There is magic in everyday life. Sometimes we overlook it or take it for granted, but it is there. There’s magic in friendships, in perfectly timed coincidences, in the learning space between childhood and adulthood. The optimistic, lighthearted novel Finally by Wendy Mass celebrates this fact and highlights the uniqueness of even the most seemingly average people and places. The protagonist, Rory Swenson, is about to turn twelve. She’s been waiting for this day her whole life: when she’s twelve, she’ll finally be able to do a multitude of things that her friends have been doing without her for years. Get a cell phone. Wear makeup. Exchange her glasses for contact lenses. Babysit . . . Rory is used to feeling overlooked, left out. She’s heard people call her “mousy” and “bookish.” She’s quickly forgotten in a crowd; and stemming from this is perhaps the most hurtful thing of all: she feels she doesn’t matter. Rory hopes her big day will change all that. But as each long-cherished wish is granted, Rory is forced to consider the difference between what she needs to do to fit in and what she truly wants. I first discovered Finally at the school book fair in fifth grade. I was captivated before I had finished the first page. I had found a person just like me in the honest, cheerful Rory, and I walked home that day feeling like I had just made a new friend. Two years later, Rory has accompanied me through all the ups and downs of school and summer. Her chatty, entertaining voice brought sunshine to my darkest days, and though Finally is no action thriller, the protagonist’s hilarious mishaps and sensitive heart weave the kind of tale which never grows old. Frank, funny, and full of surprises, Finally is a story that spins many themes together, and consequently appeals to a wide range of readers. For one, it portrays the pressure to grow up before one might be ready, which nearly every middle schooler experiences at some point in their life. It touches, with a fresh take on the classic coming-of-age story, on the search for an identity both unique and “normal.” At the end of the book, quiet Rory realizes that in her own, brown-haired, makeup-free way, she has changed lives. This is the part which I always treasured, because it reminded me that while some people are special in different ways from others, everyone is truly unique. Under a captivating layer of humor, action, and frank reality, Finally broadcasts a powerful message, like pills dissolved in jelly: everyone is different, although it can be hard to realize. The pull to satisfy the mirage that constitutes the idea of “normal” can be strong, but it is possible to fight it. And when you do, the magic inside you will be unleashed. Finally by Wendy Mass. Scholastic, 2011. Buy the book here and support Stone Soup in the process! Have you read this book? Or do you plan on reading it? Let us know in the comments below!
Shouting at the Rain, Reviewed by Vandana Ravi, 12
“We’re like tea bags. In hot water, we just get stronger and stronger.” These two sentences from Shouting at the Rain by Lynda Mullaly Hunt echoed in my mind for days after I read them. The memorable simile seemed to sum up the essence of the book – and, ultimately, of life. I was impressed, enchanted – and when I realized that the words came from a twelve-year-old kid like myself, I was under the spell of a new favorite character. Delsie McHill dislikes surprises; that’s why she loves tracking the weather, so that she can always be ready for what’s coming. But one summer her life is beset with unexpected changes. She has always lived with her kindhearted grandmother in Cape Cod, but now she begins to look at her life with new eyes and wonder why her parents abandoned her. A newcomer causes her to question the game-show-loving, tag-sale-shopping, quiet life which she and her Grammy lead. Most painfully, her best friend is growing away from her, and she is left suddenly and starkly alone. Luckily, Delsie has plenty of friends and neighbors who – although she doesn’t realize it – comprise the “normal” family she longs for. And through her experiences, Delsie finds out that people aren’t just what they seem on the outside – they are made up of the layers of history within. The thing that makes Shouting at the Rain so satisfying, yet intriguing, to read is that – unlike with many other books – the main idea is never confirmed in one climax paragraph, but hinted in small ways throughout the story. Finding one of these keys to the theme is like discovering a hidden gift, giving the reader a feeling of accomplishment which isn’t easily found in most middle-grade books. However, clues like the description of a boat whose top coat chips away to show a rainbow of different-colored paint layers underneath, or the main character’s obsession with Strong Shoulder jars, cannot be connected to the main theme with absolute certainty because there is never any validation: novels don’t have answer keys. Despite this, one of the joys of reading is the search for meaning beyond the obvious, and the author of this book is adept at providing this pleasurable literary treasure hunt. Another thing that impressed me about Shouting at the Rain is the author’s use of the “show-not-tell” writing tool; in other words, the art of showing a character’s emotions through their actions. Strikingly, not once in the book did the author give away any character’s feelings in a single word, but painstakingly described physical actions: staring at shoes, standing straighter, bouncing on toes. More than once, I had to stop reading and consult my knowledge of human body language – what are people feeling when they avoid someone’s gaze? And do shining eyes actually entail tears? The writing style of Shouting at the Rain forced me to rethink what I took for granted about how a person’s mental state correlates with their actions. In a way, it reshaped the way I look at the world. That is the power of books, and why I enjoyed this one so much. “In hot water, we just get stronger and stronger.” This is a truth that applies to everyone. Shouting at the Rain brought it to life for me, as it brought to life many other truths, skillfully woven together into a story I’ll never forget. Most of all, Shouting at the Rain reminded me of how magical a good book can be, and I hope it does the same for you. Shouting at the Rain by Lynda Mullaly Hunt. Nancy Paulsen books, 2019. Buy the book here and support Stone Soup in the process! Have you read this book? Or do you plan on reading it? Let us know in the comments below!
The Pearl, Reviewed by Vandana Ravi, 12
Does bad always follow good? Where does one cross the line between pursuing a dream and being consumed by greed? And how much influence can a small decision have in the world? The novella The Pearl by John Steinbeck explores the answers to these questions to their limits, slowly revealing a portrait of the world which is both terrifying and comforting at once. Through a twisting tale of loss, gain, greed, and – ultimately – death, a beacon of human hope and perseverance shines, making this one of the most memorable books I’ve ever read. The lives of Kino, an impoverished pearl fisherman, and his wife, Juana, are transformed forever when he discovers a perfect pearl, the “Pearl of the World.” Kino dreams of using the money it will make to improve his life in drastic ways; most importantly, sending his infant son, Coyotito, to school. However, he is unwilling to sell the pearl for any sum too small to accomplish his dreams, and the buyers are unwilling to buy it for any sum high enough to do so. The buyers have money and power to steal or kill in order to get the pearl. Kino only has his own strength, knife, and unbending will, and he little realizes how many people are all set on claiming his treasure for their own. Bit by bit, instead of symbolizing invigorating hope for the future, the pearl becomes a painful reminder of the humiliation of the past and the injustice of the present world. One thing that struck me when I was reading The Pearl was how small, everyday actions worked together to play a surprisingly significant part in the tragic resolution of the book. One might not think that things like a doctor’s refusal to treat a poverty-stricken patient with a scorpion bite, or a furious pearl fisherman’s diving deeper than usual to burn off his anger, would indirectly cause the death of a child. But, strangely, they do: independently, these actions are only foolish; together, they are fatal. This aspect of the plot lends an unsettling – almost ominous – feel to the story. The thought It’s only going to get worse was ubiquitous in my mind as I read, and even as I could not put down the book, I didn’t want to read another page. One of the joys of reading is watching someone else’s story unfold in front of you, sympathizing with their losses and triumphs. But, aside from the discovery of the pearl, Kino and his family did not have any triumphs. As I read, their lives went from contented to unhappy to terrified to remorseful and grieved. At the resolution, there was a sense of helplessness and disappointment, of pure human weakness against the forces of ill luck and nature. One of the reasons I love to read is that it uplifts me. Watching good win over evil again and again, in scenario after scenario, inspires me. But what about when good doesn’t win over evil? What about when a sad ending is not diluted by even one small triumph? Does that mean the point of reading the book is lost? On reading the resolution of this novella – and the parts which led up to it – a second time, I think I have an answer. The utter despondency of The Pearl’s plot tends to overpower another element: an underlying thread of hope and shared goals which binds Kino’s family together. Whenever they receive a particularly heavy blow, they are able to rebound because – according to the narrator – Juana, Kino and Coyotito are “one thing and one purpose.” The family has suffered the same hardships and rejoiced at the same successes, and they are all working, together, toward the accomplishment of one ambition: a better life, as much for each other as for themselves. Only when Kino begins to push Juana aside does their life really begin to go downhill. In one scene, rather than give up the pearl or even hear Juana’s opinion, Kino shoves Juana down onto the boulders near the sea. He walks away, holding the pearl which she had advised him to destroy, and is attacked by thieves and almost killed. Eventually, when they flee from the village, Juana walks behind Kino. She is following him because she cares about him, and knows that she cannot change his mind; but she also knows that they are no longer working together toward the same goal, that they are no longer “one thing and one purpose.” When Kino and Juana come back to their tiny hut at the ending, they walk side by side instead of one behind the other: equal again – perhaps more equal than before – and sharing one last bitter loss. Their quiet acceptance of defeat as they walk into the village, heads down, seems like the most incredibly sad ending possible. But when one dries one’s tears and more closely examines the image, a second thing, showing itself even in the way they walk, comes to light: equality and love have been restored between Kino and Juana. Even more importantly, they have learned the importance of what they had lost and have now regained – and how much it can positively influence their lives. In a way, good has won over evil: the anger and greed which had torn their family apart is gone, and though the couple has lost much, they are rich in the things which matter most. The Pearl by John Steinbeck. Penguin Random House, 1947. Buy the book here and support Stone Soup in the process! Have you read this book? Or do you plan on reading it? Let us know in the comments below!