Buena High School Library Staff Recommendations
Mr. Levin's 2020 Goodreads Challenge
Although 2020 has thrown a multitude of roadblocks in our paths, it's always therapeutic to read a good book in times of trouble. Before and during the pandemic shutdown, Mr. Levin was steadily plugging away at his own reading, aiming for at least 24 books over the course of the year (two books per month). These are the titles Mr. Levin read during 2020:
Although 2020 has thrown a multitude of roadblocks in our paths, it's always therapeutic to read a good book in times of trouble. Before and during the pandemic shutdown, Mr. Levin was steadily plugging away at his own reading, aiming for at least 24 books over the course of the year (two books per month). These are the titles Mr. Levin read during 2020:
- Misery by Stephen King
- Killers of the Flower Moon by David Mann
- The Lightning Thief by Rick Riordan
- Penny Dreadful, Vol. 1 by Krysty Wilson-Cairns
- Educated by Tara Westover
- Flipped by Wendelin Van Draaneb
- Emotional Machines by Kate Bello (BHS class of '98!)
- The Book Woman of Troublesome Creek by Kim Michele Richardson
- Pirates of the Caribbean: From the Magic Kingdom to the Movies by Jason Surrel
- Frankenstein by Mary Shelley
- Good Vibrations: My Life as a Beach Boy by Mike Love
- Where the Crawdads Sing by Delia Owens
- Resistance by Tori Amos
- The Lacuna by Barbara Kingsolver
- The Island of Sea Women by Lisa See
- Tim Burton's The Nightmare Before Christmas: Disney Manga by Jun Asuka
- Lovecraft Country By Matt Ruff
- The Son of Neptune by Rick Riordan
- Station Eleven by Emily St. John Mandel
- At the Mountains of Madness by H.P. Lovecraft, adapted by I.N.J. Culbard
- Grateful Dead: Origins by Chris Miskiewicz
- Dead in the West by Joe Lansdale
- Born a Crime: Stories from a South African Childhood by Trevor Noah
- Harleen by Stjepan Šejić
- Let It Snow by John Green, Maureen Johnson, and Lauren Myracle
- A Christmas Carol (Graphic Novel) by Charles Dickens, adapted by Scott McCullar
- Shadow of the Batgirl by Sarah Kuhn
Mr. Levin's Book Recommendation for February 2021:
Agnes at the End of the World by Kelly McWilliams
⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️
An apocalyptic YA novel? With a gifted young protagonist breaking free from a cult ruled by a self-proclaimed prophet? In the middle of a global pandemic? Leading into a series of supernatural occurrences and culminating in an examination of faith in the 21st century?
Be still, my heart. You had me at "apocalyptic YA novel."
Agnes at the End of the World (not to be confused with the similarly titled Anna and the Apocalypse) is an engaging, thought-provoking debut novel from author Kelly McWilliams. In the book, the eponymous Agnes embarks on a journey to the "Outside," leaving behind the smothering cult of her community, Red Creek. However, Agnes liberates herself from the chains of Red Creek's "Prophet" only to find that the world has been overtaken by a strange new pandemic that turns all animals (including humans) into zombies with bristling red, crystalline skin. Although religious fanaticism, cults, zombies, supernatural events, and prophetic powers have all been frequently addressed in literature and media, rarely has one piece tackled them all simultaneously - and tackled them all successfully, I might add.
I've read a number of cult-related novels over the years (Pete Hautman's Eden West being one of the best), but few have the gravitas and unique narrative arc that McWilliams creates for her story. Watching Agnes transform from a weary, overworked, cult-confined teenager into a truly powerful, independent (but humble) young woman is inspiring. And, though it's tempting to dismiss all spirituality based on the dangerously dubious actions of religious zealots, McWilliams maintains a respectful perspective on God - even as her protagonist breaks free from the psychological chains of her cult-controlled upbringing.
This is the third pandemic novel I've tackled since the start of Covid-19, and I'm not sure if that's enhanced or detracted from my experience reading these books. If nothing else, Agnes at the End of the World has reminded me that there is always hope - even when it seems like the apocalypse is hovering just above the horizon.
Agnes at the End of the World by Kelly McWilliams
⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️
An apocalyptic YA novel? With a gifted young protagonist breaking free from a cult ruled by a self-proclaimed prophet? In the middle of a global pandemic? Leading into a series of supernatural occurrences and culminating in an examination of faith in the 21st century?
Be still, my heart. You had me at "apocalyptic YA novel."
Agnes at the End of the World (not to be confused with the similarly titled Anna and the Apocalypse) is an engaging, thought-provoking debut novel from author Kelly McWilliams. In the book, the eponymous Agnes embarks on a journey to the "Outside," leaving behind the smothering cult of her community, Red Creek. However, Agnes liberates herself from the chains of Red Creek's "Prophet" only to find that the world has been overtaken by a strange new pandemic that turns all animals (including humans) into zombies with bristling red, crystalline skin. Although religious fanaticism, cults, zombies, supernatural events, and prophetic powers have all been frequently addressed in literature and media, rarely has one piece tackled them all simultaneously - and tackled them all successfully, I might add.
I've read a number of cult-related novels over the years (Pete Hautman's Eden West being one of the best), but few have the gravitas and unique narrative arc that McWilliams creates for her story. Watching Agnes transform from a weary, overworked, cult-confined teenager into a truly powerful, independent (but humble) young woman is inspiring. And, though it's tempting to dismiss all spirituality based on the dangerously dubious actions of religious zealots, McWilliams maintains a respectful perspective on God - even as her protagonist breaks free from the psychological chains of her cult-controlled upbringing.
This is the third pandemic novel I've tackled since the start of Covid-19, and I'm not sure if that's enhanced or detracted from my experience reading these books. If nothing else, Agnes at the End of the World has reminded me that there is always hope - even when it seems like the apocalypse is hovering just above the horizon.
Mr. Levin's Book Recommendation for January 2021:
The Bad-Ass Librarians of Timbuktu and Their Race to Save the World's Most Precious Manuscripts by Joshua Hammer
⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️
As a Teacher Librarian, I simply couldn't resist the urge to read a book with "Bad-Ass Librarians" in the title. Despite the irreverent title, though, Joshua Hammer's fascinating book, The Bad-Ass Librarians of Timbuktu: And Their Race to Save the World’s Most Precious Manuscripts , is more accurately described as a historical overview of Mali's academic achievements and political turmoil. Alas, there's no "Conan the Librarian" in this tome; however, that doesn't make the exploits of its protagonists any less death-defying or remarkable.
Here's the Reader's Digest version of the story: despite existing colonial stereotypes of the "backwards," "savage" inhabitants of Africa, Timbuktu was once an academic haven - the "Athens of Africa," so to speak. With the rise of religious extremists in the area, however, thousands of volumes of historical documents and breathtaking artistry were in danger of destruction. Thanks to the efforts of a small network of passionate individuals, a clandestine cadre of heroic caretakers was charged with evacuating some 350,000 priceless manuscripts from Timbuktu. This is that story.
As thrilling as this premise sounds, Hammer actually devotes the majority of his book to the political and sociological history of western Africa, with a particular focus on the waves of religious extremism that have rocked the continent over the centuries. Much of this, I must sheepishly admit, was brand-new history to me: my tenth-grade World History class was primarily dedicated to European history, with only passing references to the rest of the world. As such, half of Hammer's chapters felt like a didactic history textbook, with clinical writing that seemed less "bad-ass" than overtly academic. When I read the acknowledgments section of the book, I was not-so-shocked to learn that Hammer has spent a sizable portion of his career writing for National Geographic magazine. National Geographic...? You don't say!
Of the book's 242 pages of text, only about a third of The Bad-Ass Librarians of Timbuktu covers the daring rescue attempts that saved hundreds of thousands of priceless manuscripts. While I understand the importance of historical context and background, Hammer's over-reliance on exposition and antecedents tends to bog down his narrative; by comparison, the much more thrilling aspects of his book seem rushed. It's hard not to compare The Bad-Ass Librarians of Timbuktu with, say, something written by Jon Krakauer - an author who masterfully frames an individual's circumstances within a larger social context without sacrificing the most engaging elements of a story.
For me, the most uncanny aspect of the novel is the parallel between fundamentalist Islamic takeovers in Africa and the current White Supremacist riots in the United States. Amazingly, Hammer's book almost seems more timely now than when it was published half a decade ago - but for altogether different reasons. When I started reading The Bad-Ass Librarians of Timbuktu on New Year's Day, I was shocked reading about small, armed groups laying siege to entire cities as they tried to impose an authoritarian regime. How does that happen in a modern-day country? I asked myself. Five days later, I watched the same kind of insurrection unfold in Washington, D.C., as hordes of violent rioters overtook the Capitol Building. Although we, as Americans, tend to view ourselves as so much more refined than the rest of the world, we're not so far removed from the regime revolutions of the Middle East. I only pray that if something happens here, on American soil, that we have bad-ass librarians of our own to save our most precious books.
The Bad-Ass Librarians of Timbuktu and Their Race to Save the World's Most Precious Manuscripts by Joshua Hammer
⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️
As a Teacher Librarian, I simply couldn't resist the urge to read a book with "Bad-Ass Librarians" in the title. Despite the irreverent title, though, Joshua Hammer's fascinating book, The Bad-Ass Librarians of Timbuktu: And Their Race to Save the World’s Most Precious Manuscripts , is more accurately described as a historical overview of Mali's academic achievements and political turmoil. Alas, there's no "Conan the Librarian" in this tome; however, that doesn't make the exploits of its protagonists any less death-defying or remarkable.
Here's the Reader's Digest version of the story: despite existing colonial stereotypes of the "backwards," "savage" inhabitants of Africa, Timbuktu was once an academic haven - the "Athens of Africa," so to speak. With the rise of religious extremists in the area, however, thousands of volumes of historical documents and breathtaking artistry were in danger of destruction. Thanks to the efforts of a small network of passionate individuals, a clandestine cadre of heroic caretakers was charged with evacuating some 350,000 priceless manuscripts from Timbuktu. This is that story.
As thrilling as this premise sounds, Hammer actually devotes the majority of his book to the political and sociological history of western Africa, with a particular focus on the waves of religious extremism that have rocked the continent over the centuries. Much of this, I must sheepishly admit, was brand-new history to me: my tenth-grade World History class was primarily dedicated to European history, with only passing references to the rest of the world. As such, half of Hammer's chapters felt like a didactic history textbook, with clinical writing that seemed less "bad-ass" than overtly academic. When I read the acknowledgments section of the book, I was not-so-shocked to learn that Hammer has spent a sizable portion of his career writing for National Geographic magazine. National Geographic...? You don't say!
Of the book's 242 pages of text, only about a third of The Bad-Ass Librarians of Timbuktu covers the daring rescue attempts that saved hundreds of thousands of priceless manuscripts. While I understand the importance of historical context and background, Hammer's over-reliance on exposition and antecedents tends to bog down his narrative; by comparison, the much more thrilling aspects of his book seem rushed. It's hard not to compare The Bad-Ass Librarians of Timbuktu with, say, something written by Jon Krakauer - an author who masterfully frames an individual's circumstances within a larger social context without sacrificing the most engaging elements of a story.
For me, the most uncanny aspect of the novel is the parallel between fundamentalist Islamic takeovers in Africa and the current White Supremacist riots in the United States. Amazingly, Hammer's book almost seems more timely now than when it was published half a decade ago - but for altogether different reasons. When I started reading The Bad-Ass Librarians of Timbuktu on New Year's Day, I was shocked reading about small, armed groups laying siege to entire cities as they tried to impose an authoritarian regime. How does that happen in a modern-day country? I asked myself. Five days later, I watched the same kind of insurrection unfold in Washington, D.C., as hordes of violent rioters overtook the Capitol Building. Although we, as Americans, tend to view ourselves as so much more refined than the rest of the world, we're not so far removed from the regime revolutions of the Middle East. I only pray that if something happens here, on American soil, that we have bad-ass librarians of our own to save our most precious books.
Mr. Levin's Book Recommendation for December 2020:
Let It Snow by John Green, Maureen Johnson, and Lauren Myracle
⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️
Unlike other YA books in the vein of John Green, which tend to necessitate boxes of Kleenex (*ahem* The Fault in Our Stars *ahem*), Let It Snow showcases Green and his collaborators in merry, mirthful, and mischievous spirits. The three intertwined stories that comprise Let It Snow offer realistic, believable underdogs, all of whom are looking for love in a particularly nasty winter storm.
The first story in the book, Johnson's "The Jubilee Express," follows the eponymous title character, Jubilee - an intelligent (albeit snarky) protagonist who finds herself stranded in a foreign town on Christmas Eve. Like Johnson's tale, John Green's "A Cheertastic Christmas Miracle," also features teenagers adventuring without parents on the same evening; though missing the characteristic tragedy that defines much of Green's heartrending fiction, the story still benefits from his warmly optimistic tone and uniquely quirky characters. The final story in the trilogy, Lauren Myracle's "The Patron Saint of Pigs," is the least effective tale in the bunch: it features a guilt-ridden, self-loathing Starbucks barista and a teacup pig. 'Nuff said.
The most rewarding aspect of this book is the cleverly interlocking set of stories - all of which converge on specific locations (Starbucks, The Waffle House, etc.) in a tidy ending that wraps up neatly... like a Christmas present tied together with a bow. Regardless of their individual flaws, these three heartwarming holiday tales would each make Ebeneezer Scrooge chuckle; as a whole, though, the three authors create a memorable and engaging book in Let It Snow.
Let It Snow by John Green, Maureen Johnson, and Lauren Myracle
⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️
Unlike other YA books in the vein of John Green, which tend to necessitate boxes of Kleenex (*ahem* The Fault in Our Stars *ahem*), Let It Snow showcases Green and his collaborators in merry, mirthful, and mischievous spirits. The three intertwined stories that comprise Let It Snow offer realistic, believable underdogs, all of whom are looking for love in a particularly nasty winter storm.
The first story in the book, Johnson's "The Jubilee Express," follows the eponymous title character, Jubilee - an intelligent (albeit snarky) protagonist who finds herself stranded in a foreign town on Christmas Eve. Like Johnson's tale, John Green's "A Cheertastic Christmas Miracle," also features teenagers adventuring without parents on the same evening; though missing the characteristic tragedy that defines much of Green's heartrending fiction, the story still benefits from his warmly optimistic tone and uniquely quirky characters. The final story in the trilogy, Lauren Myracle's "The Patron Saint of Pigs," is the least effective tale in the bunch: it features a guilt-ridden, self-loathing Starbucks barista and a teacup pig. 'Nuff said.
The most rewarding aspect of this book is the cleverly interlocking set of stories - all of which converge on specific locations (Starbucks, The Waffle House, etc.) in a tidy ending that wraps up neatly... like a Christmas present tied together with a bow. Regardless of their individual flaws, these three heartwarming holiday tales would each make Ebeneezer Scrooge chuckle; as a whole, though, the three authors create a memorable and engaging book in Let It Snow.
Mr. Levin's Book Recommendation for November 2020:
Born a Crime: Stories from a South African Childhood by Trevor Noah
⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️
My wife and I are big fans of The Daily Show, and we've spent the last few years religiously watching Trevor Noah's incredibly insightful (but humorous) perspective on the national news. So, I was thrilled when my book club picked Born a Crime: Stories From a South African Childhood for our November selection. Knowing what I did about Mr. Noah, I assumed that one of my favorite comedians would provide a few hearty chuckles with a lighthearted memoir of his youthful exploits.
Boy, was I wrong.
Before reading Born a Crime, I knew a little bit about Noah's youth from interviews: he was born in South Africa in the 1980's, the child of a white father and a black mother, and he grew up with a very few "creature comforts." Based on the title alone, I knew that South Africa's horrific policy of apartheid undoubtedly shaped his perspective on politics, race relations, and the human experience. Of course, I assumed (incorrectly) that he would predominately relate his experiences with his signature levity and leave the heartbreak to another author.
Needless to say, I was unprepared for just how dark Noah's memoir would be. Because I was a child in the 1980s (I'm only four years older than Trevor Noah himself), I was relatively oblivious to the horrors of apartheid and South Africa's unjust laws. As he weaves his life story with brief history lessons about South Africa, Noah sheds light on the centuries of suffering in his home country; likewise, he examines the complicated dynamics of racism through the lens of a biracial "bastard" child growing up in this environment. Even with such sweeping, heavy topics at the forefront of his narrative, Noah still discusses the typical coming-of-age rites of passage: learning to fit in with his peers, experiencing romantic woes, and getting into trouble (lots of trouble, in fact). However, these trials and tribulations are nothing compared to the abject poverty and domestic abuse he survived during those pivotal years of his youth.
In many ways, Born a Crime is a life-changing book - the kind of read that shapes your understanding of an entire nation. It seems unfathomable that the horrors of apartheid could have affected the life of someone younger than me, but Trevor Noah's autobiography is a reminder that the suburban comforts of Ventura, California, are a heavenly fairy tale compared to the lives of many, many others. Thank God we have Trevor Noah to give us an honest, unflinching perspective on South Africa and its citizens. He might have been "born a crime," but his life story feels more like an inspiring liberation to his readers.
Born a Crime: Stories from a South African Childhood by Trevor Noah
⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️
My wife and I are big fans of The Daily Show, and we've spent the last few years religiously watching Trevor Noah's incredibly insightful (but humorous) perspective on the national news. So, I was thrilled when my book club picked Born a Crime: Stories From a South African Childhood for our November selection. Knowing what I did about Mr. Noah, I assumed that one of my favorite comedians would provide a few hearty chuckles with a lighthearted memoir of his youthful exploits.
Boy, was I wrong.
Before reading Born a Crime, I knew a little bit about Noah's youth from interviews: he was born in South Africa in the 1980's, the child of a white father and a black mother, and he grew up with a very few "creature comforts." Based on the title alone, I knew that South Africa's horrific policy of apartheid undoubtedly shaped his perspective on politics, race relations, and the human experience. Of course, I assumed (incorrectly) that he would predominately relate his experiences with his signature levity and leave the heartbreak to another author.
Needless to say, I was unprepared for just how dark Noah's memoir would be. Because I was a child in the 1980s (I'm only four years older than Trevor Noah himself), I was relatively oblivious to the horrors of apartheid and South Africa's unjust laws. As he weaves his life story with brief history lessons about South Africa, Noah sheds light on the centuries of suffering in his home country; likewise, he examines the complicated dynamics of racism through the lens of a biracial "bastard" child growing up in this environment. Even with such sweeping, heavy topics at the forefront of his narrative, Noah still discusses the typical coming-of-age rites of passage: learning to fit in with his peers, experiencing romantic woes, and getting into trouble (lots of trouble, in fact). However, these trials and tribulations are nothing compared to the abject poverty and domestic abuse he survived during those pivotal years of his youth.
In many ways, Born a Crime is a life-changing book - the kind of read that shapes your understanding of an entire nation. It seems unfathomable that the horrors of apartheid could have affected the life of someone younger than me, but Trevor Noah's autobiography is a reminder that the suburban comforts of Ventura, California, are a heavenly fairy tale compared to the lives of many, many others. Thank God we have Trevor Noah to give us an honest, unflinching perspective on South Africa and its citizens. He might have been "born a crime," but his life story feels more like an inspiring liberation to his readers.
Mr. Levin's Book Recommendation for October 2020:
Dead in the West by Joe R. Lansdale
⭐️⭐️⭐️
Joe R. Lansdale's Dead in the West is a fun, campy monster mashup of genres. Subtitled "A Zombie Western," the novel features a tough-as-nails preacher who unexpectedly faces his most horrifying challenge: a legion of the undead. Like any good antihero, Reverend Jebediah Mercer struggles with a tragic history full of sinful secrets - and the accompanying guilt that haunts him like a tethered specter. The ghosts of the past, however, pale in comparison to the resurrected zombies that have started stalking Mercer's new home in Mud Creek, Texas.
Although this 1986 publication is often heralded as the grandfather of "weird western" tales, it draws upon many familiar elements from horror films and cowboy comics. In many ways, the last chunk of the novel (which features the last living townsfolk making their final stand against encroaching hordes of the undead), feels like a generic zombie film - but with antique firearms and wild west decor.
That being said, Lansdale's writing is sparse and straightforward, lacking the gorgeous grit of Stephen King or the understated poetry of Cormac McCarthy. A few descriptions conjure up powerful visuals ("The head, like a powdered ball of ash paper, came apart and the teeth scattered like rotten peppermints to join the smoking remains of the other zombies on the blood-slick floor"), but much of Lansdale's writing comes across as simple and superficial. And yet, for all its cliches and redundancies, the book's union of these two disparate genres provides a thrilling novelty.
In the future, I might pass on Lansdale in favor of the aforementioned Stephen King, but I'm grateful that Dead in the West's author kick-started such an intriguing genre of literature.
Dead in the West by Joe R. Lansdale
⭐️⭐️⭐️
Joe R. Lansdale's Dead in the West is a fun, campy monster mashup of genres. Subtitled "A Zombie Western," the novel features a tough-as-nails preacher who unexpectedly faces his most horrifying challenge: a legion of the undead. Like any good antihero, Reverend Jebediah Mercer struggles with a tragic history full of sinful secrets - and the accompanying guilt that haunts him like a tethered specter. The ghosts of the past, however, pale in comparison to the resurrected zombies that have started stalking Mercer's new home in Mud Creek, Texas.
Although this 1986 publication is often heralded as the grandfather of "weird western" tales, it draws upon many familiar elements from horror films and cowboy comics. In many ways, the last chunk of the novel (which features the last living townsfolk making their final stand against encroaching hordes of the undead), feels like a generic zombie film - but with antique firearms and wild west decor.
That being said, Lansdale's writing is sparse and straightforward, lacking the gorgeous grit of Stephen King or the understated poetry of Cormac McCarthy. A few descriptions conjure up powerful visuals ("The head, like a powdered ball of ash paper, came apart and the teeth scattered like rotten peppermints to join the smoking remains of the other zombies on the blood-slick floor"), but much of Lansdale's writing comes across as simple and superficial. And yet, for all its cliches and redundancies, the book's union of these two disparate genres provides a thrilling novelty.
In the future, I might pass on Lansdale in favor of the aforementioned Stephen King, but I'm grateful that Dead in the West's author kick-started such an intriguing genre of literature.
Mr. Levin's Book Recommendation for March 2020:
Flipped by Wendelin Van Draanen
⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️
Wendelin Van Draanen's 2001 YA novel, Flipped , is an absolutely adorable he-said/she-said coming-of-age story. In alternating chapters, we view the same events from the eyes of two very different characters: the precocious Juli and the cynical Bryce. For seven-year-old Juli, it's love at first sight when Bryce's family moves in across the street; her new neighbor, however, takes a lot longer to appreciate Juli's quirky habits and behavior.
Though Bryce initially views the atypical girl in the run-down house across the street as a freak, he slowly (very slowly, mind you) begins to appreciate her unique sensibilities and vivacious spirit. Keep in mind that Juli is the kind of girl who incubates eggs for a science fair project and continues to raise the baby chicks after they hatch; Bryce, on the other hand, is completely grossed-out by hen poop and dirty chicken coops. By the time that the two narrators wind up their eighth-grade year, everything goes topsy-turvy in a variety of delightful ways. The fact that the novel ends without a tidy, wrapped-up-in-a-bow conclusion only reinforces the unique sensibilities of this quirky, fun YA offering.
Though the target demographic for Flipped is the middle-school crowd, I was impressed by the wide variety of topics that Van Draanen incorporates into her novel. This isn't just a tween-age love story; rather, Flipped examines social pressure, domestic strife, shame, poverty, grief, developmental disabilities, and a variety of other sophisticated themes that go beyond the tropes of a simple star-crossed romance. In the end, you'll find yourself rooting for Juli and Bryce as they learn to navigate the turbulent waters of adolescence.
First love might be a tale as old as time, but it's never been told before with quite so many chickens.
Flipped by Wendelin Van Draanen
⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️
Wendelin Van Draanen's 2001 YA novel, Flipped , is an absolutely adorable he-said/she-said coming-of-age story. In alternating chapters, we view the same events from the eyes of two very different characters: the precocious Juli and the cynical Bryce. For seven-year-old Juli, it's love at first sight when Bryce's family moves in across the street; her new neighbor, however, takes a lot longer to appreciate Juli's quirky habits and behavior.
Though Bryce initially views the atypical girl in the run-down house across the street as a freak, he slowly (very slowly, mind you) begins to appreciate her unique sensibilities and vivacious spirit. Keep in mind that Juli is the kind of girl who incubates eggs for a science fair project and continues to raise the baby chicks after they hatch; Bryce, on the other hand, is completely grossed-out by hen poop and dirty chicken coops. By the time that the two narrators wind up their eighth-grade year, everything goes topsy-turvy in a variety of delightful ways. The fact that the novel ends without a tidy, wrapped-up-in-a-bow conclusion only reinforces the unique sensibilities of this quirky, fun YA offering.
Though the target demographic for Flipped is the middle-school crowd, I was impressed by the wide variety of topics that Van Draanen incorporates into her novel. This isn't just a tween-age love story; rather, Flipped examines social pressure, domestic strife, shame, poverty, grief, developmental disabilities, and a variety of other sophisticated themes that go beyond the tropes of a simple star-crossed romance. In the end, you'll find yourself rooting for Juli and Bryce as they learn to navigate the turbulent waters of adolescence.
First love might be a tale as old as time, but it's never been told before with quite so many chickens.
Mr. Levin's Book Recommendation for February 2020:
Educated: A Memoir by Tara Westover
⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️
Tara Westover's compelling memoir, Educated , is a heartbreaking examination of one family's erratic behavior and off-the-grid living. Westover's father, a manic but charismatic leader who suffers from paranoid delusions of grandeur, has fallen prey to conspiracy theories about government takeovers; as a result, he refuses to trust public schools, doctors, hospitals, and every imaginable form of government intervention. Even the Church of Latter Day Saints is considered "not holy enough" in his fundamentalist eyes. Subsequently, his children - including the brilliant but scarred Tara - never attend public school, never see doctors, and never receive treatment at hospitals. Instead, they are forced to teach themselves - not only the tacit, sterile verbiage of textbooks, but also how to navigate through the wildness and wilderness of their homelife.
As Tara and her siblings grow up, however, they must come to grips with the brainwashing they've received their entire lives. For Tara and two of her brothers, that means deciding to break with family tradition and attend school, despite their father's admonitions that they'll come back "brainwashed by socialist teachers." Watching Tara grow up and learn to think for herself - to construct her own ideas, opinions, and beliefs - is simultaneously gut-wrenching and liberating.
Educated, with its brilliant writing and painful reflections of a life lived off-the-grid, reminds us that we ultimately determine our own fates. Our experiences may not define us, but they allow us to define ourselves. For Tara Westover, that act of self-definition is absolutely heroic and life-changing: an education beyond the hallowed halls of school and into the deeper, darker recesses of the human soul.
Educated: A Memoir by Tara Westover
⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️
Tara Westover's compelling memoir, Educated , is a heartbreaking examination of one family's erratic behavior and off-the-grid living. Westover's father, a manic but charismatic leader who suffers from paranoid delusions of grandeur, has fallen prey to conspiracy theories about government takeovers; as a result, he refuses to trust public schools, doctors, hospitals, and every imaginable form of government intervention. Even the Church of Latter Day Saints is considered "not holy enough" in his fundamentalist eyes. Subsequently, his children - including the brilliant but scarred Tara - never attend public school, never see doctors, and never receive treatment at hospitals. Instead, they are forced to teach themselves - not only the tacit, sterile verbiage of textbooks, but also how to navigate through the wildness and wilderness of their homelife.
As Tara and her siblings grow up, however, they must come to grips with the brainwashing they've received their entire lives. For Tara and two of her brothers, that means deciding to break with family tradition and attend school, despite their father's admonitions that they'll come back "brainwashed by socialist teachers." Watching Tara grow up and learn to think for herself - to construct her own ideas, opinions, and beliefs - is simultaneously gut-wrenching and liberating.
Educated, with its brilliant writing and painful reflections of a life lived off-the-grid, reminds us that we ultimately determine our own fates. Our experiences may not define us, but they allow us to define ourselves. For Tara Westover, that act of self-definition is absolutely heroic and life-changing: an education beyond the hallowed halls of school and into the deeper, darker recesses of the human soul.
Mr. Levin's Book Recommendation for January 2020:
Misery: A Novel by Stephen King
⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️
After watching the second season of Hulu’s Castle Rock, I felt compelled to finally read Stephen King’s bloody (and brilliant) novel that inspired the Annie Wilkes story arc, Misery. Though the novel lacks the supernatural elements that usually define King’s novels (there are no telekinetic children, shapeshifting clowns, or ethereal ghosts of any sort), we have something much more frightening instead: a cruel and psychotic nurse who has trapped and overmedicated her favorite author in a makeshift hospital bed.
I’ll take Pennywise the Clown or Carrie White over Annie Wilkes any day.
What I enjoyed most about Misery was not the brutal bloodshed or the psychological terror or the suspenseful cat-and-mouse games between characters; rather, it was Stephen King’s creative and clever discussions about the craft of writing. As the author Paul Sheldon does his Scheherazade routine, telling stories to his captor in order to remain alive as long as possible, King delves into the artistry and inspiration for writing novels. King’s descriptions of journeying “through the hole in the paper” and “playing fair” with your audience (amongst other qualities) provide valuable insight into the writing process for one of our era’s most prolific and prodigious authors.
Fortunately for us, King isn’t handcuffed to a hospital bed, forced to watch his appendages being cut off. Of course, it wouldn’t be a Stephen King novel without a few missing limbs, now would it?
Misery: A Novel by Stephen King
⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️
After watching the second season of Hulu’s Castle Rock, I felt compelled to finally read Stephen King’s bloody (and brilliant) novel that inspired the Annie Wilkes story arc, Misery. Though the novel lacks the supernatural elements that usually define King’s novels (there are no telekinetic children, shapeshifting clowns, or ethereal ghosts of any sort), we have something much more frightening instead: a cruel and psychotic nurse who has trapped and overmedicated her favorite author in a makeshift hospital bed.
I’ll take Pennywise the Clown or Carrie White over Annie Wilkes any day.
What I enjoyed most about Misery was not the brutal bloodshed or the psychological terror or the suspenseful cat-and-mouse games between characters; rather, it was Stephen King’s creative and clever discussions about the craft of writing. As the author Paul Sheldon does his Scheherazade routine, telling stories to his captor in order to remain alive as long as possible, King delves into the artistry and inspiration for writing novels. King’s descriptions of journeying “through the hole in the paper” and “playing fair” with your audience (amongst other qualities) provide valuable insight into the writing process for one of our era’s most prolific and prodigious authors.
Fortunately for us, King isn’t handcuffed to a hospital bed, forced to watch his appendages being cut off. Of course, it wouldn’t be a Stephen King novel without a few missing limbs, now would it?
