Otherworld Chronicles: The Invisible Tower, by Nils Johnson-Shelton; HarperCollins: New York, 2012; $16.99 Nils Johnson-Shelton’s The Invisible Tower brings the legend of King Arthur and his sorcerer, Merlin, into the modern world through fantasy adventure. This book has all the connections necessary to keep the interest of its readers: video games, dragon slaying, acts of valor, a great relationship between a brother and sister, and mystical creatures. The main characters, Arty and his sister, Kay, embark on adventures in a video-game world called the Otherworld. The Xbox games Arty and Kay play make an easy connection for those readers who are gamers themselves. If Otherworld were a real video game, I’d love to try its full 3D version, and I’m sure it would be a top seller as it’s packed with adventure. It might even top my favorites, Ghost Recon and Call of Duty. In the adventures, Arty learns his fate is intertwined with that of Merlin, King Arthur, and the Otherworld. When faced with the challenge to free Merlin and the Otherworld, Arty and Kay hesitate, only to be warned by Merlin that their denial will result in Merlin remaining imprisoned, Earth and the Otherworld would be destroyed, and both Arty and Kay never knowing their true destiny. Arty and Kay are scared because of the intensity of the challenge but bravely accept it. In that situation, I would be scared also but I would like to think that I would willingly accept the call. Arty and Kay have the kind of relationship every brother and sister should have. They are always willing to help each other out in any situation and share an uncanny connection. For example, Kay tries to sneak up on Arty and Arty always knows she is there before she can scare him. I have a similar but different connection with my sister. I love to scare her. The difference is that she never knows I’m there! My sister and I do have that bond though. Even though we have our differences, we’d do anything for one another. Arty and Kay’s bond reminded me of that of the Knights of the Round Table. Their bond is necessary for their success as they come up against the numerous monsters of the Otherworld. The author’s use of unique characters helps keep the reader’s interest. Unusual creatures, such as mini-dragons, as well as a girl who appears young but is actually very old, appear in Arty’s quests throughout the Otherworld. Some of the characters assist Arty in his adventures. Mr. Thumb, a thumb-sized man who is one of Merlin’s good friends and servants, is a constant companion for Arty on his adventures, serving as a guide to the Otherworld. A large green dragon with red ruby teeth, curled golden horns, and black eyes with rainbow-colored pupils shaped like a cat’s plays the role of Arty’s greatest combatant, awakening in him abilities he didn’t realize he had. This book is comparable to Rick Riordan’s Percy Jackson series in that it uses mythological monsters who fight for good and evil. However, in my opinion, the Percy Jackson series was more interesting because the action and mysteries were more intense and detailed, making it harder to set down. That said, I would still recommend The Invisible Tower as it was easy to read and an interesting story. It also creates a desire to learn more about King Arthur for those readers who might not be familiar with the legend. Nick Ehrhardt, 12Winchester, Virginia
March/April 2013
Katie’s League
“This is no place for a girl,” he said. “Go home and play with your dollies” I stood in my backyard, wearing the clothes that I hid from my mama. A T-shirt and jeans, with a baseball cap atop my head. Boy, would Mama scream if she saw me wearing this. But I hate itchy blouses, skirts that are impossible to run in, and dresses that are like both of those combined. I threw my baseball up and caught it in my mitt—both of which I didn’t bother to hide from Mama because she would find out I had them, anyway. My late daddy gave me my baseball. I miss him. He knew about my jeans and T-shirt, but he didn’t tell Mama. He kept all my secrets. I looked at the writing on the baseball, so lovingly and carefully written on. It read: For my Katie. Love you forever. Daddy, 1940 Those few words made this my most prized possession. I was winding up to throw the pitch, when I heard from a few feet away: “Hey Parker, you throw like a girl!” I whirled around to see Billy Archer. Billy Archer had his arms folded across his chest with, I noticed, his baseball mitt on. I didn’t panic when he saw me wearing my clothes I kept secret from Mama. He already knew, but he didn’t tell because he knew I could beat him up. I crossed my arms. “Is that supposed to be an insult?” I asked. “Does it sound like one?” Archer asked. “No,” I told him honestly. “Well, it is one, Parker. I’m heading to baseball tryouts. I would bring you along but they don’t let girls in the league!” Archer teased. “Shut up, Archer. You better get out of here before I give you a bloody nose,” I said. “Oh, all right… but what is that?!” Archer exclaimed, pointing at something behind me. “What?” I asked, turning around. As I turned, I made the foolish mistake of letting my hand with my baseball in it fall to my side. Archer grabbed the ball from my exposed hand. He looked at the inscription. “Aw… you miss your daddy?” he teased. My cheeks burned. “Give it back, you jerk,” I said. “No,” he said, “I’ll take it to the baseball tryouts.” He sprinted off. “Billy Archer, you get back here!” I hopped onto my bike and pedaled after him as fast as I could. He ran a long time, then finally arrived at the shabby baseball field. He ran in. I hopped off my bike and ran after him. I tackled him the minute I got the chance. “Billy Archer, you give me my baseball right now…” I looked up. All the boys trying out for the league were staring at us. The coach, who was in the dugout, watching the boys try out, looked at us. He walked over to us very slowly. It seemed like an hour passed before he got over to us. He took no notice of Archer. He said, “What is a girl”—he scoffed out the word girl, like girls were the most repulsive things he had ever heard of—“doing here?” The way he said girl made me want to spit on his over-shined shoes, but I controlled myself. I stood up with a hand on my hip. I lowered the brim of my baseball cap. “I, sir,” I said, “am here to try out for the baseball team.” While I was here, I figured, why not? The coach laughed as if it was a joke. “I’m serious.” I snapped. That was enough to stop him from laughing, but it couldn’t wipe the stupid grin from his face. “This is no place for a girl,” he said. “Go home and play with your dollies.” Now that crossed the line. I grabbed my ball out of Billy Archer’s limp hand, then stepped on the coach’s toe. Hard. As he reached for his toe, I walked away to my bike. “By the way, I hate dolls,” I informed him, “and this won’t be the last you’ll be hearing from me.” I mounted my bike and rode home. Then I took off my baseball cap and changed into a dress before Mama got home from work at five. She’s a saleswoman at Big Al’s Convenience Store, two blocks from here. It makes a meager salary, but at least we’re still eating three meals a day and keeping all our old luxuries, that’s what Mama says. Mama has blond hair frayed with stress, and blue eyes that aren’t as happy as they used to be when Daddy was alive. “Hi, honey,” said Mama, bending over to kiss me as she walked in. I stood up. “Hi, Mama,” I said, “how was work today?” Mama hesitated, then slowly said, “It was all right.” But I know Mama too well. “Mrs. Archer came to shop today, didn’t she?” I asked. “Yes,” Mama admitted. Mrs. Archer thinks that she is the best person in the world, except maybe her son, Billy. “She came and talked about how her son was going to do great at baseball tryouts, and how she would come to every one of his games because, apparently, she had decided that he had already made it onto the baseball team,” Mama said. “I’m sorry,” I said, “Mrs. Archer’s just… just…” I tried to think of the right insult to describe Mrs. Archer, but I decided that no words could express what she was like. “Just horrible, terrible, and self-centered!” Mama raged. Mama was usually calm, but if one thing could make her mad, it was Jane Archer. “Exactly,” I said, “but the good news is that she probably won’t come to shop again for at least a week.” Mama smiled. “You’re right,” she said, giving me a hug. “Where would I be without you?” The next day, after school, I walked down to the baseball field and looked at the team list for the
Memories and Beginnings
“Maggie, this is Miss Tania, your new piano teacher” The doorbell’s ring still echoed in my head. I stood on the third step of the stairs that led up to the bedrooms and leaned my body all the way out. That way I could see the mirror that hung in the foyer next to the front door. I heard Mom wheel the rolling chair back from the computer and walk to the door. My older sister, Alexa Kate, ran from the den to join her, her sandy hair flying. Through the mirror, I saw Mom open the door and smile as a young lady stepped briskly in. From the open window in the kitchen, the fragrant scent of honeysuckle and lilac drifted across the house and tickled my nose. Memories came flooding back. Grandma’s sweet, laughing face creased with wrinkles, her wispy white hair framing her face perfectly. The way she threw back her head and laughed, as she, Alexa Kate, and I made cookies, or picked dandelions and sent our wishes to the wind. The way she would scold us, shaking her finger and looking stern, but the merry twinkle in her eyes always betrayed her. The way her body swayed as she sat on the piano bench and played her whole heart out. Beethoven, Brahms, Bach, she played them all. She had taught Alexa Kate and me to play, too. We would sit in the living room and laugh and play and laugh some more. Whenever we couldn’t get a piece right, she would always say, “Learn to like the music, and the music will learn to like you. Music only plays right for happy fingers. So have fun, and it will come!” But now Grandma was gone, and Mom had found another piano teacher to take her place. “Maggie!” Mom’s voice drew me reluctantly to the foyer, where I stood behind Alexa Kate, trying to hide. The lady smiled at me, her short brown hair bobbing. With her flowery skirt and blouse, she seemed right at home. Mom continued. “Maggie, this is Miss Tania, your new piano teacher.” She turned to Miss Tania. “Well, I guess I should let you get started? Which one of you girls wants to go first?” I did not raise my hand. Let Alexa Kate go first. She and I were only eighteen months apart, but we were completely different. She was not scared of anything. Why did I have to get the timid genes? The living room was just to the right of the front door, marked off by the couches. The old upright piano that Grandma had brought with her stood in the corner, crowned by an antique lamp and a photograph of Grandma, Alexa Kate, and me. Alexa Kate skipped over to the piano. Miss Tania followed, with a large, bulging bag. She dropped promptly onto the chair next to the bench. The chair that Grandma had always sat in. “Alexa Kate,” she said it with a lilting accent, “what have you been working on?” My sister picked up one of the faded yellow books that had been Grandma’s. “I just started practicing Heller’s ‘Study in A Minor, op. 47, no. 3.’” “Ah,” Miss Tania nodded knowingly. “Why don’t you play it for me?” Alexa Kate seated herself on the piano bench as comfortably as ever. Soon a lilting melody wafted through the house, Miss Tania humming along with a funny tone. I swallowed and raced upstairs to my room. Thirty minutes passed, and I lay on my bed, dreading my lesson. * * * “Maaa-ggie!” It was Alexa Kate. . “It’s your turn!” I forced my feet to tread down the stairs, into the living room. Alexa Kate breezily passed me, whispering, “She’s fun.” Even more fun than Grandma? I sat stiffly down on the piano bench and managed a lousy smile. Miss Tania smiled her sweetest grin. “Hello, Maggie. What are you playing?” I pulled out another music book that was falling apart. “Rameau, ‘Minuet in G minor.’” The teacher nodded in approval. I set the book up on the stand. My fingers found the keys. Slowly, I began to play, her eyes boring into me. Before I knew it, I was done. Miss Tania applauded me heartily. “Well done, Maggie! You are doing everything very well: the dynamics, the rhythm, the technique. Only the tempo needs to be faster. And—relax.” She reached over and gave my shoulders a little massage. It tickled. “You need to be completely comfortable. It doesn’t work if you can play the music perfectly; you have to have feeling, yet. Feel the music, Maggie.” I bit my lip. How could I enjoy myself when Grandma was gone and Miss Tania was watching me instead? Miss Tania reached down and retrieved a glossy new music book. “Here,” she said, flipping it open and giving it to me, “I want you to play this.” I stared at the swarming sea of black dots. Sharps, flats, cadenzas, trills: this piece was fraught with danger. I looked at the title of the piece. “Summer Memories, Part One.” More like Summer Horrors. “I’ve never played this kind of music before,” I stammered. “Only these.” I gestured to the pile of worn-out books on the table beside us. “Only classical? Well, it’s time you start trying other styles of music. Variety is good for you. This is modern music. It looks intimidating, I know, but once you get the hang of it, it will be fun! Come on, try it.” I set “Summer Memories” on the stand on top of Rameau. “Very slowly now, just to get a feel,” Miss Tania advised. Hesitantly, I placed my hands on the keyboard and dived into the world of unknown. It was a nightmare. I had to stop after almost every note, find the next one, make sure I had them all correct, then carefully press down the keys. Worst of all, the piece was six pages long! The longest I’ve
