Nell is much more interested in finding out if she’ll get the seventh grade apprenticeship of her dreams with world-famous artist Wiz Bravo.

She’s pretty sure her entire life has been RUINED when she’s instead matched with boring old Mrs. Birdneck in the town archives. And of course her perfect rival Leabelle gets to work with Wiz, and mean girl Voila won’t let Nell forget it. Meanwhile, suddenly Myra seems more into hanging out with Leabelle and saving the town from some weird strangers who keep talking about turning Gumbling into a fancy resort than being friends with Nell anymore. Can Nell find a way to save everything that makes her world magical, while figuring out where she belongs in it? (Publisher’s copy)

Nell Starkeeper isn’t exaggerating when she claims her life is extremely normal. Despite her fairy-tale surroundings, she lives a very relatable life. Maybe your best friend isn’t a fairy and your dads do not run a star farm, but you’ve probably experienced disappointment, jealousy, uncooperative hair, and folks who would profit off of your community/members.

Nell of Gumbling is told in the format of diary-graphic novel hybrid. The record is an effort to practice her craft: visual art in comics form. She’s also hoping to create something museum-worthy for when she becomes a famous artiste, like local idol Wiz Bravo. Where previous attempts to journal left her bored, Nell is sure that her apprenticeship with Wiz will provide content worth archiving.

Nell doesn’t get that apprenticeship—the girl who is better at everything does—but Nell does find plenty of things to write about. One: how disappointed she is to be assigned a woman who looked “like a lady in a  portrait in a haunted house” (22) and works out of the old castle dungeon. Two: “rude tourists” (31).

Nell’s disappointment in her assigned apprenticeship creates a strain with her two closest friends who were assigned their first choices.

“Good friends make disappointment easier to take. They’ll try to get you to feel better and help you have fun. But it’s probably hard to be a friend when something good happens to you and not to your friend. I’m afraid Myra and Gil feel like they have to do all this extra work so I’ll feel better. But I don’t know how to tell them I don’t need that.

Why is talking to your friends the simplest thing in the world sometimes, and then other times, there’s nothing more confusing?” (42)

Best friend Myra tries until Nell becomes that much of a downer. “It’s been a couple weeks, and I’m getting a little sick of hearing how awful your apprenticeship is. [….] I just think you could make over your attitude.”(52)

Fortunately for us, Nell’s disappointment isn’t a downer for the reader, because one: we’re experiencing Nell’s apprenticeship with her, and two: there are other things going on. Nell tapes artifacts on the pages like surveys, stories, menus… We spend time with Nell’s very charming family. And then there is the matter of the “rude tourists.”

The tourists in question, “Wet Nails” and “Teeth,” are looking to develop Gumbling into a destination called Castleworld. They will claim to be lost heirs to the throne (that politically no longer exists) to do it. Now this is a situation that should ease Nell and Myra’s strained relationship by bringing them back together over a shared purpose, but it doesn’t.  When it comes to figuring out how to respond to the threat Castleworld presents, Nell feels inadequate. Myra can’t be bothered and finds an equally passionate ally in Leabelle. Nell feels replaced (again).

“Should I help, or should I listen” (108)? Nell of Gumbling is rich with relationship wisdom. It models some healthy conversations with parents and teachers, and even with the self. The hard conversations between friends and would-be friends feel authentic in their discomfort. Steinkellner does well in her differentiation between the adult-child conversations and those between young peers—and within each there is variation. I love the hard-won evolution of Nell’s relationship with Mrs. Birdneck.

The only thing to come together with any seeming ease is the book’s climax. It would feel convenient if Steinkellner hadn’t seeded the novel so well. All the pieces (the characters and their experiences) click into place—Nell’s the most impressively of them all. But that isn’t to say there wasn’t a twist and nice complication.

Steinkellner writes complicated well and illustrates it beautifully. I love her noses, and hair; the postures and facial expressions. I like the variety in bodies and skin-tones and personalities. The tales within the tale are lovely, and the puzzles are top-notch. Just as the tales/histories and their artifacts are worth telling and recording, Steinkellner creates the same effect with Nell of Gumbling. The things we can learn from her novel vary: finding our place may take time; not everything or -one is as they seem at first; everyone has something to bring to the table (or a cool 100-year-old puzzle); cultures and people are not to be exploited; “the only people who win if we feel too shy or too unqualified or too unimportant to fight are people like the Greatman-Bigbys” (106); friendships can be complicated; and celadon is 0.2% grayer than verdigris which is 0.6% bluer than celadon (50).

Stainkellner writes an exchange between Nell and her Pa where she tells him that she thinks she didn’t get the apprenticeship with Wiz Bravo because “I’m bad at art. A kid at school said my art wasn’t ‘realistic’.” (It was Voila Lala who said it, and yes, the naming in this novel is brilliant.) Pa replies, “I think your drawings have a lot of realism to them. You capture things the way you see them and create a world that is vibrant and interesting and funny and unmistakably made by you.” (18). This is Nell of Gumbling: vibrant and interesting and funny and unmistakable.

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Nell of Gumbling: My Extremely Normal Fairy-Tale Life has the realism that should appeal to contemporary fiction readers who love friendship, family, and school drama as well as food. Fantasy readers will adore the imaginative world and those who populate it. The artwork (style and palette) is really appealing. It’s a great novel to tempt prose and comic -readers into trying something different; though I think comic-readers will have the easier time navigating the novel. Nell of Gumbling would be a fantastic choice for middle-grade book clubs.

Something I really appreciate about how Emma Steinkellner approaches the prose-comic hybrid is how she gives us both descriptive text and visual representation. Nell of Gumbling could be a fun option for visual literacy or practicing metaphors and similes (e.g. “Her neck reminds me of violin strings”(22).)

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Noted: We get bonus content of more tales told in comic form; tales referred to in the novel.

Representation: diverse in sizes, shapes, skin tones; has gay dads, intergenerational relationships, and class difference.

Emma Steinkellner is an illustrator, writer, and cartoonist living in Los Angeles. She is a graduate of Stanford University and the illustrator of the Eisner-nominated comic Quince. She is the author and illustrator of The Okay Witch graphic novel series.

following willow feathers

Detective Duck: The Case of the Strange Splash

by Henry Winkler + Lin Oliver . Illustrated by Dan Santat

Abrams/Amulet Books, 2023. HC, 80pp.

Ages 6-9.

Out October 17^th.

Thank you Netgalley and Abrams Books for the eARC.

Willow Feathers McBeaver, aka Detective Duck, is a crime-solving (and very precocious) little duck. She and her animal pals live on Dogwood Pond, a beautiful pond in New England adjacent to Lazy Days, a human campground. Dogwood Pond has always been a pristine spot with clear water, abundant wildlife, and shady willow trees, but now it is encountering puzzling problems—mysteries that arise from human-caused disruptions in nature, such as water pollution, refuse, warming climate, and human encroachment.
 
Fortunately, Detective Duck is on the job, solving these puzzling mysteries before they get out of hand and destroy their habitat! Armed with her ever-present satchel for collecting clues, her logical mind, and endless curiosity, she boldly goes where no pond creature has before, determined to unravel the mysteries and solve any environmental problem that besets her beloved Dogwood Pond! (publisher’s copy)

Willow Feathers McBeaver is a little duck with a big dream: she wants to be a detective when she grows up. She is only accidentally and temporarily discouraged; otherwise it is only encouragement from the beginning. I like how her father highlights a specific quality of hers instead of a generic ‘you can do anything’ kind of response. Beaver McBeaver tells her, “your curiosity will come in very handy.”

Willow’s curiosity does come in handy, as does her many friends. Her best friend is Sal, a salamander who can read. It is Sal who says “You can do anything you want.” But Willow thinks to herself, “It’s easy to say you can do whatever you want, but it’s hard to it.” And the story will eventually revisit that idea. The message is that oftentimes we need help to carry out our “want” or plan. For one, you can’t have a mystery without an event, and one comes in the form of a dramatic action scene: a truck tire rolling right for Willow!

Sal thinks the tire that has crashed into the pond is a UFO, and it does look like the one in the comics he collects. Flitter, the dragonfly, believes a dragon is involved and while scouting the area at Willow’s request, finds a big red metal dragon. It is Willow who pauses and demonstrates some critical thinking, “Let me think over the clues.” A few well thought out questions debunk the dragon and identify the metal red thing for what it is: a truck. A truck has tires. 

Willow solves the Mystery of what is in the pond. But that isn’t the end of her Detective work, “Willow knew this was her chance to be a real detective. That rubber tire was polluting her beautiful home. It was up to her to find a way to get rid of it.” Willow assesses her resources–objects she’s collected that are seemingly useless. But Willow will find a use for not only those objects, she will call upon members of the community and troubleshoot a solution as they attempt to remove the tire.

One of the best things about Detective Duck: The Case of the Strange Splash is Willow’s depiction as a small girl duck taking center stage in the effort to solve and resolve what becomes a rescue of not only pollution but an imperiled lily pad café. Not all of Willow’s ideas work, but she problem solves as they try, making adjustments where needed. The other animals respond to her in all positivity and trust. She’s a little girl boss and no one is calling her bossy or complains that she’s taken charge. She is physically present, tying knots, demonstrating great aim with rubber bands and pink bouncy balls, and carving letters in the dirt.

Other things young readers will find appealing: stinky things, ridiculous dad-level jokes, silly names, responsive grown-ups and Dan Santat’s illustrations. Every page of text has an illustration to accompany it, all full of Santat’s characteristic charm and energy. The font, it’s size and the spacing is early (but not emerging) reader friendly and the story engaging enough for the older reader to help or to read aloud repeatedly. With this being a Winkler & Oliver project, they’ve thought through dyslexia-friendly fonts and understands the need for high-interest content. A child can take it a chapter at a time, the authors leaving each chapter on a cliff-hanger that will compel the reader to continue on. Detective Duck: The Case of the Strange Splash is a funny, action-packed read with situations children are interested in. In this short chapter book we get: family; friends; bullies; boundaries; validation; belonging; being heard, believed and entrusted; we get random object collections; food; poop jokes; old folks with stinky breath or oddly-timed jokes; and the empowerment to solve big problems–and not get it perfect the first time.

Willow Feathers and friends started rescuing the Pond before they knew the extent to which it had been imperiled (the lily pad café); they just knew everyone who resided there would benefit from their intervention. They were right. Of the many nice messages Winkler & Oliver dispense within these pages, Willow’s boldness and the community’s proactiveness are among my favorites.

Winkler & Oliver are quick and efficient in their world-building and characterizations, laying the groundwork for what should prove to be a charming and inspiring series. Everyone listed on the cover has proven themselves as successful storytellers for young children—and book one is evidence enough that this will be a winning series for a broad audience. I can easily recommend Detective Duck: The Case of the Strange Splash for more than just our young detectives and environmentalists. This series has an opportunity to encourage and inspire, not just ‘small ducks with big dreams,’ but their relatives, classmates, and neighbors into recognizing them, delighting in them, and helping them.

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Noted: The review copy I had was an ebook and in black & white. The actual book promises to be full-color and I imagine they’ll be in the vein of two other incredible creative pairings: Shannon Hale and LeUyen Pham’s Princess in Black series; Kate DiCamillo and Chris Van Dusen’s Mercy Watson series.

to whom it may concern

photograph by Leslie Darnell other artworks seen are by Stasia Burrington.

Yumi and the Nightmare Painter by Brandon Sanderson

Dragonsteel Books, 2023. HC, 474pp

Tor Books out in October 2023.

Cover & Interior Art by Aliya Chen

A gripping story set in the Cosmere universe told by Hoid, where two people from incredibly different worlds must compromise and work together to save their worlds from ruin. Yumi comes from a land of gardens, meditation, and spirits, while Painter lives in a world of darkness, technology, and nightmares. When their lives suddenly become intertwined in strange ways, can they put aside their differences and work together to uncover the mysteries of their situation and save each other’s communities from certain disaster? (publisher’s copy)

You do not need to be familiar with the Cosmere universe or the infamous Hoid to enjoy Yumi and the Nightmare Painter. You should probably enjoy a good science fiction, especially when the novel gets into the nitty gritty of what is going on with Yumi and Painter, but that isn’t a prerequisite either. Hoid is a capable narrator and Sanderson is excellent when it comes to analogies.

If you are a literary fiction reader who loves to explore themes of what it means to be human or dehumanized, welcome. Artists & Strong-Willed Empaths looking for both appreciation and commiseration, apply here.

If you are looking for sweet, flustering romance involving naive horny nineteen year olds… And even if you aren’t, Sanderson writes a lovely romance novel in Yumi and the Nightmare Painter.

You do not have to be a fan of anime and its tropes (via manga, video games, or film) to enjoy Yumi and the Nightmare Painter, but if you are: this novel is available via ebook for $10 in Dragonsteel’s shop or in audiobook form on libro.fm (for $15). Tor Books will have published it for you October 3^rd. Sanderson has done his homework and if you loved the film Your Name (2016), you will probably find this your favorite of his “secret projects”, too. If some of the tropes in this convention are not your cup of tea (e.g. the pretty, infantilized girl fetish), try to hang in there. Sanderson, while enjoying the conventions, is still the one writing the novel, so the nausea will eventually subside and you might appreciate how they’re used.

Yumi and the Nightmare Painter is the third and increasingly most beloved of his “secret projects” so far. You don’t have to choose between it and Tress and the Emerald Sea—you just need to read them both. They are fantastic.

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I have thoughts about Yumi and the Nightmare Painter, but there cannot be spoiler-free; so maybe I will return and post them here down the road.

a kind of miracle

Nothing Else But Miracles by Kate Albus

Margaret Ferguson Books/Holiday House, 2023

HC 288pp. Cover Art by Gilbert Ford

Thanks to Netgalley and Holiday Books for the eARC.

From the author of A Place to Hang the Moon comes another World War II story about three siblings on the Lower East Side of Manhattan.

12-year-old Dory Byrne lives with her brothers on New York City’s Lower East Side, waiting impatiently through the darkest hours of World War II for her pop to come home from fighting Hitler. Legally speaking, Dory’s brother, Fish, isn’t old enough to be in charge of Dory and her younger brother, Pike, but the neighborhood knows the score and, like Pop always says, “the neighborhood will give you what you need.”

The Byrnes’ landlord dies unexpectedly and the new one is anything but kind. When he catches on about Pop being gone, he turns the Byrnes in, hoping they’ll be shipped off to an orphanage. Dory and her brothers need a hideout, and suddenly the elevator and the abandoned hotel it leads to provide just the solution they need. (publisher’s copy)

Nothing Else But Miracles reminds us of the vitality of community in a world marked with the cruelty of war.  As we find ourselves following a small family of four in the large city of New York’s Lower East Side we come to understand the value of small and necessary kindnesses.

Nothing Else But Miracles has an omniscient narrator who occasionally steps aside so one of the Byrnes might share their (third-person) thoughts. Middle-child Dory is our primary character, but the story allows us a beautiful opportunity to take a moment with her father, Hurley, before he goes off to war. It is one of the earliest kindnesses of the novel to see Hurley Byrnes’ decision-making process when a second conscription notice lands in his mailbox. There is a certain cruelty in a situation that would leave three motherless children also fatherless in a call to arms. We observe another cruelty in how the father is perceived as an able-bodied male staying behind when all others have gone off to war. Ultimately, though, we are left with the breath-taking generosity of a father hoping to spare the eldest son “he sees as going places.” “He didn’t mean places like Germany and Japan, either, places where there was ‘wholesale murder’ afoot. ‘You’re gonna build ships one day. Not fight wars on them’ (12).”

Hurley places an incredible amount of faith in his neighborhood; and it proves him right. But there are circumstances no one could foresee—except maybe Dory, kinda (14-15). Mr. Bergen dies and their apartment building comes under new (and uncharitable) management months into their father’s deployment.

The Byrnes children are: Fisher, 17, Junior into Senior year, (unpaid) apprenticing, and working to be an emotionally and physically present father-figure. Dory, 12, Sixth into Seventh, and the Ramona Quimby of historical fiction. Pike, a young 8, who lives at (and for) the Library and is quick with the math. He’s the book-ish counterpart to Dory’s more hands-on approach. By no means think Dory isn’t smart—the use of those sacks of potatoes was really smart regardless of the context.

The sibling dynamic is one of the primary reasons to read the novel. Albus nails it. The characterization of each is endearing enough, but the relational aspect is the heart of the novel. Expand outward, as she does with the setting/world, and we get the generative depth of neighbors, classmates, shop keepers, teachers, restaurateurs. Albus will even give us a heart-warming relationship with a statue.

Kate Albus’ Nothing Else But Miracles, p1

Dory is our central figure—and what a fantastically compelling one. Eschewing dresses when she can but donning lipstick when she has to, Dory is a practical girl with daring schemes. She is stubborn and soft-hearted. Her courage often crossing into foolishness. She is the art of mischief, and the very heart of an adventurer. I adore her completely—even when she is grief-screaming at the easy-to-love Fisher.

The novel opens with Dory failing to do what was expected of her, failing to contribute to the household of siblings. The entire household is still trying to adjust to their father’s incredibly fraught absence (spoilers, they won’t ever actually “adjust”). It isn’t as if Dory isn’t trying. She has feelings about the situation in which they (and others) find themselves thanks to the war (and other things), but she will do what needs doing. Doring is nothing if not practical—daringly so. It’s Dory’s daring that comes round to rescue them when faced with a problematic new landlord.

Of course, the daring happened before the Byrnes siblings knew they needed it. Albus is good about establishing those resources whether they’re needed or not (see Diamond earring). Many of the community members who help are relationships established over time and are now coming through with food, supplies, watchful eyes, and some clutch eavesdropping. But some are the resources are within the children themselves by them being themselves.

It’s a marvelous aspect of Nothing Else But Miracles that we get such beautiful glimpses of childhood despite the painful reality of war: the school dance; the deli run; the pool; Coney Island; the painting prank pulled on Fisher… I adore the sensitive, kind expressions of the boys and men in the novel and I love the sheer physicality and assertive natures in the girls and women.

When I was sketching out thoughts on Dory Byrnes, I wrote that she “challenges the boundaries of traditional normativity/expectation and epitomizes the very spirit of childhood.” But I could say that of any of the Byrnes children, and even the novel itself.

Kate Albus’ Nothing Else But Miracles, p15.

Once you find the rhythm of the narrator, Nothing Else But Miracles is an effortless, well-paced read. The transitions between characters are smooth. The tensions rise and fall. Albus artfully measures out the sorrow and levity; the carefree and the weighty reality; the cruel and the kind (some of these solely to/for the readership). Albus leaves some minor things to the reader’s imaginations (cigars, hotels), but she delivers on the most important kindness: a well-timed and satisfying conclusion.

Nothing Else But Miracles is a marvelous addition to historical fiction and to the shelves who remind us of the importance of community. It’s also an engaging read for those who enjoy touches of romance, and/or daring adventure. It’ll be an accessible read of a really dark, tumultuous time for those who could use a capable storyteller and heroine to carry you through. And if you love the appearance of lists (like I do), welcome.

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Kate Albus grew up in New York but now lives in rural Maryland with her husband and children. She loves reading, baking, knitting, hiking, and other activities that are inherently quiet. Her debut novel was another Historical Fiction set in WWII (this time in the UK) A Place to Hang the Moon (2021).

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Other authors who come to mind: Erin Entrada Kelly and Tae Keller.

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Note: the novel is “based on a very real place in old New York and steeped in the history of the last year of World War II,” and you will need/want to read the back matter for Author clarifications.

creepy & charming

The Curious Vanishing of Beatrice Willoughby by G.Z. Schmidt

Holiday House, 2023. HC, 272 pp.

cover artist: Viola Massarenti

thank you Netgalley & Holiday House for the eARC.

The Amadeuses were always considered somewhat strange. Even before the incident. When six-year-old Beatrice Willoughby vanished at the Amadeuses’ annual All Hallows Eve party, people in the tiny mountain town of Nevermore were quick to whisper: They were always odd. Their house is full of dark magic. And when Mort Amadeus was pegged for the crime, the Amadeuses, once the center of society, retreated. They closed their doors, disappeared from life. People almost forgot. Until thirteen years later, when six envelopes land at the doorstep of six households in town: We cordially invite you to a celebration on the 31st of October this Saturday evening at the Amadeus household. (publisher’s copy)

“The Amadeuses were always considered somewhat strange” –and they were not the only ones. One of the loveliest aspects of G.Z. Schmidt’s novel is the clever winks it employs, because it isn’t long before we suspect that the Amadeuses aren’t the only strange inhabitants of the tiny mountain town of Nevermore. No, Schmidt gives us much more than the mystery of Beatrice Willoughby’s the curious disappearance to uncover.

The entire cast is intriguing. To our delight, we get some point of view from them all—and yet, they are still quite capable of harboring secrets. In fact, Schmidt is artful in the way she casts shadows.

The experience of the read will call to mind the film Clue (1985): individuals drawn together via a mysterious invitation to a strange manor; each connected to the host in some way; the puzzle mediated by “the butler.” Too, are the references to significant figures from libraries of classic horror, folk- and fairy tale. The Curious Vanishing of Beatrice Willoughby is book adults will enjoy reading—and hopefully aloud.

While the novel opens with the different invitees to the mysterious All Hallow’s Eve party, moving through Nevermore as it does, it will eventually linger with Dewey at the party–a young protagonist to help us navigate the secretive, scheming, and dismissive world of the adults.

Dewey introduces us to the understanding that when you live in a world where the fairy tales are real, anything could happen. The question becomes less about what is true or possible, but what isn’t true or possible. In genres like Horror and Mystery, the imagination is welcome and necessary. Schmidt luxuriates in it and we are invited to do the same.

The Curious Vanishing also brought to mind Grace Lin’s Where the Mountain Meets the Moon in how her novel interweaves stories of folk and lore for the reader to intuit and incorporate into the mystery at hand. It is a celebrated element in Lin’s piece and the skillful Schmidt integrates it in her own way here. Honestly, I could do with a volume of “classic” tales (re)invented by G.Z. Schmidt—with illustrations. I’d have loved a few illustrations in The Curious Vanishing. (Next edition?)

I raced through the novel. The mysteries are enticing. The deft movement between multiple character points-of-view artfully deepening interest. Short chapters sail and she adds those delectable cliff-hangers that propel you into the next. Too, paired with chapter numbers is the counting down of the clock. Schmidt provides the deliberation necessary in a Mystery, but she keeps it moving. Set details add atmosphere, and seeming asides are just that, seeming. Schmidt is not wasteful nor weighty. And she keeps it both charming and creepy.

The Curious Vanishing is a spooky read. The atmosphere darkening as skillfully as it is paced. The whimsy saturating her magical world has a delightfully gruesome and sinister edge. Children are going missing among other dark plots. Schmidt demonstrates the careful tread with which those like Arden, Auxier, Black, Gaiman, and Schwab* are so successful. She offers capable-yet-vulnerable protagonists, levity, and a careful, clever control of her elements. That isn’t to say she makes it boringly easy and conclusive. I mean: that delicious shiver she delivers on that last page…

The Curious Vanishing of Beatrice Willoughby is a perfect seasonal read: cozy, well-spiced, twisting, and dark. A nice horror for non-genre readers. A must for readers of fairytales, folklore, and the macabre. It is certainly for lovers of magic and the adorably strange.

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* Katherine Arden [Small Spaces series], Jonathan Auxier [Night Gardener; Peter Nimble series], Holly Black [Doll Bones], Neil Gaiman [Coraline, Graveyard Book], Victoria Schwab [Blake Cassidy series]. Adam Gidwitz’s A Tale Dark & Grimm series came to mind, as well as Michael Buckley’s The Sisters Grimm series.

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G.Z. Schmidt grew up in the Midwest and the South where she chased fireflies, listened for tornado warnings, and pursued a love of reading. She is the author of No Ordinary Things (2020)and The Dreamweavers (2021).She currently lives in California with her husband and their tuxedo cat.

Téo’s Tutu

Téo’s Tutu by Maryann Jacob Macias + illustrator, Alea Marley

Dial, 2021. 32pp

What a delightfully perfect addition to the glaringly white cisgendered ballet book shelves. What an excellent addition to picture book shelves period.

The first remarkable thing after lingering in awe at the hair in Téo’s family, is that when they are recalling the Swan Lake performance that inspired Téo’s interest in ballet, the ballerina had dark brown skin and black hair. “If you can see it you can be it,” is the maxim that came to mind. But then, when has that stopped other creators from rendering that muse in paler hues.

from Téo’s Tutu by Maryann Jacob Macias & Alea Marley

Swan Lake is not Téo’s first muse; the story opens with the energy of he and his parents, Amma and Papí dancing, “These were the hands that twirled him during the cumbia and waved to the bhangra beat when they all danced at home.”

“But ballet was nothing like cumbia or bhangra,” we are reminded. And we learn that Téo is going to venture even further into difference, wearing the ballet costumes that are gender assigned to girls culturally—and from the get-go.

Instructor Ms. Lila is supportive, the environment normalized to personal expression. One of the boys will ask with a child’s curiosity in a quiet sequence, and that is it—until the recital and they get to pick their costumes. This is when the outside world intrudes—as is a popular ingredient in ballet stories; the awareness of an audience and an expectation. “As he grabbed his leotard, Téo felt everyone’s eyes on him. This wasn’t the kind of audience he wanted.” A consciousness enters the story that what may be allowed and even nurtured in some contexts may not be in others. What should also be noted here is the illustration on this page. Téo sits between the two girls and two boys, Téo foregrounded, his back to the others in the circle. What Téo doesn’t see is that they are preoccupied with their own articles of clothing. Only one is looking in his direction and there is nothing in his expression to suggest judgement or concern. Who’s eyes is Téo (&/or the author) referring to?

from Téo’s Tutu by Maryann Jacob Macias & Alea Marley

Notice, too, the facing pages, the warm tone of the circle, framing the scene on the left, the scene of a classroom and its students surround a spilled open box full of possibilities and their teacher encouraging them to “Please choose the costume you’d like to perform in.” This is safety, familiarity, the comfortably contained space. Opposite is unframed open white space, a different expression of possibility. It suits the tonal shift of the story of addressing the outside.

Téo will take and try both costume options at home and demonstrate how they affect him. Marley continues to be excellent here in rendering his experience, the blues and blacks, the rigid lines of the square, of his legs and arms. You can see him rock between stiff legs. That gentle look of distress. The opposite page distinctly effervescent, the circle, the stars, the pink, orange, and yellow palette. One just isn’t Téo, and certainly not the Téo we’ve come to get to know and love.

When that last line of the page is posed–“But what if the audience doesn’t love him back?”—it’s hard not to answer: how could they not? But we also understand how hard it is to put our vulnerable authentic selves out there. We understand the nature of performance—even as (especially as?) a child.

The turn of the page finds Téo looking in the mirror, the page another blue box. Fortunately, he follows the invitation of those yellow curling vines and stars and notes surrounding his Amma at the door to his room (not-gendered, btw). Téo enters a page framed only by his dancing parents and familiar colorful lines that express movement, music, and joy. This is just one of many loving family portraits in the picture book; my favorite is to come as it is recital day.

from Téo’s Tutu by Maryann Jacob Macias & Alea Marley

Amma: “These are the ways we must be brave sometimes.”

Papí: “Tú eres valiente.”

Those familiar with Marley’s work will continue to enjoy her excellent use of color, in tone and lighting. I spoke of her framing and juxtaposition, of her added complexity to the narrative (re: the gaze).  I love her skill with movement, both that of a singular figure and that of the composition of a page—and her ability to sweep you up in the story, not only directing our gaze, but complementing the narrative. I was especially impressed with the 4 page sequence from they “gathered” to “walked onto the dark stage” to the “curtain opened.” Facing us, rotated and facing away, then the left to right as they move across the stage. It is the story in two pages: they gather, they move through back stage in the dark—holding hands—and then sent off to ‘flutter’ + ‘twinkle,’ ‘poised’ + ‘balanced.’ It carries all the tension building from the beginning and releases it. It functions as another aspiration, and in the end will affirm the effort and the art. I believe the writer of the words is persuasive, but Marley’s hand creates the impact here. All those visual elements she’d been threading, her skill to move and move us, is such a pleasure to see weave and build to such lovely concluding pages.

Maryann Jacob Macias and Alea Marley’s book is one of gentleness and delight that will appeal to audiences beyond dance-book shelves, because it is about what it can mean to be a part of something tender and wonderful—your self, your family, your community, your culture. It is about the power of that nurturing environment and the anxiety/uncertainty of when we are inspired/provoked to move beyond it. Téo does this more than a few times and with such grace, with such valiance. That arabesque he’d struggled with now “poised and balanced.”

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Maryann Jacob Macias is a graduate of the City College of New York, CUNY and the Solstice MFA Low-Residency Program at Pine Manor College. Our family is Indian and Colombian, and we love to enjoy and explore the many shared characteristics of our cultures. This is her first picture book.

Alea Marley is a picture book illustrator. Born in the UK with Barbadian roots, she is currently based in North England. Other titles: The Many Colors of Harpreet Singh (by Supriya Kelkar); For more glorious hair: Get Up, Elizabeth! and This is Ruby (by Sara O’Leary) And Dance: Charlotte and the Nutcracker (by Charlotte Nebres) and Goodnight, Little Dancer (by Jennifer Adams).