Book-Reviews

Harper Classics: New York, 1998;originally published in 1905. What does a person really need in order to be happy? If you were to lose every tangible thing which gives you joy now, what intangible things would make life still worth living? The novel A Little Princess by Frances Hodgson Burnett answers these two questions from the point of view of an eleven-year-old with a response which is ultimately simple, sweet, and surprisingly wise. The wealthy, pampered Sara Crewe finds herself alone in a new country when her doting father leaves her at a London boarding school. As she adjusts to her new life, her character turns out to be surprisingly different from that of the stereotypical rich, spoiled girl; she uses her advantage and intelligence to help those of her classmates cast off by the other girls. But when Sara’s father suddenly passes away, leaving behind nothing but debt, her life is turned upside down. Transformed from a veritable princess into an unpaid scullery maid, she loses all the expensive comforts she is used to. However, Sara’s kindness, tenacity and imagination afford her new joys, eventually bringing her all the way to a happy ending. There are two intertwining themes in A Little Princess: the power of imagination and the power of kindness. When I first read the novel as a quiet “dreamer” third-grader, I was surprised and impressed by the way Sara conquers her troubles: by imagining that she is a princess. Telling herself that she is above those who ridicule her, she ends up making her dream a reality by striving to act better than her tormentors—even if it means hiding sadness or biting back anger. She notices and appreciates the small joys in her new life, pretending to be elsewhere when her sadness overcomes her. Sara’s ability to find joy in apparent bleakness is so great that friends who visit from their comfortable rooms go away envying her bare, drafty attic; her tenacious cheerfulness beautifies her poverty more than money and expensive furniture do for her peers. The second recurring idea in A Little Princess is the impact of kind actions. Sara’s painstaking kindness to many characters, including the scullery maid Becky, spoiled toddler Lottie, learning-challenged Ermengarde, and even a lost monkey, repeatedly comes back to help her when she needs it most. Her resolution to be a princess in actions, if not in wealth, is one which continually acts in her favor—giving her hope, self-respect, and sustenance just as she strives to give it to others. Years after first reading the book, I still try to apply its themes to my own life. A touch of imagination and kindness has helped me through countless hard days and added joy to easy ones; rereading Sara’s story now lifts my spirits. A Little Princess is the essence of what we can live for, of how we can deal with hard times, whisked into a story just close enough to a fairy tale that its moral feels more like a familiar friend than a stranger. I’ve loved reading the classics ever since I was old enough to understand them. I carried them with me on school trips, piled them next to my pillow, and quoted and cherished their words wherever I went. But they aren’t just special to me because of their universally relatable plots or old-fashioned language—although I enjoy those elements too. Classics—older books which have survived generations— tend to carry with them a host of life lessons, buried in the pages like treasure waiting to be found. These lessons can remind us of what we care about, off er advice when things get diff icult, and shine a few rays of hope into our lives when we most need them. That is my favorite thing about reading: its power to guide the reader through real life. If you were to lose everything, what intangible things would make life still worth living? There are a few answers to that question. Imagination. Hope. Kindness. Friendship. And maybe, as a comforting map to help you fi nd the purpose you’re looking for, the imprint of a good book on your heart. Vandana Ravi, 12Palo Alto, CA

Harper Perennial: New York, 2018;originally published in 1943. A Tree Grows in Brooklyn by Betty Smith is the story of a Brooklyn girl with Irish ancestors who grows up at the beginning of the 20th century with all the hardships that come from not having enough money in the house, a drunkard for a father, and a mother who prefers her son to her daughter. Although Frances Nolan’s life is riddled with complications, she never ceases to find beautiful places and things in life—like the flower in the bowl at the library that changes with every season or the little school 12 blocks away that she dearly wants to attend. We follow Francie from her birth to womanhood. We meet her singing father and her hardworking mother, her three aunts and her saint-like grandmother, as well as Cornelius (or “Neeley” for short), her little brother who is so favored by their mother. As Francie grows older, she realizes how poverty limits her family, and she knows she doesn’t want to grow old poor. So at the age of 14, Francie gets a job, pretending she is 16, to help bring in more money for her family. A lot of the story’s main ideas are about life lessons, about poverty, and what it was like to be a girl, then a woman, at the beginning of the 20th century. One of the sharper life lessons of the story is when Francie learns that not everyone appreciates the truth. She has started to write stories based on her surroundings, but her teacher does not approve. Francie used to write beautiful, made-up stories which Miss Gardner loved, but when Francie starts to write stories about drunkenness, poverty, and hunger Miss Gardner gets angry: “You were one of my best pupils. You wrote so prettily. I enjoyed your compositions. But these last ones . . .” she flicked at them contemptuously. “. . . poverty, starvation and drunkenness are ugly subjects to choose. We all admit these things exist. But one doesn’t write about them.” “What does one write about?” . . . “One delves into the imagination and finds beauty there . . . ” Francie and the reader understand that Miss Gardner is wrong because truth is also poverty and hunger and drunkenness. This is by no means all of what truth is, but it is still truth. To say that beauty is the only truth is to only see half of reality. After this conversation with her teacher, Francie realizes for the first time that educated people might see her life as revolting. I read A Tree Grows in Brooklyn just after finishing The Chosen by Chaim Potok. The Chosen is a novel set in Brooklyn about Reuven and Danny, two Jewish boys who become best friends and have to live through the silence that Danny’s father infl icts upon Danny. It was interesting to read two books set in the same location but at different time periods. A Tree Grows in Brooklyn is set around World War I, and The Chosen is set around World War II. In A Tree Grows in Brooklyn, Francie walks home down Graham Avenue, and she notices everything: She was excited by the filled pushcarts—each a little store in itself—the bargaining, emotional Jews and the peculiar smells of the neighborhood; baked stuffed fish, sour rye bread fresh from the oven, and something that smelled of honey boiling. She stared at the bearded men in their alpaca skullcaps and silkolene coats . . . Similarly, in The Chosen, Reuven walks with Danny down the street where Danny lives. He notices how: [T]he street throbbed with the noise of playing children who seemed in constant motion, dodging around cars, racing up and down steps, chasing after cats, climbing trees, balancing themselves as they tried walking on top of the banisters, pursuing one another in furious games of tag—all with their fringes and earlocks dancing wildly in the air and trailing out behind them. These two passages are very similar in their description of the streets in Brooklyn, even though more than 20 years and two world wars separate the two stories. Readers get a real sense in both books of how varied and alive Brooklyn was.  A Tree Grows in Brooklyn is beautifully written and entrances the reader from the first page. I recommend it for mid to older teens. It is not a simple read because of the style of writing, which often includes the Brooklyn slang from the time. One example of the slang in the book is when a mean little girl spits in Francie’s face but Francie doesn’t cry. The little girl says, “Why don’t you bust out crying, you dockle? Want I should spit in your face again?” To “bust out crying” is just like to burst out crying, but “dockle” does not have a modern definition in the dictionary because it was part of the local slang in that period. I had to search a little to find any kind of meaning and finally found that a dockle is a sort of doll or bundle of thread, but, in this quote, “dockle” is clearly an insult. It is difficult to capture the feeling of A Tree Grows in Brooklyn because the way Betty Smith writes is almost otherworldly. But at the same time, the things she writes about are so realistically concrete. The following quote conveys some of the otherworldly but realistic aura of the book. The tree whose leaf umbrellas had curled around, under and over the fi re escape, had been cut down because the housewives complained that wash on the lines got entangled in its branches . . . But the tree hadn’t died . . . it hadn’t died. A new tree had grown from the stump, and its trunk had grown along the ground until it reached a place where there were no wash lines above it. Then it started to grow towards the sky

Atheneum Books for Young Readers: New York, 2007; originally published in 1967. Raise your hand if you like art. Yes? Good. Raise your hand if you like adventure. Excellent. Now raise your hand if you like books. Spectacular! As it happens, there is a book that can satisfy all of those things—From the Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler by E. L. Konigsburg. A blend of mystery, adventure, and a little history, From the Mixed-Up Files is instantly recognizable as a classic book for the ages. The main character, Claudia, feels that her life is riddled with unfair treatment, such as having to constantly do chores for very little allowance. So she resolves to run away from home with her younger brother, Jamie, (mostly because of his transistor radio and all the money he’s saved up) on the Metro-North train and live in the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York City for a little while. She plans to learn as much as possible about the museum in the time that they will spend there. While hiding in the museum, Claudia and Jamie notice that people are swarming to see an angel sculpture. Claudia wonders why everybody is so excited about it, so she finds a New York Times and reads an article on the angel, which says that it is suspected to be by Michelangelo. She decides to solve the mystery of the statue’s origins, and in doing so will satisfy her real motive for running away: to have made a significant change in her life by the time she goes home. The story is told as a series of letters written by a character who only appears at the end, Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler, who is recording Claudia and Jamie’s tale in a letter to her lawyer, Saxonberg. Mrs. Frankweiler’s asides to Saxonberg are hilarious. Another aspect of the story I enjoyed is how relatable it is. Anyone with at least one sibling knows how incredibly exasperating they are at times (I myself have a little brother); however, on occasion, you are glad to have them around. From the Mixed-Up Files captures this relationship perfectly, and subtly encourages siblings to get along more by focusing on the positives. Another way the author creates a sense of relatability is by describing the many frustrations children have in life (Claudia’s “injustices”) and also our desire for adventure and excitement. I have always wanted something really exciting like a grand adventure or mystery to happen to me, although this wish has unfortunately not yet been granted!  Stone Soup put this book on their list of classics, and I wholeheartedly agree with the decision. From the Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler demonstrates all the defining qualities of a classic, and it deserves this honor. For those of you who haven’t read it, go read it. For those of you who have read it, good; now go read it again. Nina Vigil, 11Katonah, NY