Beatrix Potter Becomes a Vibrant Character in Susan Wittig Albert's Tale of Hill Top Farm

Several years ago, I had the distinct pleasure of watching Miss Potter, an enchanting biopic detailing the early publishing life of beloved children’s book author Beatrix Potter. I’d always loved her stories, but this film gave me a better idea of who she was as a person. I loved her spirit, her artistic drive and her conservationist fervor, and I was utterly touched by the deep friendship she shared with her publisher, Norman Warne, the childlike young man who would ultimately propose marriage to her. This chaste but intense relationship unfolds beautifully upon the screen, and echoes of it resonate throughout The Tale of Hill Top Farm, the first in a series of novels by Susan Wittig Albert that explores Beatrix’s life in England’s Lake District.

While the plots and most of the characters are invented for the series, the books use the contours of Beatrix’s life as a framework, and in this first book, Norman is still very much on Beatrix’s mind. The story is tinged with sadness because Beatrix is attempting to rebuild her life in the wake of his sudden death from a severe illness. Sometimes, the agony of her solitude nearly immobilizes her, as does regret over her failure to stand up to her disapproving parents, which could have allowed her a bit more precious time with Norman. Albert writes movingly of Beatrix’s struggle to get on with her life, particularly in the second chapter, when Beatrix reflects upon “Gentle Norman, whom she had loved with all the fierce, pent-up passion of a heart that had long ago despaired of loving or being loved.”

She also explores her devotion and bereavement through another character, Beatrix’s pet mouse Tom Thumb, who lost his wife, Hunca Munca, in an accident the year before. Of course, his feelings are not quite so deep as Beatrix’s, as we discover rather comically the first time he comes into contact with another mouse. But Tom is distraught enough to elicit sympathy from his perceptive owner.

Just as Miss Potter included understated animation to give us the sense of the way the animals she drew came alive for Beatrix, Albert incorporates animals organically as well. Many of them are meant to be animals Beatrix based her book characters on, and she has some fun setting up contrasts between the animals’ personalities or physical features and those of their fictional counterparts. Some chapters focus exclusively upon these animals, whose dialogue is all rendered in italics, a simple but effective way to help readers keep track of whether the speaker is an animal or a “Big Person,” as they call the humans. They are also present throughout the rest of the novel, commenting on the conversation of village residents and wishing they could make themselves understood. Some of my favorite parts of this first book involve the animals finding clever ways to help Jeremy, a sensitive, artistic child who has been falsely accused of stealing by his ill-tempered teacher.

Most likely, some people will find the integration of the animals annoying or feel that it takes them out of the story, but in my case, it drew me in more, and it was fun to see the differing perspectives on the same event. The human characters are enjoyable as well, though I found myself a bit overwhelmed by them. This is one of those tiny towns like Mitford or Ballykissangel where a host of colorful residents reside and everyone knows each other. Albert helpfully provides a glossary of characters, mentioning both humans and animals and indicating those that actually existed, but I still got a little bogged down at first. I’m sure this will get better as the books go along, since this one is so much about establishing the various characters. My favorites include the independent-minded Dimity Woodcock, who lives with her bachelor brother, a Justice of the Peace; Samuel Sackett, the mild-mannered vicar who does his best to keep the peace among the sometimes contentious townspeople; strong-willed Bertha Stubbs, who has a habit of accidentally inventing words in her attempts to be grandiloquent; and the aforementioned Jeremy, a thoroughly charming child. Then, of course, there is shy solicitor William Heelis, one of the few real-life characters and the man Beatrix would eventually marry.

Albert uses over-the-shoulder narration that flits from one person to the next, so meandering through the novel feels a lot like listening to one of Garrison Keillor’s tales from Lake Wobegon. We focus on one character, then another, then another, and by the time we get back to the first character we’ve half-forgotten what he or she was doing. But, as with Keillor, I was mostly too busy getting swept away to notice, even though few really extraordinary things happen. It’s a sleepy plot punctuated by a few exclamation point moments.

Albert lives in Texas, but her use of English speech patterns feels authentic, and her descriptions of the lush countryside are enough to make me want to book a trip there. While we spend so much time in other characters’ heads that I’m not sure it would be entirely accurate to call Beatrix the central character in this novel, the author does take particular care when writing about this spunky but reserved artist-storyteller in her early 30s who is looking for a fresh start. A woman with a sharp sense of humor but a compassionate spirit, Beatrix is very easy to latch onto, and I found myself empathizing with her often.

I grew up with Peter Rabbit, Jemima Puddle-Duck, Jeremy Fisher and so many other wonderful Beatrix Potter characters, and Beatrix herself is someone I relate to in many ways. Even though this first volume spends more time on background and character set-up than plot, I enjoyed it very much and look forward to visiting with Beatrix again soon.

Remembering the End of LOST With LOST: The Last Episodes

One year ago today, the epic television series LOST came to an end. In recognition of that event, I thought it would be a fitting time for me to review the final soundtrack. LOST: The Last Episodes is a second double-disc soundtrack of music from the show's final season. This album sneaked in under the radar of many fans; even though I assumed it was coming, I didn't find out it had been released until a couple weeks after the fact. For reasons that mystify me, the album only had a limited run of 5000 copies; considering that the finale's music is the culmination of almost everything leading up to it, I would think that this could potentially be the most popular soundtrack of the seven.

LOST: The Last Episodes features music from the final four episodes of the series. Disc one encompasses The Candidate, Across the Sea and What They Died For, while the second disc contains 24 tracks all drawn from The End, the series finale. The liner notes booklet includes multiple photographs from these episodes, along with a list of what tracks go with what episode and a list of musicians in the Hollywood Studio Symphony, grouped by instrument: violin, viola, cello, string bass, trombone, bass trombone, harp, piano and percussion. As orchestrally rich as Michael Giacchino's LOST scores are, it always surprises me a little to see that there is actually relatively little variety in terms of instruments used.

My favorite part of the liner booklet is the commentary by Giacchino and by showrunners Damon Lindelof and Carlton Cuse. The composer's thoughts are short and sweet, thanking the fans and everyone involved in the show for giving him such a moving creative endeavor. “I will miss LOST for years to come,” Giacchino says. Darlton are more long-winded, talking about the series of endings they experienced as the finale drew near and saying how the most intense one was listening to the symphony record the music for The End. They discuss how everyone in the studio felt the enormity of that session and how they themselves had to duck out because they didn't want to risk the microphones picking up on them bawling like babies. What Giacchino accomplished with LOST is truly extraordinary. “We strove for an ending of our series that was spiritually uplifting,” write Darlton, “and at the end we were the ones who were uplifted by the power and emotion of Michael's music. It was, for us, perfect.”

While the second disc is the true star of this collection, the first is outstanding as well. The Candidate furnishes the first five tracks. The shortest is the perilous, trombone-heavy Cage Crashers, which is immediately followed by the slightly longer and hesitantly lovely Shephard's Why, the first of the Sideways tracks, which are almost unfailingly tranquil. Sub-Primed begins on a softly melodic note as Jack and Claire share a tender moment, but the tone soon turns treacherous as the scene dissolves into a shootout. Eerie chimes and some creepy violin shrieks add to the sense of peril.

S. S. Lost-Tanic is another track that is largely action-packed and dangerous-sounding, as just a glimpse at the title might suggest. However, there is also a deeply emotional element to it as well as it signals a tragic but touching conclusion to one story arc. Life and Death is my favorite of all the LOST themes, so any track that incorporates it automatically earns my favor. Following that is the gently elegiac Flew the Coop, which accompanies a painful Sideways conversation between John and Jack.

The music from Across the Sea is set apart from the rest of Giacchino's themes; as with Ab Aeterno, the music is nearly as self-contained as the episode, though hints of it do carry over elsewhere, particularly where enigmatic Island leader Jacob is concerned. This episode reaches into antiquity to reveal the origins of the centuries-old feud between Jacob and his nemesis. Though we never get a precise date for this tale, most estimates put it at about two thousand years in the past. Hence, the music has an ancient, mythical quality to it that hints at Roman influence.

The track Across the Sea is mystical, then quietly ominous, particularly toward the end, which carries the sense of being in close proximity to danger. Don't Look At the Light is startling as well, but it gives way to a lovely variation on the Across the Sea theme that captures the wonder of what the accompanying scene reveals. A Brother's Quarrel is weighted down with sadness as a fundamental conflict begins to take root in the fertile ground of fraternity. A tragic track.

Make Like a Tree, the longest of the Across the Sea tracks, explores the family dynamics among the trio at the heart of this episode. A sense of danger intermingles with affection as two complex relationships reach a critical moment. Mother of a Plan, my favorite track from this episode, carries on the mythical quality as it underscores a scene that will have profound echoes in the final two episodes. However, it's the scene that follows that impacts me most as it depicts the aftermath of a horrific attack and the mingled sorrow and rage that accompany its discovery.

Mother of Sorrow is oppressive and mournful, the backdrop to the chain reaction of violence sparked by the incident depicted in the previous track. This gives way to Love Is Stronger Than Death, which remains sorrowful but also has a thread of beauty to it. Piano, otherwise neglected in this episode, ties the antiquity of Jacob's tale in with the grander story of the modern-day castaways.

From Across the Sea's seven tracks, we move on to the eight tracks in What They Died For, which are mostly reflective and peaceful. This begins with Cereal Experience, which finds Jack in gentle conversation first with Claire, then with Kate, which ends on a note of alarm as they resolve to destroy their powerful enemy. This sense of danger continues with The Four Amigos as Jack, Kate, Sawyer and Hurley plot how to attack their daunting task, but Walk and Talk and Aah! is more reflective, with hints of mystery as the castaways' camaraderie yields to an appearance of the enigmatic Jacob.

Hide and Snitch is brimming with peril as the primary remaining antagonist comes into contact with a contingent of survivors. The trombone especially adds to the brooding feel of the track. A Better Ben has a beautiful beginning in the Sideways before returning to the Island, where Ben has one more devious trick up his sleeve.

What They Died For has an epic feel to it that hearkens back to Across the Sea but more prominently features the main theme of the series. This mingling of Jacob's story with theirs provides one of my favorite pieces of music on the first disc. The echoes of Across the Sea continue with Jack's Cup Runneth Over, which parallels the moment captured in Mother of a Plan. Get Out of Jail Free Card concludes this disc with a mix of the enigmatic and the fun. There's a strong sense of amusement and adventure in this track, which is a cheerful note to end on.

Really, though, we're just getting warmed up, since The End still lies ahead. Disc two begins with Parallelocam, a delicate, slowly swelling track that echoes the season six premiere as we see what each major character is up to in the Sideways and on the Island. Leaver-age has a contemplative feel to it, with the strings emphasizing the mysterious nature of Desmond's quest and Jack's new brand of leadership.

The quietude continues with The Stick With Me Speech, which is enigmatic and sprinkled with the plucking of a harp. Hurley's themes are among my favorites, and here we taste both his affection and his humor before diving into the adventurous walking music. Ultrasonic Flash celebrates Jin and Sun's love with a purely romantic track that mixes their theme with the stirring arrival music that will come up many times throughout the finale.

Fly By Dire is the first truly startling-sounding track, but even that doesn't last long, moving quickly from a sense of foreboding into one of excitement. Next up comes the track with the title that prompted a big grin from me when I first saw it: Down the Hobbit Hole. Referencing Alice in Wonderland and Lord of the Rings in one fell swoop? Nice. I predicted that there would be a moment in the finale comparable to the J. R. R. Tolkien's Mount Doom climax, so it was gratifying to see something with such striking visual similarities. This is an action track, but it's more suspense and emotion than pure action, and several themes are expertly interwoven.

Dysfunctional Setup is another emotional track, this one reuniting two halves of a romantic pairing that few viewers were very invested in. Still, the affecting, strings-heavy music makes the couple seem more legitimate than it otherwise would. Mystery and danger abound in the adventurous-sounding The Well of Holes, while Pulling Out All the Stops explores similar territory before ending on a dire note amidst a sea of shrieking violins and trombones. Similarly, Blood From a Locke is super-short and panicky.

Claire is the focus of Our Lady of Perpetual Labor, sharing her big Sideways moment with Kate and Charlie. The piano and strings blend gorgeously here as we witness three awakenings within the span of a four-and-a-half-minute-long track. The gentleness of the harp on the arrival theme feels especially fitting for Claire. It ends on a rather dire note, though, just as If a Tree Falls begins on one, with jungle-flavored percussion adding to the sense that time is running short. That sense of pervasive peril continues with Locke v. Jack, which eventually slows down to feel less alarming and more heroic.

Can't Keep Locke Down is another Sideways revelation scene, and as such it is richly melodic and orchestrally dense. Locke's name is incorporated into the title of a dozen tracks over the course of seven albums; this is the last, and it's easy to imagine his smile while listening to it. The Long Kiss Goodbye is centered mostly on Island activity, particularly a long-awaited smooch between Jack and Kate, though the midsection also incorporates Sawyer's theme as he encounters Sun and Jin in the Sideways. Some action here, but primarily emotion, with a particularly affecting conclusion.

Half as long and more consistently moving is We Can Go Dutch, the scene that gives us the pay-off from Juliet's cryptic conversation with Sawyer in the season premiere. Kate Flashes Jack is shorter still but comparably heart-tugging up until the ominous final seconds. Violins and harp complement one another well in the gentle Hurley's Coronation, one of my favorite tracks. The peculiar percussion toward the end adds to a sense of wonder without feeling creepy.

The Hole Shebang, one of the longest tracks, was included in the first season six soundtrack as a bonus. This accompanies the final climax of the Island's storyline, combining intense action and soaring emotion. The simply titled Aloha encompasses several endings and beginnings at once, conveying a sense of absolute euphoria. The longest track on this album or any other LOST soundtrack is Closure, which combines several prominent themes, including those of Ben, John, Hurley and Jack, as these characters find closure on the Island and off. A magnificent piece of music, with Hurley's section particularly touching me.

Jumping Jack's Flash, by contrast, is one of the shortest, but it is no less richly melodic or emotionally satisfying. It's only a minute long, but it's incredibly cathartic as he is the last character to have this type of experience, not to mention the central character in the series. Even more gorgeous than the preceding track. Finally, Moving On takes us out of the series. This, too, was included in the first season six soundtrack, which was a nice bonus because this track, above any other, seems to magnum opus of the entire LOST saga. While I wouldn't have minded a slightly higher concentration of Life and Death, I love the blending that occurs here, with the most powerfully emotive motifs intermingling. Giacchino really had to knock this one out of the park, and I think he did. Incidentally, if you look online, you can find an alternate version of this track. As best as I can tell, it's the same until the four-minute mark, at which point the ukelele kicks in. It only plays for about a minute, giving a playful flavor to the middle of the track that seems indicative of Hurley. It makes for an intriguing alternative, but the slightly more solemn main version definitely feels like the right choice for the actual episode.

After Moving On, the “bonus track” Parting Words (Drive Shaft), the full version of the song that Drive Shaft and Daniel play together at the concert in the Sideways, feels a bit jarring. After all, it's an electric guitar-heavy rock anthem augmented by classical piano, and while those last four tracks might easily lure one into sleep, this one will yank you right back out again. Still, it's neat to be able to hear the song properly and match it up with other parts of the score, and the rather raucous nature of the song makes it seem as though it's entertainment at a party in celebration of the series.

A written review is a poor medium in which to express the sheer brilliance of the work done by Giacchino and the Hollywood Studio Symphony. A picture is worth a thousand words, and so is an exquisite musical phrase. Have a listen to this album if you get the chance. Many people were not pleased with the way LOST ended, but everyone I've talked to seems to agree that Giacchino's score is superb. This final soundtrack is the most peaceful one of the lot, with tenderly touching tracks dominating the second disc. I've never known a television show whose score is as integral to its story as LOST's is; it helped set the cinematic tone from the opening moments of the series, and the show would not have been so dramatic or cathartic without it. One year ago today, LOST ended, but something tells me that Giacchino will be enhancing television and cinema alike for a long time to come.

Number 3000: 1001 Tales to Warm Your Mind

Late last year, I realized that I was creeping up on my 3000th post here on Epinions. Because the vast majority of my Epinions writing has been story-related, whether it’s media reviews or media-inspired poetic ramblings, I thought a fitting way to mark that milestone would be with a review of 1001 Children’s Books You Must Read Before You Grow Up, a guide to some of the greatest kids’ books ever published. Moreover, I would sail on a sea of stories until I reached 3000 by hosting a write-off; hopefully it would motivate me to reach my goal by my 30th birthday and introduce me to some terrific tales in the process.

My Tales to Warm Your Mind Write-Off did motivate me, but instead of writing faster, I seemed to slow down, attempting instead to both write and read more deeply. As my three-month-long write-off stretched into six, I felt a more profound sense of community with some of my fellow members and allowed some of their stories to seep into my soul. My little write-off turned into a far more rewarding experience than I expected, so I certainly don’t mind that I missed my birthday by three months. Instead, I’m happy to be able to share a milestone day with my dear cyber-sister Beth, who celebrates eight years on Epinions today and can attest to the power of stories to bring people together.

1001 Children's Books You Must Read Before You Grow Up is an impressive but not unwieldy collection of suggestions for the avid reader and the parent of the avid reader. Each featured book has between half a page and two pages to itself, often with an illustration or two. Julia Eccleshare is listed as the general editor, and she is the one responsible for the Introduction, which comments on the children's book as a work of art and as the realm of fiction to which story is most central. She talks about the different considerations that went into compiling this list and notes how the book's format invites contemplation of the changes in style and substance that can be charted over the years. The book descriptions to be found in the 900+ pages to follow come courtesy of more than a hundred different writers, many of whom have published children's books themselves.

Aside from the preface (a charming reflection by illustrator Quentin Blake, best known for his collaborations with Roald Dahl), introduction, indexes and contributor bios, the book is divided into five sections, each of which includes a small color-coded half-circle on a designated spot on the side of the page. This makes it very easy to glance at the book and open to the desired section: red for ages 0-3, orange for 3+, yellow for 5+, green for 8+ and blue for 12+. Within each section, the books are listed in chronological order, which also makes finding things quite a bit easier. If you want to see if a particular book is included, you can consult the index of titles at the beginning of the book; the index of authors at the end is equally handy.

Each entry includes the title in large bold print, followed by the year of publication in smaller print. Below that is the name of the author, indicated by a tiny pen icon, and, if applicable, the illustrator, indicated by a tiny pencil. Below that is a small section whose contents include such info as Original Title, Nationality, Theme, Publisher and Awards. In many cases, the cover of the featured book is included; sometimes an inside illustration is chosen, and some descriptions are accompanied by a pertinent quote. Many of the pages also include a small box the same color as that section's tab listing related books. These may be suggested by virtue of having the same author or similar components. For instance, Robert Louis Stevenson's Treasure Island has a pull-out box listing “Other Great Stories of the Sea,” and Salman Rushdie's Haroun and the Sea of Stories suggests “More Fabulous Folklore”.

The main feature, however, is the book description, which is usually three or four paragraphs in length. Most of the contributors review several books and are identified by their initials at the end of the entry, but about a quarter of the writers are set apart, each reviewing just one book of particular personal significance. In these cases, a small gray tab at the top indicates who the featured reviewer is. These are especially interesting entries, since they delve into the reviewer's personal experience, whereas most books receive a more detached treatment. I love Judy Blume's reflections on Ludwig Bemelmans' Madeline, which she adored so deeply as a girl that she hid the copy she had taken out of the library, not wanting to be parted with it. “Some books you never forget,” she says. “Some characters become your friends for life.” This is most assuredly true.

Other authors with reviews of this nature include beloved author-illustrator Eric Carle, most famous for The Very Hungry Caterpillar; Newbery-winning author Jean Craighead George, whose love of nature permeates her work; and Newbery-winning Lois Lowry, whose works offer compelling commentary on the human condition. While these are wonderfully illuminating, especially for fans of that particular author, each entry in the book is well-crafted. Some of them are mostly plot summaries. Others focus upon the unusual characteristics of the illustrations or the way in which certain characters have permeated popular culture. Most entries include some mix of elements, discussing the content of the book, the historical context and the public reaction.

One thing that surprised me about this volume was how many of the books were originally written in a language other than English. This gives the book a very international flavor, and while some recommendations, like Astrid Lindgren's Pippi Longstocking and Johanna Spyri's Heidi's Wandering and Learning Years, reside on my bookshelf, I confess that the book highlights many books and authors that are entirely unfamiliar to me. Unfortunately, I have found that translated versions of most of these foreign-language books are difficult to track down, especially the ones for younger readers.

One interesting aspect of this book, which Eccleshare touches on in her introduction, is the way in which its demonstrates how the definition of what constitutes children's literature has changed over the years. Many of the books here, particularly those written prior to the 20th century, were not originally written specifically for children, but they have come to be thought of primarily as children's literature, or at least as appropriate for children as older readers. Examples of this include Aesop's Fables, the oldest entry in the collection; Johann Wyss's The Swiss Family Robinson; Alexandre Dumas's The Three Musketeers and Nathaniel Hawthorne's The Scarlet Letter. I was a little surprised at some of the books that were designated as children's lit, particularly in the 12+ section; then again, many of these books are staples of high school reading, so they certainly are appropriate for teenagers even if they were written with more of an adult audience in mind.

The smallest section by far is the 0-3 category, which is only about 40 pages long. Selections in this section include Make Way for Ducklings, the Robert McCloskey classic that inspired a whimsical series of statues that I had the pleasure of seeing up-close in Boston, and that perpetually popular tale of encouragement, Watty Piper's The Little Engine That Could. Among the books I sought out as a result of this section are Pat Hutchins' Rosie's Walk, a funny retro tale about an oblivious chicken who unwittingly thwarts a hungry fox, and David McKee's Elmer, a charming story about a multi-colored elephant.

The 3+ section is considerably longer at nearly 120 pages. Here's where we start to meet some of my really formative characters, like Winnie-the-Pooh - though I'll confess I first met the Silly Old Bear through Disney and didn't become well acquainted with the Milne version until years later – and, while we're on the subject of bears, Paddington and the Berenstain Bears. This is also the place to look for the works of childhood staple Dr. Seuss and the brilliantly minimalist Mo Willems. Speaking of minimalism, I have this section to thank for my discovery of Leo Lionni's touching Little Blue and Little Yellow, as well as the urban sprawl saga of Virginia Lee Burton's The Little House.

The 5+ section is longer still at about 200 pages, and some truly wondrous picture books grace this portion of the collection. However, because this is a slightly older age bracket, this is where we start to see chapter books, as well as poetry collections by Shel Silverstein and Jack Prelutsky. Some of the giants of Easy Readerdom are here, including Cynthia Rylant and Arnold Lobel. While I would recommend the irresistible Mr. Putter and Tabby over Henry and Mudge, the latter is probably Rylant's most popular series, so I understand its inclusion. I also agree wholeheartedly with Frog and Toad as Lobel's ideal representatives. Few fictional friendships have amused or moved me more. Irrepressible Ramona Quimby, to whom I'm afraid I related quite a bit as a rambunctious young'un, makes an appearance here too. Meanwhile, this section led me to David Shannon's A Bad Case of Stripes and Jen Wojtowicz's The Boy Who Grew Flowers, both of which deal with the struggles inherent in standing out from the crowd in a classroom setting.

The largest section in the book is the 8+ group, which stretches for more than 400 pages. This is where you will find J. R. R. Tolkien's The Hobbit, the first novel that was ever read to me and the one that furnished my quote to live by: “You are a very fine person, Mr. Baggins, and I am very fond of you; but you are only quite a little fellow in a wide world, after all!” It's the home of L. M. Montgomery's Anne of Green Gables, the book whose eloquent heroine I adored as long as she wasn't wrongly reaming out her admiring classmate Gilbert. This book introduced me to the gentle Matthew Cuthbert, the literary character who reminds me most of my late grandpa, and it taught me the term “kindred spirit,” which instantly joined my lexicon as a phrase to denote a cherished friend whose tastes and temperament are remarkably similar to one's own. Then, of course, there is J. K. Rowling's Harry Potter series, which took me through college and beyond and solidified several friendships. Moreover, up to that point, the publication of the final volume was perhaps the most significant pop cultural milestone of my life. The Chronicles of Narnia, A Series of Unfortunate Events, Bridge to Terabithia, Where the Red Fern Grows and many other novels that riveted me all make the cut here, and many of the books in this section are ones that plenty of adults have read for pleasure on their own.

I'm a little surprised that the 12+ section isn't even longer, since this is essentially the Young Adult portion and so many of the books here are really just adult novels. However, it does seem that as a separate division, the young adult designation is a rather recent phenomenon, so while we're getting plenty of adult crossover, there aren't a lot of books that started out in this niche. Those that do include Stephenie Meyer's Twilight series and Louis Sachar's Holes. Considering its length, I didn't expect to find Tolkien's Lord of the Rings listed, but it's here, though the description rather makes me suspect that whoever was assigned this epic never actually read it. (Frodo is described as an “unwilling hero” who saves Middle-earth “by first gaining and then safely returning the magical ring, which makes its bearer all-powerful, to its true home deep in the mountains.” (Ah, yes, that cozy reunion between Sauron and his beloved ring. And oh, the lengths that stubborn scallywag Frodo had to go to in order to gain this treasure in the first place!)

Out of curiosity, before I sat down to write this review, I went through the book and jotted down all of the titles that I had read. Rather to my disgruntlement, it was only one-fifth of the 1001 titles. I still have a lot of catching up to do! Of course, even with all those books, any avid reader will no doubt be able to point out omissions of their own favorites. For instance, the prolific Mercer Mayer, best known for his expansive line of Little Critter books, doesn't show up at all, nor does author-illustrator Jan Brett, notable for her richly artistic folktales with detailed borders around each page. As someone who has happily gobbled up the first 15 books in the Trixie Belden series since January, I'm miffed that while Nancy Drew merits a mention, the Bob-Whites of the Glen do not. However, a majority of the authors whose work I've enjoyed show up somewhere in the book, and if you're stumped for new things to read, this collection can offer some excellent recommendations.

Beloved books come to us in all sorts of different ways, from catching our eye on the shelf of a bookstore or library to being praised by a respected friend. This collection is yet another avenue. If you are looking for some interesting new books for the children in your life, you're sure to find some sterling stories if you peruse the pages of 1001 Children's Books You Must Read Before You Grow Up. But bear in mind that these books are not exclusively for children. To quote C. S. Lewis, “When I was ten, I read fairy tales in secret and would have been ashamed if I had been found doing so. Now that I am fifty I read them openly. When I became a man I put away childish things, including the fear of childishness and the desire to be very grown up.” For readers of all ages who are not embarrassed to get swept away by a powerful story, this guide is a treasure trove.

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I joined Epinions back in January of 2000 while searching for a place to write book reviews online. I was looking for a creative outlet and a bit of cash, and I found both. I wrote eagerly in the beginning, but most of my efforts were rather hurried and haphazard. It took a year or two before I really got the knack of reviewing, and it's a continuing learning process. Gradually coming out of my shell and interacting more with other members beyond just posting my reviews has made Epinions that much more rewarding and motivated me to write more often and more artfully. I've read the work of dozens of talented reviewers and traded comments with many of them; I can't begin to list them all here, but a few members merit a special mention...

Sleeper54 – Thank you, Tom, for all of your considerate comments and emails over the years. The niggles have improved plenty of reviews, and the compliments are deeply appreciated.

Jedikermit – Thank you, Quinn, for being my go-to person for all things Muppet.

Dragonfire88 – Thank you, Marie, for so many great geeky comment exchanges.

GaelKM – Thank you, Gael, for basking with me in the love of all things Irish.

Mql1208 – Thank you, Megan, for your invigorating thoughts on some of my favorite off-beat movies.

Popsrocks – Thank you, Phil, for your omnipresent optimism even in the most challenging circumstances.

Talyseon – Thank you, Mark, for pouring such passion into everything you undertake.

Toiletoctopus – Thank you, Mike, for your inspiring example of how to carry on a loved one's legacy.

Texas-Swede – Thank you, Thomas, fellow Swedish American, for your consistent courtesy and enthusiasm.

Bethesdalily – Thank you, Nicole, for the sense of joy and serenity that envelops me when I read your reviews and comments. With the eyes of your soul, you see the world more clearly than most people I know.

Imagine_Stars – Thank you, Shar, for the feast of words I've come to expect whenever I read your reviews. You write with such conviction and humor, and your comments are among the most thoughtful I've ever received.

Carstairs38 – Thank you, Mark, for just being you. You are a true kindred spirit whose warmth and wit have brightened many a day, and my life is so much richer because I know you.

Befus - Thank you, Beth, for being the best "big sis" a gal could ask for. You bring out the best in me as a writer and a person, and I feel blessed to call you my friend.

Since this review signals the conclusion of my Tales to Warm Your Mind Write-Off, I would also like to take a moment to thank everyone who participated, especially Mark and Thomas, who contributed so prolifically. I am also grateful to the Category Leads, especially Book Leads Dramastef and Pestyside, for being so helpful in adding titles. And since I am, to the best of my knowledge, the fourth person to reach 3000 posts on Epinions, I also have to thank Freak369, Bryan_Carey and Wlswarts for proving to me that it could be done.

Like many people across the country, I have spent the past several months bombarded with billboards announcing that the world will end today. Clearly, I didn't buy it, or I wouldn't be urging you to add several hundred books to your must-read list. So instead, I celebrate an ending of a different kind, concluding my write-off with the thought of how many wonderful stories lie in store for me and the hope that I might write a tale or two to warm someone else's mind. In the words of the enchanting Pushing Daisies, “Endings, as it is known, are where we begin.” Onward to 4000!

Hannah and Her Sister Are Partners in Crime-Busting in Strawberry Shortcake Murder

Hannah Swensen is a talented baker renowned in the tiny Minnesota town of Lake Eden for her scrumptious cookies. Lately, however, she's getting a reputation for something else: stumbling upon dead bodies. You wouldn't think this would be a frequent occurrence in a quiet place like this, but homicidal urges bubble beneath the surface of several seemingly placid residents.

In Strawberry Shortcake Murder, the second book in Joanne Fluke's series that has grown to include 14 volumes and counting, Hannah's list of discovered victims expands from two to four. While her meddling mother Delores is mortified, Hannah finds in her ensuing investigations a surprisingly fertile opportunity to bond with her sister Andrea, an elegant real estate agent. Andrea's charm and Hannah's cleverness serve them well as they hunt down clues together. On this outing, Andrea and Hannah are definite partners in crime-busting.

This book picks up a thread from the first as it involves Boyd Watson, a coach beloved by the young men he mentors but reviled by Hannah for his abusive treatment of his mousy wife, Danielle. When Boyd winds up dead in his garage, Danielle is the prime suspect, and no one aware of her situation would blame her much for taking a hammer to the head of the guy who was always knocking her around. But she insists she didn't do it. Hannah believes her and worries that with so much circumstantial evidence pointing toward her, the sheriff's department won't try too hard to look elsewhere for a killer. She can't let her friend be falsely charged with murder, even if she gets off lightly because of self-defense.

I like the personal motivation Hannah has for taking on the case this time around, and it's nice to see her becoming closer with her sister, who is the most prominent secondary character in this installment. The book also is a decent showcase for Lisa, Hannah's hard-working assistant at The Cookie Jar, and Norman, the easy-going dentist who is one of Hannah's two love interests. The other, hardened detective Mike, is slightly less involved in the story even though it's his case. That's because, while he seems like a nice enough guy, he's pretty condescending, and he's warned Hannah not to do any amateur sleuthing.

In some ways, this book is quite similar to the first, and Fluke could perhaps have changed things up a bit more. In both, Hannah finds one body early in the book, then another midway through while she's chasing down a lead regarding the first murder. The climax also has striking parallels. Some of the tactics Hannah uses to get information are definitely a little shady, not to mention a bit dangerous. Her instincts are getting better, though; not all of her ideas are very fruitful, but she seems to spend less time chasing false leads on this outing.

This mystery takes place during the week of a bake-off, so in addition to all of Hannah's regular Cookie Jar activities, we get an extra dose of delectable desserts. I also found some of the commentary on the inane banter of evening news personalities to be pretty amusing. While the book is set during December, its central dessert is one I always associate with early summer, and Fluke describes it in great detail, so now I have a major hankering for strawberry shortcake. Of course, since she provides the recipe – along with six others that look nearly as tasty – I might just have to do something about that soon...

Can the Fountain of Youth Rejuvenate Pirates of the Caribbean? Aye, Matey!

Eight years ago, a swashbuckling tale of pirates and plunder led by Johnny Depp and Geoffrey Rush burst upon movie screens, launching what turned into an epic trilogy. Depp's turn as the eccentric, perpetually inebriated Captain Jack Sparrow kept audiences coming back for more, and all three movies had their share of exhilarating sequences.

But after the pitch-perfect mix of adventure, comedy and romance that marked the first film, the franchise started to take itself a little too seriously, introducing an unwieldy hodgepodge of characters and plotlines, some of which came crashing to rather calamitous conclusions. It seems that director Gore Verbinksi and the small band of screenwriters forgot that Pirates of the Caribbean was, first and foremost, supposed to be fun. Several of the same screenwriters returned for Pirates of the Caribbean: On Stranger Tides, directed by Rob Marshall. This time around, they remembered.

On Stranger Tides brings back only four characters from the original trilogy (well, five, if you count a certain psychotic formerly undead monkey). Naturally, Depp, the true star of the franchise, returns as the wily Jack, and he's just as entertaining as ever. Even after all this time, the character is wildly unpredictable; sometimes he's blatantly self-serving, while at other times he shows surprising scruples.

Rush is also back as Captain Barbossa, who now is a privateer in the British Navy, which often puts him at odds with Jack, though circumstances will force them to work together before all's said and done. Kevin McNally is the first familiar face we see, and while his role as Jack's faithful mate Gibbs, now forced to sail with Barbossa, is often comical, it also furnishes a couple of genuinely tender moments.  Keith Richards only shows up for a few minutes, but it's fun to see him again as Jack's father.

I was a little worried that it might be hard to get used to a big new cast of characters, but the movie is so much more straightforward than the second and third, I didn't find it hard to juggle at all. The plot? Spanish sailors rescue a man who claims to have seen the Fountain of Youth. The Spanish scramble to find this legendary location. The British get wind of it, and King George – a hilariously ludicrous Richard Griffiths – orders an expedition of his own, led by Barbossa. Meanwhile, Jack meets up with Angelica (Penelope Cruz), a former nun in training who took up piracy after he seduced and then spurned her. She is first mate on yet another search for the fountain, this one led by the notorious Blackbeard (Ian McShane), who she claims is her father. She wants Jack on her ship, and she won't take no for an answer.

What we have, then, is a race among the Spanish, Barbossa, and Blackbeard. Each leader has reasons for wanting to reach the fountain, and they aren't necessarily what you would think. A good chunk of the movie intercuts between Barbossa, who has become too genteel for Gibbs and not nearly genteel enough for his uniformed officers, and Blackbeard. Since Jack is with the pirates, our primary focus is there, so we get to know the saucy Angelica; the dangerous but seemingly bored Blackbeard, who exerts absolute control over most of his crew; and the virtuous Philip (Sam Claflin), a clergyman with a relentlessly compassionate outlook. We also meet Scrum (Stephen Graham), who replaces Pintel and Ragetti as chief comic relief among the secondary pirates.

Grave challenges lie in wait for all of the characters on the gorgeous but treacherous island where the Fountain of Youth is hidden – and to get there, they need to navigate through a pod of vampire mermaids that make the shrieking eels from The Princess Bride look like a walk in the park. Only one of these alluring ladies sticks around long enough to do more than give me nightmare fodder for weeks to come; Spanish actress Astrid Berges-Frisbey brings an exotic, ethereal air to the role of Syrena, the mermaid Blackbeard captures to help him perform the complicated ritual that will lead to the restoration of his youth.

The action is fast-paced and pervasive, but the movie almost never feels truly dark or violent. Light-hearted is the order of the day, with occasional breaks for some moral ponderings by Jack, Philip and a couple of others. As usual, Jack gets most of the best lines, and they ought to be funnier if you've seen the previous movies, but Depp's delivery is so impeccable that I doubt it matters much. Dizzying fight sequences abound, and every time I heard the swelling of Hans Zimmer's epic score, now doubly ingrained thanks to its inclusion in The Lonely Island and Michael Bolton's recent viral video, I found it hard to resist swinging my invisible sword in time to the music. (Hey, there had to be some advantage to getting stuck in the front row – lots of arm space!)

I loved Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl. The beautifully filmed On Stranger Tides, replete with witty dialogue and brilliant sight gags, recaptures the magic of that first installment. The conclusion does not demand a sequel, but it certainly leaves the door open, and I've heard talk of another trilogy. That seems excessive. But if they stick with the tone that makes this one such a treat, you can bet I'll be watching and raising my phantom sword in triumph.

The Visuals Soar But the Rest Drags in Legend of the Guardians

I'm a sucker for talking-animal movies, so when I saw advertisements for Legend of the Guardians: The Owls of Ga'Hoole, based on the intermediate series about warrior owls, I was intrigued. I'd seen the books but had never read them, and I thought this might serve as a good introduction to that world. Now that I've watched it, my interest in the books has dwindled. Granted, it's generally not a good idea to judge a book by its film adaptation, and I do get the sense that this story would work better on paper. But I can't say the plot really grabbed me either.

Legend of the Guardians is a computer-animated movie directed by Zack Snyder and starring a host of voice actors from England, Australia and New Zealand. Some of them, like Helen Mirren, Hugo Weaving, David Wenham, Anthony LaPaglia and Sam Neill, are familiar to me; most aren't. All of the characters, aside from a peculiar snake who serves as a nursemaid to the family of Soren (Jim Sturgess), are owls, and all of them have unusual names, and all those accents sort of blended together for me and I had a rather hard time telling everyone apart. My favorite characters are Digger (Wenham) and Twilight (LaPaglia), who basically serve as comic relief, which is sorely needed in this dark and sometimes disturbing movie.

The animation, while perhaps not quite at a Pixar level, is very well done, particularly when it comes to the backgrounds. The enormous Tree of Ga'Hoole, where the legendary Guardians live, is breathtakingly gorgeous, and some of the scenes of the owls in flight are as well. There's a Tolkienish quality to the film, with the Guardians whom Soren seeks light-bathed, ethereal and reminiscent of the Elves. Meanwhile, the evil owls from whom the kidnapped Soren escapes reside in a stronghold reminding me of Saruman's fortress of Isengard. Here, the cruel Pure Ones, led by Metalbeak (Joel Edgerton) and Nyra (Mirren), forge weapons and build an army out of abducted owlings brainwashed into obedience.

It's a pretty basic quest story, with Soren, having been taken by the Pure Ones, making his escape with some help from the grizzled Grimble (Weaving), who assures him that the legends he's heard about the Guardians are true, that they really do exist and he must go to them for help before Metalbeak's rise to power is complete. Undertaking this mission involves a leap of faith, as Soren must decide whether to believe Grimble or his own brother, Kludd (Ryan Kwanten), who says it's a load of hogwash. But Kludd has chosen to ally himself with Nyra, and he and Soren never saw eye to eye anyway, so the budding hero makes his choice, laying the groundwork for a future showdown with his hard-hearted sibling, who later uses their little sister as a means of gaining greater rank within the Pure army.

It's a simple story, but I found it hard to stay engaged with it. My mind kept wandering, and the oppressive feel of the film didn't help. While there's nothing too graphic, the movie is certainly violent, and the depiction of the brainwashing of the young abductees is just plain creepy. It's dark, and frankly, it's also dull more often than not. At more than an hour and a half in length, it's on the long side for an animated film, and the length doesn't do it any favors. I also found the use of pop music rather incongruous and distracting (though I have to smile that one of the included songs is by Owl City).

I like the epic feel of the movie and the way it explores ideas about faith and about the boundaries between legend and reality. Parts of it are visually dazzling, and some of the banter between Digger and Twilight is pretty funny. The voice work is fine as well, with Weaving, Wenham, LaPaglia and a bone-chilling Mirren standing out the most. But I wouldn't watch it again, and if a sequel comes out, as the film's conclusion suggests may be the case, I think I'll give it a pass.

An Epic Modern Fairy Tale Unfolds in Season One of Beauty and the Beast

When I was ten years old, Disney's Beauty and the Beast arrived in theaters, introducing me to my favorite Disney heroine. While I'll never be mistaken for the most beautiful girl in town and I have a long way to go before I can begin to match her courage, I've always related to Belle on a number of other levels.

We're both bookworms who appreciate the enchantment inherent in rows of well-worn volumes lining a library wall, who have heads so full of dreams and distant stories that our peers perceive us as odd as we wander past, half-dazed. We are fiercely loyal to our families, and we have a certain tendency to see the world and those in it a little differently than most. Beauty and the Beast is a masterpiece that I watch for many reasons, but perhaps the main one is that I see in Belle the best possible version of myself. The me I could be if my longing for adventure in the great wide somewhere became strong enough to convince me that I want much more than this provincial life.

I watch Disney's Beauty and the Beast mostly for the Beauty. But there is another Beauty and the Beast, an entrancing television series that debuted when I was six. Created by Ron Koslow, it is a modern-day fairy tale set in New York City, half in the upper urban landscape of crime and corruption, half in a mystical, Gothic underworld populated by sweet-spirited outcasts. At the heart of this secret world is Vincent. Magnificently portrayed by Ron Perlman, he is leonine and regal, ferocious when defending those he loves but rarely raising his voice above a murmur. Unlike the Beast of the traditional tale, Vincent's appearance is not a curse inflicted upon him in retribution for a stony heart. Indeed, if there is one trait that Vincent possesses above all others, it is empathy.

A gentle philosopher with a particular passion for poetry, he is content to reside in the shadowy splendor of the haven crafted by a compassionate but quietly tormented soul known to most in the tunnels as Father. Then he rescues Catherine Chandler, and in her he finds a love of which he had only ever dreamed. He cannot join her world, yet he is with her as she goes about her work as an assistant to a District Attorney. He feels what she feels, and when she is in danger, he forgoes the safety of his seclusion to be her protector. I watch this Beauty and the Beast mostly for the Beast.

That isn't to say that I'm not fond of Catherine, played with warmth and spunk by Linda Hamilton of Terminator fame. She shares many traits in common with Belle, and she devotes as much of her energy as she can to aiding the disenfranchised. Her connection with Vincent allows her to be even more aware of those in need, and because of her job, she is in a prime position to help them. She goes to bat for the battered, the homeless, the orphaned. And those in Vincent's world soon come to love her too, especially the many children plucked from lives as street urchins. Of course, there is always the nagging thought that while Vincent can never truly be a part of her world, she could be a part of his. Several adults are a part of Father's close-knit community; why couldn't she be one of them? The season one finale delves deeply into this question as Catherine struggles to balance her two very different but interconnected lives.

As much as I like Catherine, my second-favorite character is Father. Classically trained British actor Roy Dotrice (father of Mary Poppins co-star Karen Dotrice) brings a magisterial bearing to the role of this benevolent overseer with darkness in his past. My LOST-geek senses tingled when, upon watching the first season for the first time since it originally aired, I realized that his name was Jacob. The two leaders share many qualities, including an affinity for the broken, a love for games of strategy, an inclination to impose strict rules and a frustrating aloofness. But while Father may hold himself at a bit of a distance, he nonetheless knows each resident of his realm intimately, and all love him, even though some find his mandates maddening. Some of my favorite episodes are those that plunge into his past, revealing a soul as vulnerable as Vincent's.

The underworld occupied by Father's family is utterly mesmerizing, a gorgeous landscape of waterfalls, crystalline caverns and cozy living quarters. It's a complex underground kingdom with homes that breathe comfort as much as any hobbit hole, and its artistry could outshine the most hallowed dwarf hall. Yes, although the New York City sewer setting might more readily put me in mind of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, I couldn't help catching a whiff of Middle-earth, as well as the Utopian camaraderie of Brian Jacques' Redwall series. This hodge-podge of cast-offs always teeters on the edge of hunger, yet their underground domain is dazzlingly beautiful, and together, they procure whatever they need to survive, with help from friends on the outside.

Among the many underworld denizens, two particularly stand out to me. My favorite is Mouse (David Greenlee), a twitchy, open-hearted young man with a pet raccoon named Arthur, a brilliant mind for engineering and a certain disregard for the rules. This entirely lovable character, who comes across as mildly autistic, makes his debut in Shades of Gray, an episode reminding my very much of The Moth, one of my favorite season one LOST episodes. Both involve the leader being trapped in a cave-in and a maligned character making up for past misdeeds with a heroic rescue. This episode also introduces Winslow, played by James Avery. Like Philip Banks, the uncle on Fresh Prince of Bel-Air whom Avery is best known for playing, Winslow is imposing and ornery but cares deeply about his unconventional family.

Up above, the most prominent secondary character is Catherine's boss, Deputy D.A. Joe Maxwell (Jay Acovone). Joe, who is in nearly every episode, is a cheerful, down-to-earth guy most of the time, though sometimes the stresses of the job cause him to snap at his hard-working assistant. Their rapport reminds me a bit of Betty and Daniel on Ugly Betty, though Joe is more competent than Daniel is. Nonetheless, I get the sense that he would have a hard time getting along without Catherine. Their chummy relationship is one of my favorite elements of Catherine's world, which is far less captivating than Vincent's. There's a definite '80s cheesiness to this part of the show, particularly when it comes to the bottom-feeders who threaten Catherine's well-being.

The first season is pretty episodic, with most episodes focusing on one of Catherine's cases, though the most compelling storylines are more introspective, having to do with the unique challenges of Catherine and Vincent's relationship. These include Masques, in which Vincent dares a night on the town to attend a masquerade ball in hopes of meeting and conferring with his favorite author and No Way Down and Nor Iron Bars a Cage, both of which find Vincent captured above-ground and reliant upon the kindness of strangers as a frantic Catherine tries to locate him. The relationship between Catherine and Vincent, so intense from the beginning, doesn't change much; it's minor characters appearing in a handful of episodes who make the season best enjoyed in the proper order.

Beauty and the Beast is a rare slice of the fantastical that, due to the departure of one of the leads, lasted only three seasons. It is part crime procedural and part superhero chronicle, but above all else, it is a tale of deep and abiding romance. Like the similarly short-lived Pushing Daisies, it chronicles a chaste but profound love that endures despite far from ideal conditions, and stunning art direction, a wondrous score and hypnotic narration (by Perlman, in this case) bolster its fairy tale quality. So does the theme song, frequently incorporated in the score and given lyrics by Melanie Anne Safka-Schekeryk (though only heard in instrumental form throughout the first season), which has a timeless quality reminiscent of Storybook Love, the Princess Bride theme. “And if wishes and dreams are merely for children and if love's a tale for fools, I'll live the dream with you.” A truly beautiful series.

Norah Has a Convoluted Plan to Capture Her Crush's Heart in A Novel Idea

I recently read Scones and Sensibility, an Austen-inspired mid-grade reader that sent me to the online library catalog in search of more books influenced by the late great Jane. That's how I found A Novel Idea, a young adult novel by Aimee Friedman about a reclusive high school junior who starts a book club to beef up her extracurricular activities for her college applications.

I'm not really sure why this book came up when I looked for Jane Austen, since aside from a very offhand reference to Sense and Sensibility, her books didn't come up at all. I kept thinking that the book club would eventually settle on one of her books to read for the month; by the time I realized that wasn't going to happen, I had to keep reading anyway to finish the story. Still, that was a bit of a disappointment.

While our narrator, Norah, drops the occasional reference to real books, she mostly focuses on two fictional authors: Irene O'Dell, who writes cheesy romance novels, and Philippa Askance, a mysterious novelist whose debut made a big splash but who never makes public appearances. Both become very important to Norah between February and May, the time during which she runs her book club. Her fellow members rally around the idea of getting the elusive Philippa to do a reading at the bookstore where the club meets, while Irene O'Dell provides inspiration to Norah as she ponders how to win the affections of her new crush.

The small club only includes six members: Norah; her best friend Audre, an aspiring baker; their flamboyant friend Scott, who always knows the right thing to say to cheer the girls up on an off day; geeky Neil, who is hoping to read some sci-fi; Neil's quiet friend James, who seems to share a lot of common ground with Norah; and prissy Francesca, a gorgeous girl who is only interested in books like The Devil Wears Prada and Gossip Girl. Griffin, the hunky bookstore employee Audre has an ardent crush on, sometimes pops in on the meetings as well.

Despite the sense of connection that seems to develop between them almost the moment they meet, Norah finds it hard to believe that James could actually like her, so she implements a convoluted plan used by the heroine in Irene O'Dell's latest novel to arouse his interest. This plot basically involves making James jealous, and her schemes have great potential for humiliation. Besides, if James is as shy as Norah, which he seems to be, knowing that she has the suitors lining up would be just as likely to drive him away as make him express his own feelings.

James is my favorite character in the book, so I found myself very annoyed with Norah's method of trying to win him over. I'm painfully shy myself, so I completely get where she's coming from when, upon first realizing how much she likes him, she muses, “my crush on him was only going to lead to disaster when he inevitably rejected me.” Even though it seems at first that he might like her, she figures she must be reading too much into small gestures. None of her other crushes have ever gone anywhere; either she flubs up big-time with the guy she likes or, more often, he flat-out isn't interested. It's little wonder she's afraid to pursue James. But pursue she does, in an incredibly awkward, roundabout way that's bound to leave him terribly confused and has the potential for hurt feelings on a wider scale, particularly when she involves Audre's brother and Neil.

I'm not crazy about Norah's narrative voice, either. She's got a snarky, I-hate-the-world vibe to her, rather reminiscent of the main character from the TV show Daria. Some of her language is rather coarse, and it's tiring to hear her dismiss so many people for a variety of reasons. You would think someone who feels on the fringes would be a little more empathetic. Curiously, like the narrator in Scones and Sensibility, she seems to have a special loathing for Lord of the Rings fans. Are romance and fantasy not supposed to mix? I don't know, but that certainly didn't endear her to me. I also found it odd that, for a girl who claims no interest in fashion, she is constantly describing the clothes that people wear, mentioning name brands as she does so. More understandable is her constant dropping of references to indie bands, but this gets a little tiresome after a while, especially since I've never heard of most of them and can't tell if they're real or just inventions of the author.

The side characters are a mixed bag. I love Norah's scatterbrained parents, both of whom are brilliant scientists, but they only show up a couple of times, which is rather disappointing. Philippa is also an intriguing character, and I like the storyline involving her better than the one involving Irene O'Dell. There's very little actual book discussion that occurs, another disappointment, though I do like the way that a shared love of certain books sparks romance between two different couples.

This is a quick and fairly forgettable read. While I did get caught up in the potential romance between Norah and James and wanted it to work out for them, I often wanted to take Norah by the shoulders and give her a good shake. Some of her behavior is very frustrating, and she isn't as likable as Friedman intends her to be. While it's not too bad for a lazy afternoon read, A Novel Idea is not my idea of a great novel.

Elizabeth and Tara-Starr Preserve Their Friendship Through E-Mail in Snail Mail No More

How can friends stay connected despite vast distances that separate them? It’s easier now than it used to be. In P.S. Longer Letter Later, Paula Danziger and Ann M. Martin craft a correspondence between two 12-year-old girls. They write letters to each other, which is a slow process. It’s usually close to a week and sometimes even longer between sending off the letter and receiving the response. Having all that time in between sometimes puts a strain on the friendship, especially if the girls get testy with each other. In the sequel, Snail Mail No More, traditional pen and paper is all but out the window. They do send postcards and packages occasionally, but basically, when they want to write to each other, they use e-mail. The communication is so much quicker, allowing the friends to feel even closer this year than the last.

Elizabeth is a shy, quiet girl who enjoys poetry and lives with her mother and little sister in a small apartment. Though it’s a far cry from the elegant house where they used to live, Elizabeth is content with her change in circumstances. She’s happy to live so close to her friends Susie and Howie, with whom she has become especially close in the past few months, and she’s relieved that her erratic alcoholic dad is out of her life, maybe for good. Tara-Starr, whose move to Ohio prompted the correspondence in the first book, is adjusting to her new life too. She’s loud and flashy and isn’t afraid to express herself. This year, she has a lot on her mind, most notably her burgeoning interest in theater, an egg baby project that wreaks havoc on her romantic life and her mother’s pregnancy, with which she is very slowly coming to terms.

The letters in this book sound much the same as the ones in the first. The only real difference is the lack of a handwritten signature at the end of each one. The girls also have some fun with subject lines. But the length and frequency of the e-mails actually isn’t impacted all that much. It isn’t as though they write to each other five times a day now, nor are their e-mails generally vastly shorter than the letters. There might be a quick two-sentence e-mail sprinkled in here and there, but mostly, we’ve still got long missives that come in maybe once or twice a week. Elizabeth’s are more hesitant, Tara-Starr’s more open, but both of them are the products of kind, intelligent 13-year-olds.

Once again, I enjoyed the book and found its style easy to slip into. Neither of the narrative voices wowed me the first time, and they didn’t the second time either – though to be fair, I read both shortly after reading Gary Schmidt’s Okay For Now, which features one of the best young adolescent voices I’ve ever encountered in a novel. By contrast, Elizabeth and Tara-Starr feel pretty prosaic, but they also feel authentic and contemporary. (Well, almost-contemporary. This was ten years ago; perhaps a third installment would find the girls, now young adults, commenting on each other’s Facebook pages.) They haven’t outgrown their use of multiple exclamation points, question marks or “o”s in the word “so”. They definitely sound their age, and the way they struggle with the crises that come their way feels very realistic.

I enjoyed this book about as well as the first. Some interesting twists develop, and some of the side characters come into better focus. We get to know Susie and Howie pretty well, along with a couple of Tara-Starr’s friends. A couple of them even get e-mails addressed to them, during the portion of the book in which Elizabeth is visiting Tara-Starr. This segment is a little silly, since the girls are finally together but they keep writing e-mails to each other, but I chalk that up to excitement over the novelty of e-mail, with both have just begun using, and wanting to remember what they did during their time together. E-mails can serve as wonderful journals; just make sure to save your outgoing messages.

Snail Mail No More is an enjoyable epistolary novel that explores the continuation of a long-distance friendship, acknowledging the changes that must happen between best friends over time as each develops friends and interests apart from the other. In the midst of these changes, that friendship endures, and sometimes having a friend to pour out one's heart to in writing can be just as powerful as having a physical shoulder to cry on. In this book, Elizabeth and Tara-Starr provide each other both, leaving young readers with optimism about the capacity of friendship to endure in spite of – and maybe sometimes because of – challenging circumstances.

Doug Swieteck Steps Out of the Shadows in the Luminous Okay For Now

In Gary Schmidt’s The Wednesday Wars, the young narrator, Holling, receives an extraordinary opportunity that he shares with two other boys. One of them is class troublemaker Doug Swieteck, and his inclusion in this invitation has an even greater impact on him than on the main character and his best friend. That much is plain just from Holling’s observation. But it isn’t until Okay For Now, Schmidt’s equally remarkable sequel, that we get to hear Doug speak for himself and come to understand just how profoundly this incident moved him.

At the beginning of Okay For Now, Doug and his family relocate to Marysville, still in New York but a bit of a distance away from the big city. They move into a ramshackle house Doug refers to as The Dump, and at first glance, he sees nothing in town that looks too promising. It’s the summer before eighth grade, and Doug is hot and miserable, keenly aware of being an outsider in a boring town with judgmental residents. At home, he has to deal with his older brother, a whirling dervish of destruction, and his father, who seems like an adult version of his brother. His oldest brother, Lucas, is off fighting in the Vietnam War, though Doug can’t say he misses him much, since Lucas wasn’t any nicer to him than the other men of the family. Doug’s mother, however, is another matter. She speaks very little throughout the novel, as she is cowed by the fear of an abusive husband, but she clearly is a woman of warmth and compassion, and Doug adores her.

In Wednesday Wars, the central relationship of the book is between Holling and his teacher, Mrs. Baker. Several mentors come into Doug’s life in his eighth grade year, but his core relationship is with Lil Spicer, a spunky classmate he meets on his first day in town. It is she who leads him to the library where he will discover the artwork of John James Audubon and befriend Mr. Powell, a librarian who gives him art lessons. It is she who gets him a job working as a delivery boy for her father’s deli, which leads to several more acquaintanceships, most importantly with Mrs. Windermere, an eccentric playwright, and the Daughertys, who hire Doug to babysit regularly for their five rambunctious children. It is she who becomes his truest refuge in the tumultuous year to follow.

Doug makes no secret of his devotion to his mother, but he is even more effusive in his praise of Lil and can scarcely mention her without remarking on her dazzling green eyes – a trait she shares, incidentally, with Lily, the virtuous mother of Harry Potter – or her stunning smile or the warmth of her hand when she reaches over to squeeze his in encouragement. My favorite of his many descriptions comes toward the end of the book, in the chapter named after the Brown Pelican print that hangs in the office of Principal Peattie, a condescending man who speaks of himself in the third person and is prejudiced against Doug because of the rumors circulating about his brother. “You know how pretty someone can be when she opens up a book?” Doug asks us. “Especially if she has brown hair the color of the pelican’s feathers?”

Just as a series of Shakespeare’s plays provides a good deal of scaffolding for Wednesday Wars, the birds of Audobon give this book structure and focus. Doug is startled to find himself so drawn to those birds, and he recoils at Mr. Powell’s initial attempts to encourage him to artistically capture them. But they become incredibly important to him. Each is a bird featured in a magnificent collection of Audobon paintings housed at the library – a hefty volume that is incomplete because the town council has seen fit to sell individual prints from the book to collectors. Restoring those birds to their proper place in the library becomes Doug’s overarching mission for the year. Having this concrete goal, as well as the perpetual project of becoming more adept at drawing the birds, is very good for Doug. Moreover, studying the birds at length helps him to work through some of his own issues.

Doug frequently asks the reader some variation of “You know how that feels?” He wants us to be able to put ourselves into his situation, just as he puts himself into the situation of the birds in the paintings. It turns out that he is a deeply empathetic soul, with a great concern for the lonely, the weak, the disenfranchised, the frightened. He sees these qualities in many of the birds he studies; they seem to him fellow victims of an unfair fate. But gradually, he begins to see other things as well, like nobility, compassion, devotion and courage. As he looks at these birds in a new light, he begins to imagine new possibilities for himself as well.

Doug has a wonderfully earthy pre-teen voice. It’s more direct and less pensive than Holling’s, and I didn’t really get the sense, as I did in the first book, that he was looking back on this year from several years in the future. His gruff, matter-of-fact tone reminds me of LOST’s Frank Lapidus; his style can perhaps best be summed up in his assessment of his English class’s poetry unit: “Why can’t poets just say what they want to say and then shut up?” His words, especially toward the beginning, often have a harsh edge. He liberally applies the word “stupid,” particularly if he’s describing Marysville. “Terrific,” he often grumbles, allowing that sarcastic thought a line to itself on the page. “So what?” comes up a lot, as does “I’m not lying”; this is a kid who is used to being on the defensive. He also frequently refers to himself as a chump – or, conversely, protests that he is not a chump.

Although Doug’s mind is often an angsty place to be, it has an undeniable beauty of its own, and his repetitive turns of phrase come to feel enjoyably familiar rather than annoyingly redundant. He is at his most poetic when he draws comparisons between the birds and himself, his family members and Lil, though his rambling run-on sentences, many of which describe moments of unexpected happiness, also offer a refreshing break from his typically terse style. It feels as though he’s releasing a whole lot of pent-up emotion. For instance: “You know how good an orange Dreamsicle tastes on a blue fall day when you’re full of grilled chicken and your mother is laughing a real laugh like she used to and once you look over and your father is holding her hand like they haven’t in a long long long time?”

One of Doug’s frequent observations is that when things seem to be going well, they always take a turn for the worse. His eighth grade year is full of ups and downs, and while many of Holling’s low points in the previous book are comically disastrous, Doug’s tend to veer more toward the tragic. It’s hard for him to imagine a truly happy life for himself. When he does dare to dream, most of his visions involve baseball player Joe Pepitone, his personal hero. In the first book, baseball provides a harsh lesson for Holling in just how much those we look up to can let us down. The lesson Doug gets is quite the opposite – that sometimes, when you least expect it, people may step up to the plate. Good things can happen, even to a guy who’s always been stuck with his brothers’ discarded leftovers and judged by their misdeeds, and the statistics that he studies so intently don’t necessarily determine what is going to happen next. Life is full of surprises, and some of them are wonderful.

As in Wednesday Wars, the historical context is of the utmost importance to this novel. The Vietnam War rages on, and eventually Lucas returns from it, changed almost beyond recognition, which in turn sparks a massive change in the Swieteck family dynamics. Through Lucas and Doug’s gym teacher, a former drill sergeant, Schmidt delves into the war’s effect upon those who lived through it as soldiers. Meanwhile, Doug’s favorite teacher, the enthusiastic and kind-hearted Mr. Ferris, is ecstatic over the impending moon landing. Schmidt also sneaks in some sly jokes as he has teachers contemplate the future. Between Mr. Ferris and Mr. Powell, I found this book to be quite science-oriented, while faith plays a prominent role in the first book. This also seems to be a reflection of the differences between the two young narrators, one more philosophical, the other more down-to-earth. The differing perspectives deepen each other rather than detracting.

I loved The Wednesday Wars. Okay For Now is similar in some ways and very distinct in others, and I honestly can’t say which of the two I liked better. Each is equally exquisite, and I am excited to hear that Schmidt plans one more companion novel. Although there is minimal overlap between the two stories, read the first book first, as some of the events here will make a greater impact that way (and a couple of the events in the first will be spoiled for you if you read out of order). Then crack open the cover of this book and let yourself get lost in it. Doug Swieteck may be just “okay for now,” but his story is nothing short of exceptional.

A Bengali Family Struggles to Maintain Traditions in The Namesake

A young Indian man named Ashoke is traveling by train, perusing a book by his favorite author, Nikolai Gogol, when an accident occurs. The last thing he hears before the train wreck that kills most of the other passengers is the advice of an older man seated nearby. “Pack a pillow and blanket. See the world,” he tells him. “You will never regret it.” After a rehabilitation process, Ashoke does just that, eventually settling in New York, the bustling city to which he will bring his new bride, Ashima, a woman he barely knows.

This is the situation that sets the stage for The Namesake, the 2006 film directed by Mira Nair and adapted from Jhumpa Lahiri’s novel by Sooni Taraporevala. The movie, at least so the description had me believe, is not about these two characters but about their son Gogol, a young man named for that author and struggling to find his way in a world where he is torn between the traditions of his parents and the lure of contemporary America. Kal Penn, as perpetual fish out of water Gogol, is the film’s star, and certainly his character develops over the course of the film as he tries to figure out just who he is. To me, though, the movie is more about the parents.

Irrfan Khan gives a marvelous, understated performance as Ashoke, who is quiet, studious and gentle. He is the character I felt most drawn to, a true compassionate soul although he finds it difficult to express his feelings openly. Despite his reserve, we see through many small actions what a good man he is; even when his new life with Ashima gets off to a shaky start, it’s clear that he will be a kind and attentive husband. Tabu is also excellent as Ashima, and I would argue that more than any other character, this is her story. She, too, is on the quiet side, but we understand her excitement and apprehension at starting a new life so far from her home and extended family, and during moments of anguish, we truly feel her turmoil.

Gogol’s story is about being a first-generation American, born with one foot in two different cultures. For Ashima, it’s about learning to embrace an entirely different way of life while retaining as much of her own culture as she can. It’s also a love story, with Ashoke and Ashima reminding me of Tevye and Golde in Fiddler on the Roof. Their personalities are not so in opposition, and they have more of a say in their marriage than the central couple in that classic musical. Still, the circumstances of their matrimony seem pretty strange to a modern American audience. Could you move halfway around the world to start a new life with a man you didn’t know existed a couple days earlier? But Ashima does, and later in the movie, she and Ashoke share a conversation much like Do You Love Me?, the song in which Tevye questions Golde about her feelings toward him after all these years together. Their relationship really works.

Gogol is not interested in seeking out marriage the way his parents did. He rejects his mother’s attempts to introduce him to a nice Bengali girl, especially since she turns out to be obnoxious. (This young woman, incidentally, is played by Zuleikha Robinson, who portrayed Ilana, one of my favorite characters in LOST’s final season, though I found her role disappointingly underdeveloped.) Instead, he embraces the dating scene like any typical college student and forms a close bond with Maxine (Jacinda Barrett), a sweet girl whose family adores him. But incidents in his own family cause him to question whether he can turn away from his upbringing so completely.

The Namesake is a low-key but compelling film about family and culture clashes in modern America. While Gogol’s story is engaging, I found myself more drawn to Ashoke and Ashima, but whichever generation holds the greater appeal, I recommend this movie as a compelling examination of the struggles inherent in trying to juggle two worlds.

Trixie Has Trauma and Dad Has a Headache in Mo Willems' Knuffle Bunny

When I was a wee one, I had a small stuffed sea lion named Seymour that I got as a souvenir from Sea World. I loved that little pinniped, and I took him everywhere, wanting him to experience all of the excitement of life right along with me. One time, when we were on a car trip, I decided to dangle him out the window so he could feel the fresh air zooming past his whiskery face. My grip was not the greatest. By the time the shock wore off and I hollered that we had a sea lion down, poor Seymour was miles behind us. We tried going back to find him, but he was nowhere to be seen. Needless to say, it was a rather traumatic event.

In Mo Willems’ Knuffle Bunny, a Caldecott Honor book and first in a series of three starring a young girl and her battered plush bunny, Trixie faces a similar crisis. Thankfully, she does not lob her beloved bunny out of a car doing 60 on the highway, but she does manage to leave him behind in a most inconvenient (and high-traffic) place: the Laundromat. What’s worse is that Trixie has not mastered the art of human speech yet, so when she tries to alert her father to the terrible situation, all he hears is a cranky toddler in dire need of a nap. What’s a poor lass separated from her best friend in the world to do?

Knuffle Bunny is a cute story whose impact increases when one sees it as the first of three tales, which chart Trixie’s growth into a girl who may be in her double digits – or nearing them, anyway – but still has a hard time holding on to her favorite toy. Her early life is punctuated by three major bunny-losing incidents, and one wonders how many others might have occurred in between. It’s comical but heart-wrenching as well, since when you’re that age, few things seem more tragic than losing your most beloved stuffed plaything. In the same way that Pixar’s Toy Story trilogy touched a nerve with kids and especially those who remember what it was like to be a kid, Willems is tapping into something pretty universal here.

While many of Willems’ books, including the Pigeon series and the Elephant and Piggie books, feature anthropomorphic animals, Knuffle Bunny never speaks. He simply rests in Trixie’s arms or flops around in the washing machine, big white eyes staring blankly out at the world. He has an endearingly frumpy quality reminiscent of the Velveteen Rabbit at his most loved, but this is not really his story. It’s Trixie’s, and maybe even more than that – at least in this first book – it’s her parents’ story as they react to the crisis. Mostly, we see Dad, with his bright orange hair, thick glasses, and indulgent smile that fades into a grimace as Trixie goes ballistic over her abandoned bunny. Aside from waving her family off at the beginning, Mom only comes in toward the end, and the two-page spread depicting her greeting to her weary husband and devastated daughter is perhaps the funniest moment in the book.

Trixie, Knuffle Bunny and her parents are drawn in a flat, cartoonish style with bright colors, and any other people they pass have a similar look to them. Meanwhile, the backgrounds are all black and white photography, which gives the book an unusual look and increases the realism. It’s easier to see what a likely scenario this is when you’re looking at real places. It’s also fun to try to read the writing in the photographs, particularly the dire warning In the Laundromat: “Not Responsible for Clothing or Any Other Articles Left on Premises”. The story is written with simple language and large kid-print letters against a sea foam background. Most sentences are pretty basic, though some of them stretch across several pages, and Willems makes some of the dialogue pop out more by placing it in dialogue bubbles.

Knuffle Bunny enjoyed such great success that Willems was commissioned by the John F. Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts to adapt it into a musical, and some versions of the book include a CD of the original cast recording, which features music composed by Michael Silversher and sung by Stephanie D’Abruzzo, Michael John Casey and Erika Rose. Twelve songs tell the tale, which lasts about half an hour, so obviously we’re able to delve a bit more into the characters of exuberant Trixie, her goofy, overly confident dad and her really-has-her-act-together mom.

The songs are charming, with humor and emotional appeal that should span the generations. The seventh track, Really, Really Love You, is the heart of the tale, in which Dad confesses that he doesn’t always get things right but no matter what, he loves his little girl. He gets all the funniest moments too, waffling between cocky and harried as the communication gap between him and his daughter causes him frustration. Probably the best showcase for the three together is Tricky With Trixie, the second track, which demonstrates the challenges of life with a two-year-old. In addition to the fun mini-musical, the final track on the CD features Willems reading the book to and with his daughter, the real Trixie, with his wife Cher reading Mom’s dialogue. A very sweet family effort.

While the CD is a wonderful added bonus, the greatest charm lies in the simple, stripped-down story Willems presents through the book. Knuffle Bunny is touching, funny and destined to be a classic.

Nanny McPhee Returns to Weave Her Enchantment During World War II

Last year, Nanny McPhee Returns arrived in theaters, and while I’d enjoyed the first film about an eccentric nanny who works wonders in a household that desperately needs her, my primary reason for wanting to see the movie was quite silly. I had seen footage of the premiere, and I spotted Emma Thompson walking with a woolly pig. It was one of the strangest creatures I had ever seen, and I assumed that it was one of the stars of the sequel. When I finally got around to renting it this week, I confess that the pig was what I most looked forward to seeing. Alas, although it’s hardly customary to bring one’s pets to a movie premiere, apparently the sheep-pig was merely a personal pet of Thompson’s. At any rate, it played no role in the movie. How disappointing…

Although a small part of me kept hoping throughout the film that the sheep-pig would eventually show up, I mostly gave up on it early on and resolved to enjoy the movie anyway. Like the first movie, it finds Thompson playing Nanny McPhee, a frumpy, intimidating personage who arrives unwanted and begins to work her magic upon a group of unruly children and their overwrought guardian. She is the only character linking the two movies – except for the eccentric Aggie (Maggie Smith), an elderly shopkeeper. Aggie was just a baby in the first movie, so that tells you how many years have passed. Instead of the late 1800s, we’re now in the 1940s, and World War II hangs heavy in the air.

On an untidy little farm out in the English countryside, Isabel Green (Maggie Gyllenhaal) is waiting for her husband to come home from the war. She’s trying to manage the farm without him, but it isn’t easy, especially since she has three rambunctious children to contend with. What’s more, her cossetted niece and nephew have just arrived, and nobody’s very happy about it. Even worse, unbeknownst to her, Isabel’s brother-in-law Phil (Rhys Ifans) gambled away the farm to two rather terrifying women who intend to do nasty things to him if he doesn’t cough it up. As a result, he’ll now do just about anything to get her to sign away her property. Isabel could really use some help.

The setting is sometimes picturesque, sometimes grotesque. The surrounding fields are gorgeous, but the immediate area near the house is a muddy mess. If it were just mud, that wouldn’t be such a bad thing, but there is great reasons to suspect that this sludge is more malodorous in nature. It’s certainly not a welcome sight for stuffy Cyril (Eros Vlahos) and spoiled Celia (Rosie Taylor-Riston), and they are not a welcome sight for their spirited cousins, Norman (Asa Butterfield) and Megsie (Lil Woods). Of the five children, the most agreeable is young Vincent (Oscar Steer), whose primary role in the film is to be utterly adorable. When Nanny McPhee arrives, she tells Isabel that the children require five lessons. By the end of the third lesson, the children are no longer at each other’s throats. But can they work together to keep Isabel from losing the farm?

Like the first movie, the sequel is a bit over-the-top and silly at times but quite touching at others. The children hold their own among some of the giants of British cinema. Thompson looks a bit goofy spending most of the movie berating the crow who came with her, but she still carries herself impressively, while an especially wispy-looking Smith is thoroughly entertaining in each of her appearances. Completing the trio of Harry Potter alums is Ralph Fiennes, who plays Cyril and Celia’s father, a severe high-ranking officer who works in London. Meanwhile, Gyllenhaal must provide the film’s heart, and she quickly wins the viewer’s sympathy.

While the movie does not include a sheep-pig, several plain old pigs play a prominent part, and an elephant even shows up at one point. The latter is, naturally, part and parcel of Nanny McPhee’s magic, which works in unexpected ways and has far-reaching consequences. While Mary Poppins will always be my favorite mysteriously magical British nanny, I’m happy to see Nanny McPhee return to work her enchantment yet again.

Lindsay Eland Pays Tribute to Montgomery and Austen in Scones and Sensibility

As a lifelong bookworm, I have long found it difficult to disentangle my own life from my favorite fictional realms, so I empathized readily with Polly Madassa, the 12-year-old narrator of Lindsay Eland’s Scones and Sensibility. The books she most cherishes become very real to her, and it’s not uncommon for her to be carried away on the wings of fancy. I can relate all too well to drifting off into a daydream and being jolted back to reality barely aware of my own surroundings, and it’s not uncommon for my friends and family to look askance at me and wonder what strange mental leaps led me to an outburst that, to me, seems perfectly on-topic. But Polly’s bookish eccentricity manifests itself in even more powerful ways.

Polly’s parents own a charming bakery in a quaint New Jersey seaside town. It’s one of those picturesque places that seem lifted right out of a painting by Thomas Kinkade, and I often found myself wishing I could step into the pages and take in the salty sea air and the aroma of freshly baked goodies wafting down the street, where familiar faces peek through the lighted windows of cozy houses. Polly is a reasonably contented young lady, but like the titular protagonist of Anne of Green Gables, she has a tendency to wish her own life could be as exciting as the characters about whom she reads.

So engrossed is she in the worlds of Anne and of Elizabeth Bennet, the spirited heroine of Pride and Prejudice that she speaks in lofty language befitting those books. It’s an impressive feat, really, and only in times of great excitement or distress does she lapse into normal speech patterns. I get the sense that by the time we enter her head – through narration that is just as high-fallutin’ as her dialogue – she’s probably been speaking like this for so long that most people are used to it. Few of her acquaintances bother to comment on it; those who do are mostly politely bemused.

In addition to her immersion in lofty language, Polly takes something else away from her two favorite novels: a desperate desire to see epic romance unfold before her very eyes. The summer stretches before her, and she needs a project. What could possibly be more thrilling than trying to help some of her nearest and dearest find true love? Yes, Polly is determined to become a matchmaker – never mind that her sister Clementine is happily attached to a classmate named Clint or that her best friend Fran Fisk’s father seems to have fallen head over heels for a woman he’s met on the Internet. Polly disapproves of both of these matches, and she won’t stop until she has found someone she deems suitable – and if bringing these lovebirds together takes a little underhanded scheming on her part, so be it.

Polly is a flighty child who is both sweet and self-absorbed. She feels that she is acting in the best interests of those whose love lives she is trying to arrange, but she never takes their own feelings into consideration. Somehow, she believes that she knows better than they do what is truly best for them. Because of this, she is a rather exasperating character. Her intervention on behalf of genial kite shop owner Mr. Nightquist, probably my favorite secondary character, and reclusive spinster Miss Wiskerton is sneaky but fairly harmless. After all, they are both lonely, and neither one has any other prospects at the moment. But her tactics with Mr. Fisk and Clementine truly had me shaking my head in dismay at her utter gall and cluelessness.

This is a light-hearted read that is filled with minor disasters but nothing irreversible. It helps that all of the characters are just so nice. The most disagreeable is Clementine, but then wouldn’t you be too if you were 16 and your little sister was doing everything in her power to break you and your boyfriend up? While Clementine’s personality bears no resemblance to that of Elinor, from Austen’s Sense and Sensibility, Polly’s reaction to her romance reminds me very much of how disappointed Elinor’s sister Mariane is in the apparent lack of passion in her suitor Edward. Where are Clint’s grand romantic gestures? How can she abide someone so mundane? (Though perhaps if Polly were not so averse to the realms of geeky fantasy – at one point she derides her male peers for their interest in Lord of the Rings – she might appreciate the sentiment behind the “I love you” – “I know” exchange between Clementine and Clint that she overhears, much to her disgust.)

Polly’s role as delivery girl for the bakery proves a great aid to her matchmaking plans, though she initially sees it as a hindrance. It gives her an excuse to drop in on several people, sometimes slipping them pastries from fabricated secret admirers. Meanwhile, she has a secret admirer herself – a young man whose identity does not remain in doubt for long. Brad Baker is an unassuming kid who has had a crush on Polly since kindergarten. Polly dismissed him long ago after his first amorous advances, but Brad has decided to summon up his courage and try again. One might think someone with Polly’s starry-eyed sensibilities would see something cosmically appropriate about the notion of a Baker courting a baker, but she just can’t get excited about the affections of a boy whose idea of romance involves wilted flowers and poetry containing the lines “I love you forever / Like a flower that stinks.”

She has a lot to learn about romance. Most importantly, she has to accept that not everyone wants the same things that she does. And if she takes a good hard look at her motivations, she may see that her machinations are driven as much by fear as altruism. She and Clementine have drifted from each other lately; finding her a new boyfriend could be a way to restore the bond she fears is fading. Fran’s mother fell in love online and headed for the hills; if Fran’s father continues his relationship with this woman who lives several hours away, perhaps he and Fran will take off too. It’s much safer for him to fall for someone locally.

Though this aspect of her personality isn’t really explored until later books in the series, Anne Shirley is quite the matchmaker herself, as is the titular character in Jane Austen’s Emma, which gets a cursory nod in this book. Anne’s matches mostly succeed; Emma’s are more disastrous. I have yet to read it myself, but from what I’ve heard of it, Emma seems likely to have influenced this book just as much as Pride and Prejudice, the only Austen novel that Polly herself has read. The literary nods here are fun, and the inevitable messes that ensue from too much meddling often have a comical edge.

Scones and Sensibility is a cautionary tale against getting too wrapped up in inner worlds and interfering in the personal lives of others, however good your intentions may be. It’s also a loving tribute to the works of L. M. Montgomery and Jane Austen. Polly’s antiquated narration may grow a bit tiresome at times, but fans of those novels will likely appreciate it for the homage it is. This mid-grade novel won’t attain the status of those classics, but if you’re in the mood for a little breezy romance with literary underpinnings, you may just find this book as tasty as a fresh-out-of-the-oven chocolate chip muffin from Madassa’s Bakery.