Illustrated by Alan Tiegreen. Morrow Junior Books; 190 pages; comedy/drama; ages 8-12; ISBN: 0-688-00478-4.
Everyone's favorite precocious little sister is back in Ramona Quimby, Age 8. In this installment Ramona is entering the third grade, where she makes enemies with a boy named Danny, whom she calls "Yard Ape," accidentally smashes a raw, not hard-boiled, egg against her head ("... she found herself with a handful of crumbled shell and something cool and slimy running down her face"), and throws up in Mrs. Whaley's classroom ("Ramona had never felt worse in her whole life").
Meanwhile, Ramona and her big sister, Beezus, are forced to cook dinner for the family after they complain about the dinner they've been served by their parents (in Age 8 Mr. Quimby has gone back to school to become an art teacher, and Mrs. Quimby is working as a receptionist at a doctor's office).
I always looked forward to reading Beverly Cleary's Ramona books when I was in grade school, and I have no doubt they're still popular among the single-digit set. Ramona could be a brat at times, but so could I, and books like Cleary's taught me about empathy before I knew what the word meant. Who wouldn't feel for someone who throws up in front of the entire class? Cleary's easy-flowing, charismatic prose remains timeless.
Winner of a 1982 Newbery Honor Book award. For further reading, check out Cleary's other Newbery Honor Book winner, Ramona and Her Father (1977).
Fiver is a rabbit who has visions of the future, and one day he has a vision of his home being destroyed. Home, in this case, is a warren, or network of interconnected rabbit holes, which Fiver shares with his big brother, Hazel, and other rabbits as part of a distinct social order. Hazel and a band of fellow rabbits heed Fiver's vision and escape from the warren before it's bulldozed by land developers, but now they must find a new home, hoping that Fiver's vision of a "high place" can be reached with all of their numbers intact. On their journey they must evade predators, including hombas, or foxes, and deal with other wild rabbits outside of their clan. It all adds up to one unforgettable story.
I wasn't eager to read Watership Down when it was assigned in eighth grade — 474 pages about rabbits?! — but by the middle of Richard Adams's epic tale I was enthralled, praying that Hazel and Fiver would reach their destination. And after seeing the Lord of the Rings movies a decade later, I thought, "Those were fine, but they're no Watership Down." Adams does a mind-boggling job of world building, providing his rabbits with their own culture, folk tales, and language; there's even a glossary of lapine terminology at the back of the book. For reluctant readers who like to be told a gripping story but aren't intrigued by fantasy yarns of the Harry Potter or Percy Jackson ilk, I'd highly recommend Watership Down. You'll never look at rabbits the same way again (not English natives, anyway).
Illustrated by Greg Call. Disney Editions; 148 pages; adventure/fantasy; ages 8-12; ISBN: 978-078683791-5.
After an earthquake unsettles the occupants of Never Land Island, James, one of the Lost Boys, notices that the water in the lagoon now has a reddish tint instead of its usual blue. Moments later the boys are attacked by mermaids, who have been a peaceful species until now. Later they attack members of the Mollusk tribe, who feel they have no choice but to retaliate. Meanwhile, a barrel has washed ashore and been confiscated by Captain Hook and his men, who may or may not be trying to wipe out both the mermaids and the Mollusk tribe by triggering a war.
I grew up reading Dave Barry's syndicated humor columns in the local newspaper, but he's obviously flexing different muscles here. (Same for Pearson, who's mainly known as a crime fiction writer. Together he and Barry make one Carl Hiaasen, I suppose.) Barry always talked about how his job as a humor columnist afforded him the chance to not grow up and be a mature adult, so a Peter Pan spin-off series would seem right up his alley, and Blood Tide provides a sufficient number of junior thrills and chills. The book's environmental message also puts it in league with Hoot and Flush, Hiaasen's books for young readers.
Directed by Clay Weiner; teleplay by David A. Goodman; 80 minutes; comedy; ages 6-12.
Fred Figglehorn is an awkward—I repeat, awkward—teenager who's obsessed with Judy, his beautiful, blonde, and inexplicably British next-door neighbor. Despite the fact that she lives one house down, Fred can't work up the courage to knock on her door, partly because he's afraid of getting beat up by Kevin, the bully across the street who also has a crush on Judy. Finally, Fred uses a disguise to get past Kevin and up to Judy's door, only to discover that her family has moved. But where? At the insistence of his imaginary dad, played by WWE wrestler John Cena, Fred goes on a quest to find his "girlfriend."
Although Fred is technically a teenager, he's played by Lucas Cruikshank (who originally created the character for a series of YouTube videos) as if he's a hyperactive six-year-old, which is probably the average age of Fred's most ardent admirers. They're the ones who are most likely to appreciate his near-constant screaming and childish tantrums, though Cruikshank provides genuine laughs in a dual role as Derf, a stoic, monotone teen Fred meets on the bus—in other words, he's Fred's exact opposite. Saturday Night Live veteran Siobhan Fallon is also good as Fred's exhausted mom, and Jake Weary has impressive comic timing as Kevin, so the movie's not a complete wash for adults, but if you have kids who want to run Fred: The Movie on a constant loop, it's going to wear out its welcome sooner rather than later.
For further viewing, check out Tim Burton's directorial debut, Pee-wee's Big Adventure (1985), whose title character's extreme man-child personality may not appeal to everyone, but at least he's surrounded by lots of great jokes and sight gags.
Directed by Perry Andelin Blake; screenplay by Dana Carvey and Harris Goldberg; 80 minutes; comedy; MPAA rating: PG ("for mild language and some crude humor," but appropriate for ages 7-12, if you ask me).
Pistachio Disguisey is a put-upon waiter in his family's Italian restaurant, unaware that his father and grandfather and so on are retired Masters of Disguise. When his father, Fabbrizio, is kidnapped by an evil rich dude who forces Fabbrizio to steal priceless artifacts like the U.S. Constitution so Bowman can later sell them to the highest bidder, Pistachio is called into action by his grandfather, who teaches him the ancient family art of disguise. He'll need an assistant if he's going to locate his father, though, so Pistachio hires Jennifer, a single mom whose grade-school son has taken a shine to Pistachio.
The Master of Disguise is rated PG, but it contains a few smutty sex jokes that are out of place among the constant barrage of silly voices and costumes deployed by star Dana Carvey, who reportedly came up with the idea for the film because he wanted to make a movie his kids could watch. Sadly, The Master of Disguise fails to entertain on almost every level, with Carvey, who was so good at playing all kinds of characters and doing various impressions on Saturday Night Live from 1986 to '93, a pale imitation of his former self. (Heck, Fred: The Movie's a masterpiece compared to this turkey!)
It's possible younger kids will eat up the wall-to-wall silliness, and they'll recognize Maria Canals-Barrera, the mom from Wizards of Waverly Place, before they recognize Carvey from anything, but they still might wonder why the end credits last an astonishing ten minutes and are filled with outtakes from scenes that don't otherwise appear in the movie, which only lasts a scant 70 minutes before the credits kick in. Can you say "a huge mess," kids?
Little, Brown and Company; 353 pages; sci-fi/fantasy/comedy; ages 9-14; ISBN: 978-0-316-16663-8.
Some kids don't just run away from their problems. Take Ignatius MacFarland, for example: after he's been picked on one too many times at school, this precocious seventh grader builds himself a rocket out of trash cans and firecracker powder (tied together with duct tape since duct tape can fix anything, don't 'cha know) and takes off into what he hopes will be friendlier skies. Somehow Ignatius ends up back on Earth, but in a different "frequency"—think alternate dimension or parallel universe—where his former English teacher, Mr. Arthur, rules over the land as "like, a total fascist," according to Karen, an old classmate who died in an explosion years ago in the regular frequency Iggy knows and (kinda) loves—or did she? Together they must expose and depose Mr. Arthur and find a way back "home."
Paul Feig created the cult-classic TV series Freaks and Geeks and recently directed the hit movie Bridesmaids. I didn't expect to find his name on the shelves of the children's department of the library, but Frequenaut! continues the multihyphenate's celebration of outcasts of all ages (he even drew the pictures in the book, which are sometimes more compelling than the text that surrounds them). His first tween novel is too long at 350 pages, but even at that length Feig fails to explain his "frequency" concept clearly the way the Back to the Future movies mapped out alternate timelines. Nevertheless, Feig shows lots of promise as a writer for tweens.
Simon & Schuster; 79 pages; humor; ages 10 and up; ISBN: 0-684-86807-5.
The Beatles stormed America in 1964 after conquering their native UK, so it made sense that any of the band's side projects would generate at least some interest from fans and the general public. Hence In His Own Write, singer-guitarist John Lennon's debut collection of stories, poems, and drawings, some of which were generated during his school days in Liverpool, or "Liddypool," as he refers to his hometown in a short story of the same name. "The writing Beatle," as one particular version of the book's cover touts, enjoys playing around with pronunciations and spellings, as evidenced by titles like "The Fingletoad Resort of Teddiviscious" and "On Safairy With Whide Hunter" ("written in conjugal" with Paul McCartney). He also isn't afraid to explore dark territory, a la Roald Dahl: in "The Fat Growth of Eric Hearble," the title character loses his job "teaching spastics to dance" and is called a "cripple" because of the scabby growth on his head that has conversations with him, and in "Randolf's Party" the protagonist is killed by his friends at his own "Chrisbus" gathering.
I was somewhat surprised to find In His Own Write in the Young Adult section of the Oak Park Public Library, but because Lennon's stories and poems are almost exclusively short and nonsensical, I can see the appeal for younger readers. However, because of Lennon's inventive spellings and heavy use of English slang, some of which may have gone out of fashion about the same time the Beatles broke up 41 years ago, In His Own Write can be a frustrating read. Beatles fans of all ages are encouraged to give it a go all the same: famous Lennon song lyrics like "Yellow mother custard dripping from a dead dog's eye" aren't far removed from poem lyrics such as "I wandered hairy as a dog / To get a goobites sleep" ("I Wandered").
For further reading, check out Lennon's second collection of this and that, A Spaniard in the Works, published the following year. And to see a book trailer I created for In His Own Write, keep yer peepers trained on the YouTube embed below ...
In Very Far Away From Anywhere Else, popular sci-fi author Ursula K. Le Guin gives voice to what could be one of her typical readers. Owen, a 17-year-old self-described "bright little jerk," finds that being alone and pursuing his passions of science and imagined worlds good enough—until he met Natalie. In the course of their friendship Owen lives out the inner turmoil of trying to be what others want him to be—or at least what he thinks they want—and what he wants for himself. His self-image illustrates the fragile egotism required in adolescence, and the ambivalence of fear and desire play out in the course of Owen and Natalie's relationship, as she is as much a source of affection as she is one of envy.
Le Guin's brief and searing 1976 novel suffers only slightly in the present day from descriptive clangers: teens are no longer "neat" nor "with it." Yet the anxiety and urgency of Owen seeking to "finally be realistic about myself" resonates clearly. Le Guin describes a series of events that balance verity and tragedy in careful prose that allows adult and teen readers to recognize their own internal scars and bruises.
If you're interested in reading some of Le Guin's science fiction, check out her "Earthsea Cycle."
Harriet M. Welsch wants to be a writer when she grows up, but she also fancies herself a spy. She writes down observations in a notebook about everyone she sees in her New York City neighborhood, but she also writes about her classmates and friends. The problem is, her "observations" are really judgments, e.g., "If Marion Hawthorne doesn't watch out she's going to grow up into a lady Hitler." When her notebook is discovered one day at recess, all heck breaks loose: her classmates form a Spy Catcher Club to get their revenge on Harriet via spitballs, spilled ink, etc., and she in return plots her own counter-retaliation. Luckily, her former nanny, Ole Golly, has some good advice on how Harriet can reverse her status as a scorned outcast.
When Harriet the Spy was published in 1964, its title character was seen as something entirely new in children's literature: a protagonist who isn't always likable, especially when she's planning revenge on classmates and friends that she's already hurt with her spy observations. ("Laura Peters: her hair," Harriet writes on her revenge list. "Cut it off. Or make a bald spot.") Fitzhugh exposes the anger that often lies just beneath the surface of school-age friendships, paving the way for writers like Judy Blume and her 1974 novel about fifth-grade "mean girls," Blubber.
For further reading, check out Fitzhugh's sequel of sorts, The Long Secret (1965), and Sport (1979), a spin-off about Harriet's titular friend that was published after Fitzhugh's death from a brain aneurysm in 1974 at the age of 46. There's also a 1996 film version of Harriet the Spy, which, like other tween movies aimed at girls, failed to generate much business at the box office.
Directed by Colin Tilley; 4 minutes; pop/R&B; all ages.
In the music video for "Never Let You Go," a track from his 2010 album My World 2.0 (his original world needed a software update, apparently), teen-pop sensation Justin Bieber promises a girl that he will do exactly as the song's title says. But wait! Something's rotten in the state of Denmark! (Or the state of California, anyway, since that's probably where the video was shot.) The girl in question is clearly shown wearing two wristwatches on her left arm, a subtle visual indication that she will eventually two-time our postpubescent-but-still-looks-prepubescent-but-I-guess-that's-why-he's-so-nonthreatening-and-therefore-acceptable-to-moms-everywhere hero.
Say it ain't so! The Beeb keeps reassuring this vixen that he'll never let her go when he's the one who's going to be let go. How tragic. But if he ever needs a shoulder to cry on, I'm sure his doppelganger, actress Leslie Bibb, wouldn't mind lending one. (Bieber ... Bibb ... Bibber? She was born in '73, he was born in '94. The mom math isn't impossible, that's all I'm saying.) But you know what else is tragic? Bieber's song has the same title as New Kids on the Block's final single from 1994, the year he was born and they broke up because their popularity had fallen off the side of a cliff. The fickleness of teen-pop fans can be so cruel.
