Grandfather quotes Teresa of Avila and Henry Vaughn (thus the title). "Poetry does illuminate, doesn't it?" he asks. "Doctors with both skill and human compassion are becoming an endangered species," but Daddy Austin is one. Mother does housework to Brahms or Beethoven, cooks to Bach or Scarlatti or Mozart. Vicky, 15, is a poet; and the boss scientist says of her dolphin journal, "Your prose is excellent. . . your imagery is precise and vivid." The family hates plastic grass at funerals, discusses black holes in "heavy" dinner-table conversations, and generally holds the enlightened attitude on everything from prayer to parmesan cheese, which they buy ungrated. "It does have a much more delicate flavor than when it comes out of a jar," says Mother prissily. All this is revealed during the summer that L'Engle's Austin family spends on Seven Bay Island, in the book-filled converted stable where Grandfather, a former minister, is dying of leukemia. To balance her anguish over grandfather's dying and the general atmosphere of death that seems to prevail that summer, Vicky takes comfort and joy from her remarkable ability to communicate nonverbally with dolphins. And she is distracted by the heady dilemma of choosing among three young men: spoiled, rich Zachery, who says he needs her and whose kisses fill her with electricity; Leo Rodney, whose father has just died saving Zachery from suicide, and whom Vicky grows fond of but only as a friend; and Adam, a college student working with the dolphins, who doesn't want to get involved but who answers her telepathic call when she needs him at the mainland hospital—where Grandfather is being transfused and a leukemic, epileptic child has just died in her lap. This last bit of death is almost too much for Vicky, who is probably more sympathetic in her temporary despair than she is elsewhere, mulling repetitively over death, dolphins, and the three young men. There is an irritating air of self-satisfaction to L'Engle's view of Vicky's deep concerns—and to her picture of the family, whose literate quotes but commonplace thoughts seem cast as examples of superior wisdom and compassion.
Pub Date: May 1, 1980
ISBN: 0374362998
Page Count: 324
Publisher: Farrar, Straus and Giroux
Review Posted Online: Oct. 17, 2011
Kirkus Reviews Issue: May 1, 1980
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
BOOK REVIEW
Broccoli: No way is James going to eat broccoli. “It’s disgusting,” says James. Well then, James, says his father, let’s consider the alternatives: some wormy dirt, perhaps, some stinky socks, some pre-chewed gum? James reconsiders the broccoli, but—milk? “Blech,” says James. Right, says his father, who needs strong bones? You’ll be great at hide-and-seek, though not so great at baseball and kickball and even tickling the dog’s belly. James takes a mouthful. So it goes through lumpy oatmeal, mushroom lasagna and slimy eggs, with James’ father parrying his son’s every picky thrust. And it is fun, because the father’s retorts are so outlandish: the lasagna-making troll in the basement who will be sent back to the rat circus, there to endure the rodent’s vicious bites; the uneaten oatmeal that will grow and grow and probably devour the dog that the boy won’t be able to tickle any longer since his bones are so rubbery. Schneider’s watercolors catch the mood of gentle ribbing, the looks of bewilderment and surrender and the deadpanned malarkey. It all makes James’ father’s last urging—“I was just going to say that you might like them if you tried them”—wholly fresh and unexpected advice. (Early reader. 5-9)
Pub Date: May 1, 2011
ISBN: 978-0-547-14956-1
Page Count: 48
Publisher: Clarion Books
Review Posted Online: April 4, 2011
Kirkus Reviews Issue: April 1, 2011
BOOK REVIEW
BOOK REVIEW
BOOK REVIEW
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