Fiction

Not-So-Scary Halloween Reads for Kids

/ Lauren / 1 Comment

Now that the temperatures have dropped, I’m kicking my horror obsession into high gear. I’m going through my Audible audiobook purchases and listening to anything remotely paranormal, and I’m watching as many delightfully flawed 1970s horror films as I can find on my streaming services. The rest of my household, though, isn’t quite on board with my level of horror. My four-year-old gets up and starts to leave the room during particularly tense moments of Sofia the First. My two-year-old cries when he wakes up at 6:30am and it’s still dark.

Even though they’re not ready for it, my kids are still drawn to the spooky stuff. They’re fascinated by ghosts and skeletons. We’re a long way off from listening to the Spooked podcast together, but they can handle the horror equivalent of a balance bike and a sturdy helmet. These are some of the not-so-scary titles we’ve been enjoying this fall, in no particular order.

Leo: A Ghost Story written by Mac Barnett, illustrated by Christian Robinson (2015)

Leo is a little ghost who finds himself unwanted and unappreciated by his house’s new (living) residents, so he decides to wander the city and discovers a lasting friendship. Mac Barnett is one of my favorite authors to read out loud, and Robinson’s signature cutout-style illustrations are adorable with just the barest hint of spookiness from the blue color palette.

The Skull: A Tyrolean Folktale by Jon Klassen (2023)

You’ll recognize Klassen’s signature monochromatic palette and impactfully sparse prose from picture books like I Want My Hat Back. The Skull is a more substantial chapter book about a girl who runs away from home and befriends – you guessed it – a skull. Both my kids adore this book, which has a creepy-not-scary vibe and takes 15 to 20 minutes to read out loud. Even my two-year-old will sit for the whole thing. As for me, I have been haunted by the story’s unanswered questions that don’t seem to cross the kids’ minds. (If you’ve read Sam and Dave Dig a Hole, you know what I mean.)

There’s a Ghost in This House by Oliver Jeffers (2021)

Here’s another picture book for kids obsessed with ghosts. This one follows a girl around her house as she looks for the ghosts that supposedly live in her house. She can’t seem to see them – but the reader can, with help from transparent pages that overlay the old-fashioned photographs of rooms. It’s a clever and entertaining book that we’ve been re-reading from cover to cover. (I mean it. You only get the full story if you look at the endpapers.)

In a Dark, Dark Room: And Other Scary Stories retold by Alvin Schwartz, illustrated by Dirk Zimmer (1984)’

You probably read this classic book yourself as a kid, or had somebody read it to you. Are the stories as satisfying as Schwartz’s Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark? No, but this smaller tome won’t accidentally give your kids nightmares if you pick the wrong story. (Not that I know from experience or anything. Cough cough.) My two-year-old lights up with anticipation of the jump scare I insert at the end of the title story.

A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens, illustrated by Brett Helquist (2009)

There’s a tradition in the UK of telling ghost stories at Christmas, and what better story to turn to than the GOAT of Christmas ghost stories? The illustrations are what make this book work. You’ll recognize the style of Brett Helquist from the gloomy covers of A Series of Unfortunate Events by Lemony Snicket. The prose seems to go over my kids’ heads, but as an adult it’s loads of fun to read Scrooge’s dialogue aloud and give it the weight of King Lear mourning the dead Cordelia.

Gustavo, the Shy Ghost by Flavia Z. Drago (2020)

If you thought Leo was cute, then Gustavo might take the cake – or rather, pan de muerto. Gustavo is too shy to talk to the other monster kids, so he decides to put on a violin concert instead. It’s a relatable story in beautiful colors inspired by Mexico’s Day of the Dead celebration. Fans of the movie Coco will enjoy the color palette and musical theme, but this sweet picture book thankfully won’t require adults to grab a tissue. (Not that I know from experience or anything. Cough cough.) 

Scary Stories for Young Foxes by Christian McKay Heidicker (2019)

My four-year-old knows the creepy stuff is out there. To scratch the itch that the cute ghost stories can’t satisfy, we’ve been dabbling in some middle-grade books like Scary Stories for Young Foxes. It’s a series of interconnected stories about two juvenile foxes and the horrors they endure as they try to get back to their families. There’s a beloved teacher who turns rabid, a murderous father, and a terrifying take on a classic children’s author. Nothing is gratuitous, though, and it all builds to a satisfying ending. If you’ve been reading Hansel and Gretel with nary a nightmare, it might be worth a try.

The Graveyard Book by Neil Gaiman (2008)

We’re also giving a try to this middle-grade book authored by dark fantasy master Neil Gaiman. It’s the story of Bod, a boy who is raised from infancy by the inhabitants of a graveyard after his family is killed. Despite the gloomy premise, the fantasy elements outweigh the horror parts; readers of Gaiman’s adult works like Norse Mythology will be familiar with the tone. And each chapter is episodic like Scary Stories for Young Foxes, making it a good match for younger attention spans.

Able and Willing

/ Susan O. / 2 Comments

Disability is a loaded word. 

I won’t debate the semantics of the term, what the current politically correct term is, or how to make your workplace more variant friendly.

Let’s talk about something far more inflammatory. The rights of the disabled to carry out adult relationships. At best, a disabled person is able to find a partner despite their difficulties, marry (or not), and live a happy adult life together, with or without kids (popular example: the TV show Little People, Big World). Sometimes, it’s disabled people fighting in court for the right to marry or raise their own children (the movie I Am Sam). At the very worst, it’s vulnerable people being preyed upon, taken advantage of, or controlled to the point of involuntary sterilization.

I grabbed the book Hunchback, partly because it was short, and partly because I’ve been in the field of disabilities for 40 years. Hunchback, a novella by Saou Ichikawa, was not the book I’d expected, despite winning multiple awards. Ichikawa’s character, Shaka, suffers from congenital myopathy (same as the author—write what you know), which has left her with progressively weak muscles. Her back is so hunched over she can’t breathe when holding a book, and she spends half the day using a ventilator. She can walk short distances, but her body is twisted and one leg is far shorter than the other. She has a tracheostomy, which makes talking difficult, so she uses a lot of alternative communication devices. Shaka spends her time writing erotica online, the money from which she spends on food for poor people and women. 

Winner of several Japanese awards, Hunchback calls out ableism on many levels. Ichikawa considers it political: Disabled people are hidden away by society, never considered because they’re never seen. People in wheelchairs are rarely mentioned in literature at all, unless they’re being “cured,” like in Heidi or A Secret Garden. Disabled people are portrayed as a drain on society, dependent on charity, so by making a wealthy disabled character (who generates income through pornography), she pokes a hornet’s nest.

Another book that touches on the subject of sexual autonomy is James Cole’s Not a Whole Boy. Cole was born in the 60’s with a severe case of exstrophy – most of his organs were born outside his body, and his pelvis malformed. Most babies with this condition do not survive. Due to Cole’s mother’s determination and a great team of doctors, Cole managed to thrive despite severe obstacles. While he seemed more or less normal to other kids, Cole hid the fact that he had double ostomies – all his waste was collected in bags, as he didn’t have the needed parts and couldn’t use a toilet. As he got older and puberty kicked in, it became necessary to undergo multiple surgeries just to have a sense of comfort, normalcy, and proper biological function. Cole’s book documents his struggles with medieval children’s hospitals, lack of pain management, and his eventual success with a career in art and film – certainly not hidden away.

A book that took me by complete surprise was Riva Lehrer’s Golem Girl, a golem being a creature formed from dirt or clay. Riva was born with Spina Bifida in 1958, a time when most afflicted infants did not survive, and almost certainly didn’t walk. She suffers dozens of painful surgeries to keep her mobility, most of which do nothing to ease her issues – she’s just a guinea pig for the surgeons. Although she attends a grade school for the disabled (disability laws hadn’t been written yet), she attends a mainstream high school, then university, where she gets a degree in fine art, all while dealing with surgeries and intense feelings of revulsion toward herself. Amplifying it is her mother’s overprotective codependency, spitting out helpful comments such as “You don’t need a nose job. No one wants to marry a cripple,” and “You shouldn’t have children; pregnancy will just mess up your spine worse,” – culminating in an involuntary hysterectomy at 15 on the mother’s order. 

Riva goes on to have multiple affairs with both men and women. While some relationships work out, many times she’s still hit with prejudice – “I can’t love a cripple.” Riva remains unstoppable. She becomes more comfortable with herself through meeting up with other people – often activists – with disabilities. As an artist, she gains renown (and awards) through her paintings of disabled people (and others) she has met. 

This book was so hard to put down, and read like you were in the middle of a conversation with her. Lehrer doesn’t go into detail on her disability or surgeries; she talks about herself, not her medical issues. After doing time as an anatomical artist, she sees people not so much as disabled, but as human variants – no one is “normal,” there is no “normal,” just human variations. But everyone has a right to love and happiness.

At the heart of it, people with physical disabilities are still people. It doesn’t mean they don’t have the same dreams, desires, or feelings as people who aren’t. All of these books will give you deep new insights into the strength of humanity.

Making Sense of Book Awards

/ Adam / Leave a comment

Has this ever happened to you? You’re in a library or book store, minding your own business, when a ray of light blinds you, stopping you in your tracks. You think, “Is this aliens? Is this the rapture? What is going on?” You catch your breath and realize it’s just the gleam of one of those shiny emblems that says, “Booker Prize.” You pick up the book and even more questions flood your mind: “Who’s this Booker fella and what right does he have to tell me what to read?!” I’ve been there, I get it. But there’s no need to dismay. Once you make sense of book awards, they can be helpful tools in the eternal search for your next book.

Booker Prize

The Booker Prize (formerly the Man Booker Prize) is awarded to a book written in English and published in the United Kingdom or Ireland. A panel of five, made up of “creative peers,” choose the winning book. The award skews towards British and Irish authors, but winners hail from around the world, like Sri Lankan author Shehan Karunatilaka or Jamaican author Marlon James. These books land on the literary side side of things, and some recent winners include George Saunders’ Lincoln in the Bardo, Margaret Atwood’s The Testaments, and Bernadine Evaristo’s Girl, Woman, Other.

The International Booker Prize is also worth noting. These books are translated into English and must be published in the UK or Ireland. The Vegetarian by Han Kang, Flights by Olga Tokarczuk, and Time Shelter by Georgi Gospodinov won in 2016, 2018, and 2023 respectively.

Nebula and Hugo Awards

The Nebula and Hugo Awards are the two big names associated with science fiction and fantasy (SF/F) literature. The biggest difference between these awards is the voting body. To vote on the Nebula, you need to belong to the Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers Association. Essentially, you need to be a SF/F writer yourself. For the Hugo Award, all you need is a membership to the World Science Fiction Convention, which costs $50. Despite this difference, it’s not uncommon for a single title to win both awards. Some recent examples of this feat are Network Effect by Martha Wells, The Stone Sky by N. K. Jemisin, and This is How You Lose the Time War by Amal El-Mohtar and Max Gladstone.

Edgar Award

The Edgar Award is named after (who else but) Edgar Allen Poe to honor the best of the mystery genre, and chosen by the Mystery Writers of America. In the past, some familiar names have won: Stephen King for Mr. Mercedes and Noah Hawley (writer of the Fargo television series) for Before the Fall. But overall, The Edgar Award stands out to me because the winning books tend to be less well known; it’s a good way to find underappreciated gems. Some recent winners include Notes on an Execution by Danya Kukafka, Djinn Patrol on the Purple Line by Deepa Anappara, and The Stranger Diaries by Elly Griffiths.

National Book Award and Pulitzer Prize

The National Book Award (courtesy of the National Book Foundation) and the Pulitzer Prize for Fiction (courtesy of Columbia University) are both meant for American authors. The Pulitzer Prize is awarded to novels that “deal with American life” and tend to be fairly popular, often getting the television or movie treatment in the years after its win. The National Book Award has more lofty goals, and is designed to “ensure that books have a prominent place in our culture.” These winners don’t generate as much buzz, but they’re just as profound and moving.

Winners of the Pulitzer Prize for Fiction include The Nickel Boys by Colson Whitehead, All the Light We Cannot See by Anthony Doerr, and The Goldfinch by Donna Tartt.

Winners of the National Book Award include Blackouts by Justin Torres, Sing, Unburied, Sing by Jesmyn Ward, and The Good Lord Bird by James McBride.

Nobel Prize in Literature

The Nobel Prize in Literature is voted for by the Swedish Academy and stands out in a couple ways: Authors from any country are eligible for the award, and awards are based on an author’s body of work as a whole. This means that the winning author can put the “Winner of the Nobel Prize in Literature” stamp on any book in their back catalogue and any future book they write. Sounds like a good deal to me! Past winners include Kazuo Ishiguro, Alice Munro, and Toni Morrison.

Women’s Prize for Fiction

The last award I’ll touch upon is the Women’s Prize for Fiction which is voted on by a panel of five notable women. This award, along with the Booker Prize and the now defunct Costa Book Awards, at one point made up the “trinity” of UK’s literary prizes. Recent winners include Piranesi by Susanna Clarke, Hamnet by Maggie O’Farrell, and An American Marriage by Tayari Jones.

It can also be interesting to look at the notable awards of non-English speaking countries. Winners usually have an English translation available, and their relative obscurity makes it feel like you’ve uncovered some esoteric text. Compass by Mathias Énard was a great find of mine that won the French Prix Goncourt Award in 2015.

At the end of the day, it’s important to remember that these awards are all made up. They were all chosen by people, and people have their own tastes, their own mercurial and indecipherable preferences. There is no trait–not intelligence, success, nor clout–that makes one person a better “book judge” than another. If you find an award that speaks to you, great! But otherwise, take them all with a grain of salt and keep in mind the only book award that truly matters: The (insert your name here) Award.

P.S. If you really want to dive into the dramatic side of the book award world, there is always heated discussion about each year’s Booker Prize shortlist. This year, the six shortlisted books will be announced on September 23rd, and the more bookish parts of the internet will be a-buzz, defending their favorites and attacking the books they deem unworthy. It’s a bit messy, but good fun.

4 Teens’ Takes on “A Good Girl’s Guide to Murder”

/ Evelyn / 1 Comment

The following is a collection of book reviews by four teens (identified here by their initials) who read Holly Jackson’s novel, A Good Girl’s Guide to Murder. All four teens rated the book 5/5 stars. What makes it so good? Should you read it, too? Read on!

Grammar and spelling in some reviews have been edited for clarity.

Summary (provided by the publisher):

Everyone in Fairview knows the story.

Pretty and popular high school senior Andie Bell was murdered by her boyfriend, Sal Singh, who then killed himself. It was all anyone could talk about. And five years later, Pip sees how the tragedy still haunts her town.

But she can’t shake the feeling that there was more to what happened that day. She knew Sal when she was a child, and he was always so kind to her. How could he possibly have been a killer?

Now a senior herself, Pip decides to reexamine the closed case for her final project, at first just to cast doubt on the original investigation. But soon she discovers a trail of dark secrets that might actually prove Sal innocent . . . and the line between past and present begins to blur. Someone in Fairview doesn’t want Pip digging around for answers, and now her own life might be in danger.

Use 5 words to describe this material.

OM: Truth, justice, friendship, reputation, mystery

GF: Mystery, suspenseful, confusing, thought-provoking, and compelling

KA: Mysterious, action-filled, suspenseful, perseverance, and thrilling

MH: Captivating, thrilling, entertaining, suspenseful, shocking

Why did you read/view this material?

OM: It is a New York Times bestseller and friends were recommending it.

GF: I read this book because my friend recommended it to me and it looked like a very interesting book.

KA: I read this book because of how it was getting amazing reviews and also because of how I wanted to read the whole series.

MH: I read A Good Girl’s Guide to Murder because it was popular and I am interested in the genre of murder mysteries. 

What was your favorite part and why? 

OM: The surprise twist at the end. This story kept you at the edge of your seat. 

GF: My favorite part of the book is when you find out who is behind the whole scene. The buildup in this book is amazing, and I was questioning who actually did it the whole time. The book surprises you with that answer! 

KA: My favorite part was when Pip found out who was the true murderer. It was the person I least expected. 

MH: My favorite part is the part that must never be spoiled ahead of time, this is the part where everything falls together and Pippa figures everything out. This is my favorite part because it’s so satisfying to see all the clues put together, the ending is so unexpected. It is an ending worthy of Agatha Christie.

What is one thing that you would change about this material? Why? 

OM: The beginning is a little confusing, as it switches from first person, to journal entries, to interview transcripts. I had to spend more time than I usually would figuring out what was important to focus on before could I really process the point of the story.

GF: One thing that I would change about this book is giving the outside characters that are still relevant to the book more of a story. In this book, everyone is viewed as a suspect for Pip to investigate, but in reality, every character is different and has their strengths and weaknesses.

KA: Something I would change about this book is how it has pictures. I prefer when books do not have pictures.  

If you could ask the author/creator one question about this material, what would it be and why? 

OM: I would ask the author how she got the idea because the book states that it is completely fiction. It is such a well thought out and creative story, I would love to know where she gets her inspiration.

GF: If I could meet Holly Jackson and ask her one question about A Good Girl’s Guide To Murder, I would ask her what gave her the idea to write this book. It has very big plot twists and the storyline is complex, so I would ask her how she came up with this.

KA: Something that I would ask Holly Jackson is what inspired her to write a book about this topic. Was it based on a true story/something that really happened?

MH: If I could ask Ms. Jackson one question about A Good Girl’s Guide To Murder, it would be this, how did you come up with your ending? The ending was truly very unexpected and surprising, I would like to know how Ms. Jackson came up with such a unique ending.

Who do you think would like this material and why?

OM: Anyone that enjoys mysteries or realistic fiction would enjoy this book.

GF: I think that teenagers would like this book. This is because it has great characters that most people can relate to, and it has big plot twists that older kids would enjoy.    

KA: I think people who like crime/murder related books would like this.

MH: I think anyone thirteen years old or older would enjoy this book, even adults, the plot develops very quickly, yet it is not at all predictable. It is a thrilling and exciting read for anyone, not just true crime geeks.

Unconventional Ghosts

/ Adam / Leave a comment

I love ghosts. I’ve never met a ghost myself, so the best I can do is read about them. Why ghosts? Well, they don’t have to follow our rather tiresome rules of gravity and thermodynamics! They could do a loop-de-loop in the air, just for the fun of it. Maybe I’m a bit jealous…

There are many shades of ghost: vengeful ghosts, poltergeists, ghosts with the intent to improve the life of a living person à la A Christmas Carol… These are all fun in their own way, but I find it especially delightful when ghosts are given roles that betray their traditional raisons d’être–ghosts that are not strictly malicious, nor are just around to aid the protagonist. These ghosts are maybe just as complicated and multi-faceted as the humans who begat them.

It’s also interesting to see how authors answer fundamental ghost questions like: Why has the ghost come into existence? What makes the ghost different from a living person? What does the ghost want? The answers to these questions change dramatically from author to author and story to story. They also feel substantial, weighty. Making assumptions and declarations about ghosts is not so different from making assumptions and declarations about life. Like a Rubin vase, where the negative space around a subject becomes its own subject, writing about ghosts and death is a clever way of writing about life.

Anyway, here are some exciting and not-quite-traditional portrayals of ghosts.

Ghostwritten by David Mitchell

David Mitchell’s first novel is ghost-obsessed. “Ghost” is even in the title! But instead of offering a treatise on ghosts and ghostliness, Mitchell’s ghosts, or “noncorpora,” are hard to pin down. They come in many forms, sometimes existing independently and other times hopping from human to human, using bodies as a kind of macabre public transport. For part of the book, we follow one such noncorporum as it travels through rural Mongolia in the body of an American tourist. This particular noncorporum is a self-described “inhuman humanist” and provides some delightfully empathetic insights into the human condition.

Lincoln in the Bardo by George Saunders

Sometimes when driving home, I’ll hang out in the left lane even if the right lane is moving faster. In my head, I’m thinking, “I know the left lane is faster!” when that’s clearly not the case. People are stubborn, and George Saunders doesn’t see any reason why ghosts wouldn’t be stubborn as well. The ghosts in Lincoln in the Bardo are so stubborn, in fact, they cannot come to terms with the reality of death. Their “sick-forms” (read: corpses) lie in “sick-boxes” (read: coffins) and only need rest. With just a bit more rest, they’ll emerge in tip-top shape and be able to resume their prior lives (read: they won’t). These circumstances may seem hopeless and wretched, but Saunders is able to deliver one of the most affecting and life-affirming conclusions I’ve read. A jewel of a book.

Her Fearful Symmetry by Audrey Niffenegger

Her Fearful Symmetry is a hoot. Unlike some of the other books mentioned here that use the otherworldly to contrast comically with the mundane, Her Fearful Symmetry wholeheartedly commits to flights of fancy. Romance and death intertwine and are taken to their melodramatic extremes. There are envious ghosts, faked deaths, identical twins posing as one another: everything you could possibly want in a story. It’s often absurd and always sublimely entertaining.

100 Years of Solitude by Gabriel García Márquez

In 100 Years of Solitude, characters are haunted by their lineages. Decisions and dispositions repeat from generation to generation, entire lifetimes become ghostly echoes of the past. It is no surprise, then, that actual ghosts occasionally show up to haunt the residents of Macondo. Touchingly (and thematically), isolation is what brings several ghosts back from the dead. They return because they “could not bear the solitude,” or in another case, “the yearning for the living was so intense, the need for company was so pressing.” Human connection is so fundamental a force that not even death can stand in its way.

Welcome to the Monkey House by Kurt Vonnegut

Kurt Vonnegut is a famed humanist, but he has mixed feelings about human bodies. Take Breakfast of Champions for example: the protagonist’s rapidly declining mental health is due to an abundance of “bad chemicals” in the brain. Or both Slaughterhouse-Five and Sirens of Titan, where characters’ cannot even rely upon their bodies to stay rooted in space-time. It’s no surprise then that he was interested in a world where humans are not subservient to their oft-malfunctioning bodies. Such is the conceit of the short story, “Unready to Wear,” found in the collection, Welcome to the Monkey House. A mathematician discovers a technique that allows one’s soul to be separated from their physical being and float about unburdened by corporeal whims.

Beloved by Toni Morrison

Ghosts can represent trauma, guilt, love, regret, suffering, anger, dehumanization–really anything if an author can realize their vision. But since ghosts can mean so many things, they have the potential to become unwieldy, or conversely, underbaked. Toni Morrison does not have this problem. The ghost in Beloved is loaded with nuanced meaning, compelling but elusive. This is a literary balancing act and a depiction of ghostliness so unique that it stands alone. Brutal, beautiful, and haunting.