Sleator did so well with the medieval haunted house Blackbriar (KR, 1972) that it's a shame to see him fumble in an attempt to inject some contemporary relevance into a well paced suspense melodrama. Fifteen year-old Lillian, scared by the prospect of spending a few days alone in her family's isolated summer house, manages to convince two young cyclists who are caught in a rainstorm to stay overnight. While one of the boys, Mark, frets about moving on and Lillian and Jerry enjoy cooking lunch and tasting a bottle of wine snitched from the cellar, evidence that the house is being watched begins to accumulate — a missing radio, a mysterious shape in the bushes, a midnight intruder who apologizes for scaring Lillian. So far, so good. But when the trio does surprise the stranger in the act of stealing an electric saw, the thief returns and launches into a remorseful confession — he's "not a real criminal at all," just an addict trying to support a 150 dollar a day habit. Without denying that addicts are victims, this particular junkie's irregular method of operation (why does he steal one item at a time, and how does he dispose of them?) and his immediate rapport with the three young people seems farfetched ("you're beautiful," he tells them, when he learns that they haven't reported their suspicions to the police). And his death minutes later at the hands of a suburban lynch mob turns the thief into a martyr, the neighboring property owners into hysterical murderers, and leaves the children filled with regret that they didn't call the kindly police chief at the first sign of trouble. In the rush towards a dramatic ending, somehow an innocuous message about irrational fears and sympathy for the underdog turn into a liberal guilt fantasy, and Sleator's inability to give speech or substance to non-middle class characters — whether junkie or cop — becomes painfully obvious.
Pub Date: April 17, 1973
ISBN: 0590317679
Page Count: 148
Publisher: Dutton
Review Posted Online: May 9, 2012
Kirkus Reviews Issue: April 1, 1973
A sweet, soft conversation starter and a charming gift.
A paean to teachers and their surrogates everywhere.
This gentle ode to a teacher’s skill at inspiring, encouraging, and being a role model is spoken, presumably, from a child’s viewpoint. However, the voice could equally be that of an adult, because who can’t look back upon teachers or other early mentors who gave of themselves and offered their pupils so much? Indeed, some of the self-aware, self-assured expressions herein seem perhaps more realistic as uttered from one who’s already grown. Alternatively, readers won’t fail to note that this small book, illustrated with gentle soy-ink drawings and featuring an adult-child bear duo engaged in various sedentary and lively pursuits, could just as easily be about human parent- (or grandparent-) child pairs: some of the softly colored illustrations depict scenarios that are more likely to occur within a home and/or other family-oriented setting. Makes sense: aren’t parents and other close family members children’s first teachers? This duality suggests that the book might be best shared one-on-one between a nostalgic adult and a child who’s developed some self-confidence, having learned a thing or two from a parent, grandparent, older relative, or classroom instructor.
A sweet, soft conversation starter and a charming gift. (Picture book. 4-7)Pub Date: March 1, 2017
ISBN: 978-1-943200-08-5
Page Count: 32
Publisher: Compendium
Review Posted Online: Dec. 13, 2016
Kirkus Reviews Issue: Jan. 1, 2017
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
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