Greg, 15, put that hair in the toothbrush of sister Megin, age twelve. "Sibling rivalry," says Dad, a stubborn Pollyanna type. More like "sibling homicide," mutters their weary Mom, who has lately turned to spells of self-hypnosis in order to remove herself from the battlefront. And Spinelli, using Greg and Megin as alternating narrators, offers a breezy yet fierce, often slapsticky evocation of brother/ sister hostilities here—while giving the two kids believable other concerns too. Greg calls Megin "Megamouth"; he's appalled by her filthy room, sure that she'll bring on an infestation of cockroaches. ("They're having the World's Fair for Bacteria in there.") But Greg's primary interest in life is beautiful Jennifer Wade, for whom he's redone his appearance (bodybuilding, "Sassooned" hair, etc.); and he blithely exploits the crush of not-so-pretty Sara to make contact with her elusive friend Jennifer, repenting later. Meanwhile, Megin calls Greg "El Grosso," incorrigibly plants a cockroach in his room, and provokes him into food-fights. Her affections belong instead to kiddie-brother Todd; to ice-hockey idol Wayne Gretzky; to a friendly Dunkin' Donuts waitress (who gives her freebies); to fellow tomboy Emilie, 89, a chance acquaintance whom Megin visits regularly in a nearby nursing home; and to classmates like ordinary Sue Ellen and extraordinary Zoe—a newcomer from California who fills a bra and wears green toenail polish. Will Greg and Megin eventually reach a genuine truce? Of course. But only after the warfare gets out of hand (violence on the ice)—and after Emilie's unexpected death brings Megin to the breaking-point. . . and Greg to the brotherly rescue. (As it happens, the quest for Megin's beloved, sunken hockey-stick winds up with sister saving brother.) As in Space Station Seventh Grade (1982), then, Spinelli keeps things very light most of the way through, shading into more serious feelings—with considerable finesse—only at the end. So the upshot, if never really distinguished, is bright, personable, and reasonably lifelike—with nice average kids, unusually low-key/amusing parents, and a sure balance between farce and sentiment.
Pub Date: May 1, 1984
ISBN: 0316806870
Page Count: -
Publisher: Little, Brown
Review Posted Online: Oct. 27, 2011
Kirkus Reviews Issue: April 15, 1984
An ode to the children of migrants who have been taken away.
A Mexican American boy takes on heavy responsibilities when his family is torn apart.
Mateo’s life is turned upside down the day U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement agents show up unsuccessfully seeking his Pa at his New York City bodega. The Garcias live in fear until the day both parents are picked up; his Pa is taken to jail and his Ma to a detention center. The adults around Mateo offer support to him and his 7-year-old sister, Sophie, however, he knows he is now responsible for caring for her and the bodega as well as trying to survive junior year—that is, if he wants to fulfill his dream to enter the drama program at the Tisch School of the Arts and become an actor. Mateo’s relationships with his friends Kimmie and Adam (a potential love interest) also suffer repercussions as he keeps his situation a secret. Kimmie is half Korean (her other half is unspecified) and Adam is Italian American; Mateo feels disconnected from them, less American, and with worries they can’t understand. He talks himself out of choosing a safer course of action, a decision that deepens the story. Mateo’s self-awareness and inner monologue at times make him seem older than 16, and, with significant turmoil in the main plot, some side elements feel underdeveloped. Aleman’s narrative joins the ranks of heart-wrenching stories of migrant families who have been separated.
An ode to the children of migrants who have been taken away. (Fiction. 14-18)Pub Date: May 4, 2021
ISBN: 978-0-7595-5605-8
Page Count: 400
Publisher: Little, Brown
Review Posted Online: Feb. 22, 2021
Kirkus Reviews Issue: March 15, 2021
BOOK REVIEW
A prototypical survival story: after an airplane crash, a 13-year-old city boy spends two months alone in the Canadian wilderness. In transit between his divorcing parents, Brian is the plane's only passenger. After casually showing him how to steer, the pilot has a heart attack and dies. In a breathtaking sequence, Brian maneuvers the plane for hours while he tries to think what to do, at last crashing as gently and levelly as he can manage into a lake. The plane sinks; all he has left is a hatchet, attached to his belt. His injuries prove painful but not fundamental. In time, he builds a shelter, experiments with berries, finds turtle eggs, starts a fire, makes a bow and arrow to catch fish and birds, and makes peace with the larger wildlife. He also battles despair and emerges more patient, prepared to learn from his mistakes—when a rogue moose attacks him and a fierce storm reminds him of his mortality, he's prepared to make repairs with philosophical persistence. His mixed feelings surprise him when the plane finally surfaces so that he can retrieve the survival pack; and then he's rescued. Plausible, taut, this is a spellbinding account. Paulsen's staccato, repetitive style conveys Brian's stress; his combination of third-person narrative with Brian's interior monologue pulls the reader into the story. Brian's angst over a terrible secret—he's seen his mother with another man—is undeveloped and doesn't contribute much, except as one item from his previous life that he sees in better perspective, as a result of his experience. High interest, not hard to read. A winner.
Pub Date: Sept. 1, 1987
ISBN: 1416925082
Page Count: -
Publisher: Bradbury
Review Posted Online: Oct. 18, 2011
Kirkus Reviews Issue: Aug. 15, 1987
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