Guys Write for Guys Read–ed. by Jon Scieska

Guys Write for Guys Read.  ed. by Jon Scieska.  New York: Viking, 2005.

Are you a guy?  Looking for advice?  Or maybe you’re a girl looking for advice on how to deal with guys?  Look no further:

“Guys BITE THEIR TOENAILS! This is an art form, not a disgusting habit!  If Olympic gymnasts could bend down far enough to bite their toenails, they’d win gold medals every time!  We defy the physical laws when we chew our toenails.  Not only should we not stop doing it–we should do it more often, and in public!

After guys BITE THEIR TOENAILS THEY CHEW THE NAILS UP INTO LITTLE PIECES AND SWALLOW THEM! Not an art form, really, but crunchy–yum!

After guys BITE THEIR TOENAILS AND CHEW THEM AND SWALLOW THEM THEY FIND A GIRL AND KISS HER! Heh-heh-heh-heh-heh!” (p. 218 )

Not the toenail type?  Not a problem; how about dessert instead?

“The cat puked up the pecan nut log.  Jeff, the youngest and smallest [of the brothers] (and closest to the floor) was the first to go.  He got one look and whiff of the pecan nut cat yack and blew his own sticky lunch all over the cat.  The puke-covered cat jumped on Brian.  Brian barfed on Gregg.  Gregg upchucked on Tom.  Tom burped a bit of Stuckey lunch back on Gregg.  Jim and I rolled down the windows and hung out as far as we could, yelling in group puke horror…Stick with your brothers.  Stick up for your brothers.  And if you ever drop a pecan nut log in a car with your five brothers and your cat…you will probably stick to your brothers.” (p. 216)

Sage advice, learned the hard way, is what this book is all about: guys’ favorite authors, writing about being guys, including tales like…

• My Maturity, in Flames
• Boys, Beer, Barf, and Bonding
• My French Teacher Tried to Kill Me
• My Entire Football Career
• Bombs, Girls

For these and other stories (high school guys CANNOT afford to miss Chris Crutcher’s story, but it can’t be printed here), check out Guys Write for Guys Read.

The King of Mulberry Street–by Donna Jo Napoli

Napoli, Donna Jo.  The King of Mulberry Street.  New York: Wendy Lamb Books, 2005.

Beniamino’s family in Napoli, Italy, is very poor, but pretty happy.  They have each other, they have enough food to get by, and most importantly they have their Jewish faith.  When his mother wakes him up very early one morning and asks him to be very quiet while they sneak out of the house, Beniamino is excited at the surprise trip and enjoys spending time with his mom.  But then she gives him some rather mysterious instructions:

“‘First of all, simply survive…Watch, like you always do, watch and learn and do whatever you have to do to fit in.  Talk as little as possible–just watch and use your head…Nothing can stop you, tesoro mio.  Remember, you’re special, a gift from the Most Powerful One.  As soon as you can, get an education.  Be your own boss…Don’t undress with anyone around.  Ever.  Swear to me.”  (p. 23-24)

Just like that, he finds himself stowed away on a cargo ship, on his way to America.  Alone.  He vows to fight his way back to his mother in Napoli, and he does fight fiercely…but how much fight can you put up with no home, no family, no knowledge of English, no money, and no place to turn for help?

“Nothing was going right…I went back to the alley with the dead dog.  I threw pieces of a crushed wooden box into a half-empty barrell to make a clean layer on top of whatever was inside.  Then I climbed in…I recited every one of Nonna’s charms I could remember–charms to keep evil at bay.  That was where I spent my first night in America…” (p. 84)

The Wednesday Wars–by Gary D. Schmidt

Schmidt, Gary D.  The Wednesday Wars.  New York: Clarion Books, 2007.

When Holling Hoodhood starts seventh grade, he quickly finds that a bizarre coincidence is going to leave him alone with his homeroom teacher every Wednesday afternoon, and his teacher is not happy about it.  So Holling looks for help.  But help’s not coming from anyone–least of all from his father, whose chief concern about what happens to his kids seems to be whether it will affect a business deal of his…

“‘Dad, Mrs. Baker hates my guts.’

“‘What did you do?’

“‘I didn’t do anything.  She just hates my guts.’

“‘People don’t just hate your guts unless you do something to them.  So what did you do?’

“‘Nothing.’

“‘This is Betty Baker, right?’

“‘I guess.’

“‘The Betty Baker who belongs to the Baker family.’

“…’I guess she belongs to the Baker family,’ I said.

“‘The Baker family that owns the Baker Sporting Emporium.’

“‘Dad, she hates my guts.’

“The Baker Sporting Emporium, which is about to choose an architect for its new building and which is considering Hoodhood and Associates among its top three choices.’

“‘Dad…’

“So, Holling, what did you do that might make Mrs. Baker hate your guts, which will make other Baker family members hate the name of Hoodhood, which will lead the Baker Sporting Emporium to choose another architect, which will kill the deal for Hoodhood and Associates, which will drive us into bankruptcy, which will encourage several lending institutions around the state to send representatives to our front stoop holding papers that have lots of legal words on them–none of them good–and which will mean that there will be no Hoodhood and Associates for you to take over when I’m ready to retire?’

“…’I guess things aren’t so bad,’ I said.

“‘Keep them that way,’ he said.

“This wasn’t exactly what I had hoped for in an ally.” (p. 7-8 )

Blood on the River–by Elisa Carbone

Carbone, Elisa.  Blood on the River: James Town 1607.  New York: Viking, 2006.

“Some would say I am lucky.  Others would say I am doomed.  I escaped the gallows–that is why I am lucky…As for being doomed, if I am doomed then so is Richard.  We are the two boys Reverend Hunt decided to bring with him on this jounrey to the New World.” (p. 6-7)

The way we think of it, a trip across the ocean is an exciting adventure or a relaxing vacation.  For Samuel, however, who was released from jail for theft only to become one of the settlers that would found James Town, Virginia in 1607, this “vacation” looks more like this:

“We are all seasick.  And bored.  And we are going absolutely no place.  We have had nothing but storms and winds blowing the wrong direction for weeks now, and so we sit anchored in the cold, close enough to see England’s shores but still trapped down in this hole of a ‘tween deck with the stench of urine and vomit and chicken dung.” (p. 15)

Sounds like it couldn’t get much worse, but then they finally arrive on the coast of Virginia:

“Suddenly I hear a cry, then frantic shouting and someone moaning.  I run to the railing.  In the half-light of dusk I see them, five of them, crouched on a hill, their naked bodies painted, arrows flying from their longbows.  Already ne of the sailors has fallen…I see now that this land is not so free and open.  This is Indian land, and they do no want us here.  And what is worse, it seems to me that their bows and arrows are quicker, more accurate, and can shoot farther than our muskets.” (p. 61-62)

Vacation?  Not on your life, and not on Samuel’s life either.

Uglies–by Scott Westerfield

Westerfield, Scott.  Uglies.  New York: Simon and Schuster, 2005.

When I was a teenager, I felt ugly; most of us do around that age, and you probably have too.  Rotten though it is, it’s normal.  We pretty much grow out of it or get over it eventually.  But it’s painful while it’s happening, right?  Wouldn’t it be perfect if we could just find a way to fix it?

Fast forward to the future: you can now get a surgery to become stunningly beautiful.  Everyone does it.  As soon as you turn 16, you get the surgery, become gorgeous, move to a new city where all your perfectly gorgeous friends live, and all you have to do is party and have fun all day.  Seriously, that’s all there is to it, no hidden tricks.  And everybody’s happy all the time, because there’s no uglyness or stupid stuff like that to stress them out.

But then your best friend decides she wants to run away and not have the surgery.  What the heck?  Who wants to stay ugly forever, on purpose?  She’s obviously an idiot, and it’s not your problem…until you get dragged to Special Circumstances and find out you won’t be allowed to turn Pretty until you find her and bring her back.  You can die ugly for all they care.

That is NOT acceptable, so you go off to find her.  Pretty simple job, really.  But what’s out there in the wilderness, anyway?  Guess you’re about to find out…

Princess Academy–by Shannon Hale

Hale, Shannon.  Princess Academy.  New York: Bloomsbury Children’s Books, 2005.

Up on Mt. Eskel, the villagers don’t get out much.  The only way to make a living up there is to work in the linder quarry, chipping out blocks of the marble-like stone and selling it to the lowland traders who come up the mountain every so often, and that’s exactly what they’ve been doing for countless generations.  Work in the quarry, barter with the traders, work, barter, and so on.  Everyone follows this tradition without fail—everyone, that is, except fourteen-year-old Miri, who’s been barred from the quarry by her father and left to feel completely useless to the mountainside village.

The village’s hundreds of years of routine are suddenly broken up, however, when the chief delegate from the kingdom down below the mountain arrives with an unbelievable announcement: the King’s chief priests have convened, and they’ve determined that the Prince will choose his bride from among the girls of Mt. Eskel.  To prepare the girls for this honor, they’re all going to be herded into a Princess Academy for a year, where they will learn to act like polished princesses instead of rough mountain quarry workers.  Miri is pretty torn about this; she doesn’t want to leave her Pa and her hometown (not to mention Peder, the guy she’s got a huge crush on), but on the other hand it would mean a chance to see the world, never being cold and hungry again, and best of all she wouldn’t have to feel so darn useless anymore.  She decides to go for it, but before she’s been at the academy for long, she discovers that not all that glitters is gold…

“Miri awoke to a tug and a horrible feeling…She felt it again, a tugging on her scalp.  Something was caught in her braid.  She wanted to scream, but terror clamped down on her breath.  Every spot of her skin ached with the dread of what might be touching her.  It felt strong, too big to be a mouse.  The tip of a tail licked her cheek.  A rat.  Miri sobbed breathlessly, remembering the rat bite that had killed a village baby some years before.  She did not dare to call out for fear of spooking the beast…She could not move, she could not speak.  How long would she have to lie there until someone came for her?” (p. 72-73)

Lizzie Bright and the Buckminster Boy–by Gary D. Schmidt

Schmidt, Gary D.  Lizzie Bright and the Buckminster Boy.  New York: Clarion Books, 2004.

“Turner Buckminster had lived in Phippsburg, Maine, for fifteen minutes shy of six hours.  He had dipped his hand in its waves and licked the salt from his fingers.  He had smelled the sharp resin of the pines.  He had heard the low rhythm of the bells on the buoys that balanced on the ridges of the sea.  He had seen the fine clapboard parsonage beside the church where he was to live, and the small house set a ways beyond it that puzzled him some.  Turner Buckminster had lived in Phippsburg, Maine, for almost six whole hours.  He didn’t know how much longer he could stand it.” (p. 1)

In some places, being the son of a minister is no big deal.  Phippsburg, Maine, is not one of them.  Everybody is constantly scrutinizing Turner to see if he is upright enough, moral enough, brave enough, polite enough, and even whether his shirt is starched-white enough.  So far, he is a miserable failure.

And things only get worse after those first six hours.  Within two days of his arrival in Phippsburg, he has become the laughingstock of the whole town for his failure at playing baseball, been teased mercilessly as a coward for not jumping off a huge cliff into the ocean, and gotten caught skipping rocks across water that just happened to bump into somebody’s old fence.  Before he can blink, he is sentenced to spend his summer reading and playing organ for a repulsive old woman who yells at him, helps spread the rumors about him, looks and smells funny, and is absolutely obsessed with her own death and making sure her last words will be written down.  He’d just as soon die.

But then he meets Lizzie, an island girl who can row a boat, play baseball like nothing else, dig clams, and speak to whales.  And that changes everything forever.

The Higher Power of Lucky–by Susan Patron

Patron, Susan.  The Higher Power of Lucky.  New York: Atheneum Books for Young Readers, 2006.

Lucky is a regular kid: she has one awesome friend who’s going to be president one day, one annoying little kid friend who survives entirely on cookies, a paying job cleaning up litter after the 12-step meetings, and an impressive collection of bug specimens for future scientific exhibits.  Her mom died when she was eight, but she’s got a pretty good life with her Guardian, Brigitte.  One day, though, Lucky finds something that changes everything…

“Heading into the wind turned out to be way, way harder, even without her backpack and supply sack.  Lucky had to scuttle along doubled over, like an old woman, keeping her squinted eyes on the road.  Without the mask or the dishcloth her face was completely exposed.  She couldn’t see more than a few feet ahead.  She almost tripped over HMS Beagle, who trotted up to her with her head low to the ground, he ears whipping forward.  She touched Lucky with her nose and then abruptly turned and bounded back toward the town.  Maybe HMS Beagle was right and they should go home.  Lucky stopped.  “Hey, Beag!” she yelled.  Then, faintly, she heard a cat or some other animal crying, and saw that HMS Beagle was nudging that pile of rags.  Very carefully Lucky approached the thing, which was huddled in a tight ball.  It looked like the thing was rolled up in an old tablecloth or sheet.  Sticking out of the roll was a small sneaker with a toe poking through a hole in the side…”  (p. 111)

Elijah of Buxton–by Christopher Paul Curtis

Curtis, Christopher Paul.  Elijah of Buxton.  New York: Scholastic Press, 2007.

Life’s hard, right?  You have to go school, do what crazy grown-ups tell you even when it doesn’t make a lick of sense, and put up with being called “fra-gile” all the time even when you are clearly NOT being fragile.  Elijah gets this all the time, even from his parents!  He’s pretty sure the WORST thing on earth has happened to him after his mom decides to play a trick on him:

“…I moved my hand ‘round in the bottom of the jar, I felt one n’em rope cookies…and Mrs. Brown must’ve just brought these cookies over, ‘cause the last one left was still warm!  I pulled the cookie outta the jar.

“My heart quit beating, my blood ran cold, and time stood still!  My fingers were wrapped ‘round the neck of the worst-looking snake in Canada West!  I screamed, ‘Snake!’ and afore I knowed it, I was tearing off ‘cross the road into the woods.  By the time I worned myself out I must’ve run two miles.  I stopped and leaned ‘gainst a tree, waiting for my breathing to catch up to me.  Something made me look down in my hand.

“I screamed, ‘Snake!’ for the second time.  But this time I remembered to turn the snake’s neck a-loose and throwed it down.  I wouldn’t’ve thought I had enough strength left in me to run, but being afeared and being tired look like two things you caint feel at the same time.” (p. 19)

TOTALLY unfair, right?  Never mind that this was payback for putting the biggest toady-frog in Canada West in his ma’s sewing basket!  And Elijah gets it worse than anyone because he, the first child born free from slavery in the Buxton settlement in Canada, had a terrible accident as a baby…which unfortunately involved vomit and a visit from Frederick Douglass…but never mind that, just wait till Elijah gets growned, then he’s gonna show everybody!

But when there comes an opportunity to buy a neighbor’s family out of slavery, it looks like he’s gonna have to show how grown up he is sooner than anybody thinks…

Red Spikes–by Margo Lanagan

Lanagan, Margo.  Red Spikes.  New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 2007.

Do you have nightmares?

“It’s not possible, Tregowan had said.  I saw Ark.  No one the size and make of Thomas Chauncey could do such damage.  His ear was torn near right off.” (p. 79)

“And fluffther-fluffther over the rim they came like boiling, only the boilings ran away on little gray-and-pink legs, and pulled gray tails behind them.  They poured off the table edges and ran out the door and away to the west, to the town.” (p. 125)

“In the end I said to it, ‘I have already been eaten by one of you.’  It puffed up all fat and stiff-legged.  ‘Why don’t you go and find a real bird?’” (p. 61)

“‘Well, how about—these is good for a snack, after they’ve lain awhile.’  He looked doubtfully at the pile.  He had one in his hand, by its little blackened leg.  As Oll watched, the leg came out of its rotten hip socket, and the rest of the baby fell back onto the pile.” (p. 52)

“Yes, it was always a trudge here.  But what was the hurry when it came to eternity?  Might as well trudge as not.  Barto was new here; he didn’t realize.  He’d just arrived, and by car accident, so he was still in a kind of shock.” (p. 98)

“Underneath is other cloth, finer, paler, with a shape inside.  I don’t want to touch it.  And you don’t have to, says my hunter’s mind.  See?  You’ve got a second chance to walk away.  Take it, take it.  Go.  My breath, through my teeth, sounds like a straw broom sweeping a stone step.” (p. 37)

What if your nightmares were real?