A Review of The Penderwicks at Point Mouette by Jeanne Birdsall

I don't know that we realize how hard family books are to pull off until we see it done really well. Those who can perfectly capture sibling interactions, for example, are a rare breed. This explains all the acclaim for Jeanne Birdsall's Penderwick books, and why I was so very happy to get my hands on the third installment. It also explains why the Penderwicks made my list of Top 10 Literary Families. (Scroll down through my March awards post to see the full list.)

Birdsall takes her show on the road this go-round, and she shakes things up a bit while she's at it, sending the ever-so-capable Rosalind off on a summer vacation with her friends and appointing Skye as OAP or "oldest available Penderwick"—meaning the sibling in charge, particularly of lively five-year-old Batty. Only Skye's notes on the care and keeping of Batty get wet, so she can barely read them. Why on earth would she need to blow something up?

The degree of angst Skye brings to her new responsibilities is a hoot, building to a point where good friend Jeffrey must intervene and relieve her of her office, at least for one night.

Also funny is writer sister Jane's determination to study Love, leading her into the depths (and heights) of a crush on a laconic, bewildered, and unintentionally heartless skateboarder named Dominic. Jane tries to make him into one of her literary crushes, say, Peter Pevensie from the Narnia books, but it's hard going. Take a look at their towering romance, which mostly consists of Jane sitting on a bench at the park watching Dominic ride his skateboard:

...they weren't really walking together, because Dominic wasn't walking at all, really—he was on his skateboard, either ahead of her or behind, or making large circles around her. She didn't care, not really, trying to thrust away the suspicion that Peter Pevensie would never make circles around a maiden. You're being disloyal, she scolded herself, and anyway, there weren't any skateboards in Narnia. Besides, soon they reached French Park, and Jane was able to sit down on the bench, and although Dominic continued to ride in circles for a while, she could now close her eyes to better picture him as a noble presence worthy of her love, and by the time he sat down beside her, she was feeling steadier.

"I have many things to tell you, Dominic," she said.

"Yeah." Dominic shuffled his feet. "Me too. I mean, I have something to ask you."

"You do?" This was a surprise. Until now, asking personal questions had not been one of Dominic's skills. "You go first, then."

"No, that's okay."

"Please?"

"Okay, here's my question." Dominic shuffled his feet again, then cleared his throat. "Can I kiss you?"

"Excuse me?" Jane was so surprised, she jumped off the bench. Did he love her, too? She hadn't hoped for as much.

"It will be a short, little kiss." He looked sternly out to sea. "Hardly a kiss at all."

She sat down again. "Oh, Dominic, love has no measure."

"What?"

"I mean, yes, please kiss me."

A quick kiss, and Dominic takes off on his skateboard, leaving Jane dizzy and blissful, as well as filled with determination to write a truly marvelous love poem for her swain...

Yep, The Penderwicks at Point Mouette is that funny, so funny that I forgive Birdsall for reminding me I don't speak French and therefore don't know how to pronounce Mouette—or is it one of those Americanized pronunciations, the way people have bowdlerized half the Spanish names in Los Angeles? (I just checked: the French would be moo-ET, or almost mwET. It means "seagull." And I am not kidding when I say I started writing this paragraph thinking, "Why couldn't she just have named it Seagull Point or something?")

Another nice story strand is that Jeffrey and Batty start hanging out with Alec, a musician who has a house just up the beach. Jeffrey is a musical protégée and loves spending time with Alec's piano, but the real surprise is Batty, who turns out to be musically gifted. Except—her sisters simply refuse to acknowledge this. Their reasoning is that there's no such thing as a musically inclined Penderwick, so they brush off Batty's music talk.

More dramatic, at least early in the book, is when Aunt Claire hurts her ankle and gets a brace on it. Skye doesn't want Rosalind or her parents to worry, so she downplays the situation. But her own worry ratchets higher and higher as she tries to fill her role of OAP under difficult circumstances and pretty much loses it.

We also get moose watching, a golf ball collection, a concert played for seals, and a storm or two, not to mention a secret revealed, one that changes more than one life.

A couple of key plot points rely heavily on coincidence, but I found I didn't care a bit because they're such great coincidences. Which just goes to show that you can break the rules of literature with abandon as long as you can sell it!

I am crazy about Hilary McKay's Casson family, but I have to admit: the Penderwicks are just as lovable. They are also a bit less edgy, and therefore perhaps better suited to younger middle grade readers. No wonder they've been compared to the Melendys.

If you haven't read the three Penderwick books, you've been missing out on a deeply satisfying experience!

Note: Here's Jeanne Birdsall talking about her new book.

A Review of April and Esme: Tooth Fairies by Bob Graham

I'll admit that I wanted to get ahold of this book partly because I have a picture book about the Tooth Fairy pending publication (waiting, waiting, waiting for an illustrator!), and I wanted to check out the competition. But that reason is secondary to a really important one, which is that April and Esme: Tooth Fairies is by Bob Graham. In case you aren't familiar with his work, here's my review of his beautiful book How to Heal a Broken Wing. I also like Graham's "Let's Get a Pup!" Said Kate—and not just because the girl is named Kate and the mom has a tattoo and a nose ring. (Trust me, they're the sweetest characters!)

Now, April and Esme Underhill are the children of Tooth Fairy parents, living in a tiny house nestled against a tree stump. Imagine seven-year-old (and three quarters!) April's surprise and joy when she gets a request for a tooth pick-up, her very first. What's more, she's going to bring her little sister Esme along. At first her parents say no, but they gradually come around, and the two girls are off on a splendid adventure, carrying a coin in a mesh bag as they fly across the countryside and into the suburban home where one Daniel Dangerfield is sleeping. They make the money/tooth exchange, though not without incident, then wing home in triumph.

This story is pretty simple, but it's just so lovely, and there are two reasons for that: first, Bob Graham's text shows a rich awareness of how real people, especially real children, talk and act. For example, April gets the tooth request on her cell phone, and when she hangs up and her dad asks what the call was about, she replies, "Don't say anything, Daddy... We're collecting a boy's tooth tonight, and I have to write this down." Later, when she and Esme reach Daniel's house and are wondering where his room is, they decide their best bet is to follow the trail of toys. Look also for a funny moment in Daniel's grandmother's room.

The other reason April and Esme is so very nice is Graham's endearing artwork. It's hard to believe his illustrations can be so darn cute without being overly sentimental. Watch for mundane yet clever details: the teeth swinging from the ceiling of the Underhills' cottage, the way Mrs. Underhill takes a bath in a (human sized) teacup and plays a game with her winged children using her blow dryer, also the fact that the toilet is apparently made from an egg cup. (I think the sink is a thimble.) As always, Graham's characters are sturdy and ordinary looking, though here they have the minor addition of wings. Even the family dog has fairy wings!

Graham understands that real life is just a bit grungy, so his cover art, while it shows the two little girls flying through the night above some flowers, includes a popsicle stick and a soda can tab amongst the dandelion leaves and grass. Plus the kids' clothes are slightly mismatched and askew.

This small team runs into a surprising difficulty during the tooth retrieval, but April handles things with perfect logic and even panache. Upon their return home, the two fairy children are greeted with lots of hugs, and we get a hint about the eventual fate of the teeth that have been collected. Graham makes an interesting decision on the last page: he ends the story with a wistful, wide-angle glimpse of the little cottage dreaming on its hill. The language in this brief epilogue sounds like something out of a fairy tale... Which only makes sense.

I think what I like best about Bob Graham is how lovingly he portrays families—and what loving families he portrays. Whether they're adopting dogs, rescuing hurt pigeons, or flying around at night collecting baby teeth, this author-illustrator's families somehow manage to be more warm and caring than the families in all the other picture books combined.

You really should discover Bob Graham's work.