FROM THE MIXED-UP FILES OF MRS. BASIL E. FRANKWEILER by E.L. Konigsburg (1967)

Atheneum Books for Young Readers/Simon & Schuster; 162 pages; mystery; ages 10-14; ISBN: 978-0-689-71181-7.

Claudia Kincaid, age 11, doesn't feel properly appreciated at home, so she runs away. She's not the kind to sleep on the street or in a bus station, though: she decides to take up residence at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York City, and because she'd like to have some spending money, she takes along her nine-year-old brother Jamie, who never spends his allowance. Together they learn how to avoid suspicion at the museum by camouflaging themselves in school groups during the day and hiding in the bathrooms at night until everyone's gone home. (They bathe in the fountain.) When Claudia becomes enchanted by a statue of an angel whose creator has remained a mystery for nearly 500 years, she becomes a girl on a mission: she must track down the statue's former owner, Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler, and uncover the angel's secret.

From the Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler provides wish fulfillment for any young reader who's ever dreamed about spending the night in a museum and getting away with it by outsmarting adults. Konigsburg has a great sense of humor: "If you think of doing something in New York City, you can be certain that at least two thousand other people have that same thought. And of the two thousand who do, about one thousand will be standing in line waiting to do it." Her drawings leave something to be desired, but I liked her inclusion of a map of the Metropolitan.

Winner of the 1968 Newbery Medal. For further reading, check out Konigsburg's other book from '67, Jennifer, Hecate, Macbeth, William McKinley, and Me, Elizabeth, which won a Newbery Honor award the same year From the Mixed-Up Files won the Medal! (She's the only author who can claim that feat.)

THE LAST AIRBENDER (Nickelodeon Movies/Paramount Pictures, 2010)

Written and directed by M. Night Shyamalan; 103 minutes; fantasy/action; MPAA rating: PG ("for fantasy action violence," but appropriate for ages 7 and up, if you ask me).

Based on an animated series that ran on Nickelodeon for three seasons, The Last Airbender takes place in a world in which the Water, Fire, Air, and Earth nations coexist peacefully under the guidance of the Avatar, the only being that can manipulate all four of the elements ("bending" involves some sort of telekinetic control that allows you to throw water, fire, etc. at your enemies). When the Avatar suddenly vanishes, the Fire Nation declares war on the others, eventually wiping out the Air people and putting the Water and Earth nations under its control. But one day a boy is found encased in a bubble of ice in the Water Nation, and he reveals that he is Aang, the last airbender and a reincarnation of the Avatar. A fallen prince and a devious military officer in the Fire Nation then begin devising schemes to exploit Aang's four "bending" powers.

The Avatar TV series had a large following among tweens and teens, which encouraged Nickelodeon to try a big-screen version. The Last Airbender made money, but the reviews were brutal, and long before the movie came out there were protests over writer-director M. Night Shyamalan's casting of white actors in several key roles despite the characters being of Asian descent in the TV series. Shyamalan is Indian-American, making him south Asian in part, but his heritage didn't help quell the controversy. Personally, I found The Last Airbender to be dull, and since the acting was lackluster in general, what would Shyamalan have had to lose if he'd cast Asian actors across the board? The film's ending leaves room for a sequel, which will probably delight young boys who enjoy imitating the characters' numerous martial arts "bending" poses.

For further viewing, check out various DVD collections of the Avatar: The Last Airbender TV series.

CHARLIE AND THE CHOCOLATE FACTORY by Roald Dahl (1964)

Illustrated by Joseph Schindelman. Troll/Bantam; 160 pages; fantasy/comedy; ages 8 and up; ISBN: 0-553-12143-X.

"Concerning the adventures of four nasty children and our hero, with Mr. Willy Wonka and his famous candy plant," reads the cover of the 1979 paperback in my possession, which sums up the cast of characters nicely, though it omits Charlie Bucket's four loving grandparents and his equally loving mother and father, all of whom live with Charlie "in a small wooden house on the edge of a great town." In other words, the Buckets live in poverty. When Charlie wins one of five highly coveted golden tickets that grants him access into Willy Wonka's long-dormant chocolate factory, he and the other four winners—Augustus Gloop, Veruca Salt, Violet Beauregarde, and Mike Teavee—arrive at the factory and begin their tour. Slowly but surely, each one reveals his true nature.

Tweens who've grown up in the age of competition-based reality shows like The Amazing Race and Survivor will likely get a kick out of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, and I'd advise that they skip Tim Burton's 2005 film adaptation starring Johnny Depp as a creepy, not charismatic Willy Wonka. The movie was a big hit, but I didn't think it captured any of the magic of the book. (I still haven't seen the 1971 Gene Wilder version, which is shameful, I realize.) Dahl's story works splendidly as fantasy, but because he grounds it in the reality of the Buckets' extreme poverty—and their basic human kindness in the face of such a financial indignity—the climactic payoff is even sweeter.

For further reading, check out Dahl's sequel, Charlie and the Great Glass Elevator (1972).

GREEN LANTERN (Warner Bros. Pictures, 2011)

Directed by Martin Campbell; screenplay by Greg Berlanti, Michael Green, Marc Guggenheim, and Michael Goldenberg; 114 minutes; sci-fi/action-adventure; MPAA rating: PG-13 ("for intense sequences of sci-fi violence and action," but appropriate for ages 8 and up, if you ask me).

The longtime DC Comics superhero makes his big-screen debut in this special-effects extravaganza. Test pilot Hal Jordan knows how to fly a fighter jet better than almost anyone, but he's reckless and cocky, and can't shake the memory of watching his father die in a plane crash when Hal was just a boy. Millions of light years away, Abin Sur, a member of the intergalactic Green Lantern Corps (think of them as the space police), is mortally wounded fighting Parallax, a yellow mass of energy that turns out to be the physical embodiment of fear itself. Abin Sur crash-lands on Earth and gives his green power ring to Jordan, who is then indoctrinated into the Green Lantern Corps on their home planet of Oa and learns how to use his ring to create anything he can see in his mind, including giant machine guns and catapults. Jordan will have to overcome all his fear if he's to prevent Parallax from destroying humankind.

Green Lantern was considered a box office disappointment soon after it opened last June, and the critics weren't too kind, but I thought it was more entertaining than Thor, which came out a month earlier and did healthier business. All the money that went into the special effects budget appears to be on the screen, especially in the scenes set in outer space, and Parallax is a vaguely defined but impressive-looking villain. Reynolds isn't flexing any new muscles here in the acting department or otherwise, and after Robert Downey Jr.'s snarky portrayal of Tony Stark in two Iron Man movies, Reynolds's similar approach demonstrates the law of diminishing returns. (Peter Sarsgaard, as pseudovillain Hector Hammond, seems to be having the most fun out of all the actors.)

For further viewing, check out Batman Begins (2005) and The Dark Knight (2008), two films that demonstrate just how good superhero movies can be.

JOHNNY TREMAIN by Esther Forbes (1943)

Yearling/Random House; 322 pages; historical fiction; ages 10-14; ISBN: 978-0-440-44250-9.

Johnny Tremain is a talented apprentice to silversmith Ephraim Lapham in 1770s Boston, even catching the eye of Paul Revere with his work. Unfortunately, it goes to the 14-year-old's head: Johnny thinks his future is made, so when his right hand is permanently crippled in an accident involving a broken crucible, he's greatly humbled. He can no longer become a silversmith, and after several failed attempts at finding a new job, he lands as a delivery boy at the Boston Observer, a pro-Whig newspaper, where he learns all about Revolutionary politics and becomes something of a junior spy, ferreting out the British army's secrets whenever and wherever he can. Johnny also learns the importance of working for the greater good and being part of a team, especially when the team in question is an emerging nation.

I was reminded recently that Johnny Tremain was mentioned in a Simpsons episode back in 1993: Bart isn't interested in reading the book until his mother, Marge, tells him it's about a boy whose hand is deformed in an accident. "Why didn't you say so!" he replies enthusiastically. "They should call this book 'Johnny Deformed'!" Hey, whatever gets reluctant readers reading, plus Johnny Tremain can be used in English classes as a back-door history lesson, killing two educational birds with one stone.

I also like how Esther Forbes illustrates that no one's destiny is predetermined, especially a 14-year-old boy who still has so much to experience in life. In fact Johnny experiences more than he normally would have by his age because of his silversmithing accident: it's doubtful he would have gotten so deeply involved in the American Revolution if he hadn't secured a job that only required the use of one of his hands.

Winner of the 1944 Newbery Medal. For more historical fiction, check out Carry On, Mr. Bowditch by Jean Lee Latham (1955).

THEODORE BOONE: KID LAWYER by John Grisham (2010)

Dutton Children's Books; 263 pages; mystery; ages 8-13; ISBN: 978-0-525-42384-3.

Though he's not the attorney equivalent of Doogie Howser, M.D., meaning he hasn't gone to law school and passed the bar (yet), 13-year-old Theo Boone dispenses legal advice to friends and likes hanging out downtown at the courthouse after school. One day during an explosive murder trial that's been generating lots of headlines Theo is told by a classmate that his cousin has some evidence about the murder; since Theo is friendly with the judge overseeing the trial, the cousin figures he might be able to help. But the witness turns out to be an illegal immigrant, and he's afraid he'll be deported if he comes forward with what he knows. Now it's up to Theo to help bring the killer to justice without ruining the life of his classmate's cousin.

In Parade magazine last summer John Grisham, a former lawyer and one of the best-selling novelists of all time, was asked what it's like to suddenly write for a tween audience. He replied, "My daughter is a schoolteacher, and I spoke to her students recently. Talk about being a nervous wreck! At 11 years old, they’ll ask you anything, and I left too many strings in the air with the first book. The kids are still mad about it—they wanted it wrapped up in a nice, neat package. I’m learning a lot." Indeed, Theodore Boone: Kid Lawyer wraps up without the murder trial having been concluded. Kids don't want to be talked down to in books, but as far as I can tell they're also not game for ambiguous endings or open-ended climaxes the way teens often are. In general Grisham's first book for tweens left me wondering whether he genuinely enjoys books targeted at this crowd or just figured writing one would make for a good test of his skills (I don't think he needs or really wants the money).

For further reading, check out Grisham's second Boone book, Theodore Boone: The Abduction (2011).

IGGIE'S HOUSE by Judy Blume (1970)

Atheneum Books for Young Readers/Simon & Schuster; 117 pages; realistic fiction; ages 8 and up; ISBN: 978-0-689-84291-7.

Eleven-year-old Winnie's best friend from down the street, Iggie, has recently moved to Tokyo with her family. As Judy Blume's first novel begins, a new family is moving into Iggie's house—a black family, making them the first nonwhites in the neighborhood. Winnie's excited to make new friends with the Garber family's three children, Glenn, Herbie, and Tina, and show them she's not like other white kids, but her parents are less enthused, mainly because they can see the trouble around the bend that Winnie can't. And once neighborhood busybody Dorothy Landon starts up her own unwelcoming committee, tempers begin to flare on both sides of the issue.

Blume's YA debut shows her in full control of her talent, which blossomed even further as the '70s rolled on. She creates memorable characters like hotheaded Herbie, who confronts Winnie on her ill-advised "great white savior" role and in general speaks his mind like a grade-school prototype of TV's George Jefferson (who was still a few years away from seeing the televised light of day), and shows readers how Winnie's actions are similar to Mrs. Landon's. Iggie's House powerfully reflects the "white flight" racial tensions of its time but ends on a quiet note, gently reminding readers both young and old that modest victories are sometimes the only ones you get.

For further reading, check out everything Judy Blume has ever written. You'll be glad you did. And to see a Glogster-hosted advertising poster I created for Iggie's House, click here.

DEAR MR. HENSHAW by Beverly Cleary (1983)

Illustrated by Paul O. Zelinsky. William Morrow and Company; 134 pages; drama; ages 8-13; ISBN: 0-688-02405-X.

Beverly Cleary's warmhearted tale is an example of an epistolary novel, one told through letters written by a character or characters in the story itself. In Dear Mr. Henshaw the letters are written by a boy named Leigh Botts, who becomes our narrator as he communicates with his favorite children's author starting in second grade, though a steady correspondence between the two doesn't really take hold until Leigh enters sixth grade, in a new town with no friends and parents who have divorced. Leigh answers questions sent to him by Mr. Henshaw, though not always with a smile on his face, and starts a diary at the encouragement of the author.

I love the epistolary-novel format, and wish it were used more often in children's books as an example of the different ways in which stories can be told and reveal character without explaining every single detail to the reader, such as the way in which Leigh's writing improves over the course of the narrative, validating Mr. Henshaw's encouragement. Unlike her Henry Huggins and Ramona & Beezus stories, there isn't any comical mischief in Dear Mr. Henshaw unless you count Leigh trying to find out who keeps stealing from his lunch bag at school. Similar to the female protagonist  in Judy Blume's It's Not the End of the World (1972), Leigh must accept the fact that his parents aren't going to get back together, a sober reality Cleary presents with sensitivity and grace.

Winner of the 1984 Newbery Medal. For another example of an epistolary novel, check out Regarding the Fountain by Kate Klise (1998).

SUPER 8 (Paramount Pictures, 2011)

Written and directed by J.J. Abrams; 112 minutes; science fiction; MPAA rating: PG-13 ("for intense sequences of sci-fi action and violence, language and some drug use," but appropriate for ages 10 and up, if you ask me).

Fourteen-year-old Joe Lamb's mother has died in a factory accident, and four months later he and his father, a local sheriff's deputy, are still grieving in their own separate ways while drifting further apart from each other. Joe's friend Charles is making a zombie movie on his Super-8 camera—the film is set in the summer of 1979—and asks Joe to apply makeup to the actors. Joe is happy to oblige since this means he'll get to talk to—and lightly touch the face of—Alice, a classmate who's agreed to play the hero's wife in Charles's movie. But when Charles and his middle-school crew go to a long-abandoned train depot to film a scene late one night, they witness a train derailment that unleashes an alien creature.

Super 8 was conceived by writer-director J.J. Abrams as a nostalgic tribute to Steven Spielberg films of the late '70s and early '80s like Close Encounters of the Third Kind and E.T., although the alien in Super 8 is a whole lot meaner than any of the ones in those films. The first half of the film, like E.T., has charm to burn—it's fun to watch Charles and Joe work on their zombie movie, and touching how Joe and Alice bond while Charles realizes Alice is interested in his friend, not him—but the second half is more about action and chase scenes than anything else, recalling 1985's The Goonies, which Spielberg produced but didn't direct (I didn't see it until I was 28, so the whole movie just felt like one long sequence of kids screaming). I was ultimately disappointed in Super 8—and since Abrams was a teenager himself in 1979, how come he uses insults and expressions like "douche" and "awesome," which weren't around back then, into his script?—but I think tweens will enjoy the thrill ride as much as the tender moments, if not more so.

For further viewing, check out Close Encounters of the Third Kind (1977) and E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial (1982).

THE HUNGER GAMES by Suzanne Collins (2008)

Scholastic; 374 pages; sci-fi/fantasy; 12 and up; ISBN: 978-0-439-02352-8.

North America has been erased. In its place stands Panem, whose 12 districts once waged war against the Capitol and lost. Now, under the terms of their surrender, the financially destitute districts must each send one boy and one girl, ages 12-18 (no wonder The Hunger Games is such a popular YA book), to fight to the death, with one winner left standing at the end, in a televised event called the Hunger Games. Sixteen-year-old Katniss Everdeen becomes the female contestant from District 12 after she steps in to take the place of her little sister, who was chosen in the district lottery. As the Games begin, Katniss uses her outdoor survival skills to stay out of the rising body count, but in the process she risks losing her humanity.

Suzanne Collins certainly knows how to write a page-turner, and her commentary on how history repeats itself—the Hunger Games are a throwback to the violent Roman gladiator matches of the second century—is inventive, especially her take on competition-based reality TV shows and their reliance on having a contestant "voted off the island" each week. The blossoming romance between Katniss and Peeta, the male contestant from District 12, is nothing special, but I did like seeing her nurturing side come out around Rue, the doomed 12-year-old contestant who reminds Katniss of her little sister.

For further reading, check out Collins's Hunger Games sequels, Catching Fire (2009) and Mockingjay (2010).