So B. It by Sarah Weeks, HarperTrophy: New York, 2005; $6.99 So B. It is possibly one of the most moving, wonderful, descriptive books I have ever read. In this story, the main character, Heidi, is living with her mentally disabled mother and her neighbor, Bernadette. Heidi is used to living in a, well, different household, and has lived that way all her life. Her mother only knows twenty-three words, which they keep a list of in the cabinet. But when Heidi’s mother starts saying a word that Bernie and Heidi don’t know, Heidi wants to learn about her mother’s past. Something about this book that intrigues me so much is that Sarah Weeks has the ability to make all her characters incredibly real. Nobody is all good or all bad. They have lives, and, if they do appear mean, there is always a reason. While digging into her mother’s past, Heidi encounters many interesting characters, all of whom are very different. There’s Georgia Sweet, the clever, pretty, body-language expert, Alice, who can talk and talk and talk without the other person getting a word in edgewise, who tricks Heidi into lying continuously, and strange, vague Mr. Hill. This story has little details that many people would overlook. In this book Heidi mentions dinosaur skin, and how nobody really knew what color it was. Heidi was reflecting on what she had just learned about her mother and states, “If truth were a crayon and it was up to me to put a wrapper around it and name its color, I know just what I would call it—dinosaur skin.” She takes a look at something nobody really stops to think about. My mom and I both read this book, and we both cried. The way Sarah Weeks describes things, through the eyes of a twelve-year- old girl, makes it moving and believable—the struggles, the excitement, the sadness, of life itself. So B. It, you may be interested to know, is what Heidi’s mother calls herself. When Heidi and her mother showed up on Bernie’s doorstep, Heidi’s mother called herself So Be It, and Bernie, thinking she had to have a proper name, changed it to So B. It. It is the kind of book that gets you hooked after reading the first page. In Sarah Weeks’s other book, called Jumping the Scratch, it is the same thing. The main character wants to find out something (the meaning of a word, or just a word in general) and will go all out to find it. As soon as you start reading it, you will too! The way it is written gets you interested with the end, and makes you just have to finish it. It is, in my opinion, a very good and tricky writing technique. My grandmother’s sister (my great aunt) is mentally disabled, so I know what it would be like to be Heidi, although it would be very different to have a mentally disabled mother. My great aunt can be extremely unpredictable, sweet one moment, throwing tantrums the next, but we love her very much all the same. She has a full vocabulary, unlike Heidi’s mother, but in many ways they are similar. So B. It teaches an important life lesson, as well as being a fantastic read just for fun. This was a spectacular book, and I hope I have interested you in it! Isabel Bartholomew, 11Salt Lake City, Utah
September/October 2007
Hope
He sat there for what seemed like an eternity The wind whistled against his head as the leaves blew in a cyclone and rain threatened with a distant rumble of thunder. The man turned, his black overcoat flapping. Walking slowly away, he hoped his memories would not be blown away as the dry brittle grass. His hand felt empty and cold without her small hand gripping his. The streets were empty as he boarded the bus. Staring out of the window the man could almost hear her voice pointing out anything that her little eyes could see. The voice faded as the bus abruptly came to a halt, and the cracked and broken voice of a driver said, “End of the line.” He got slowly up, his back bringing pains that did not hurt around her. Climbing down the stairs he saw with his hazy eyes a candy shop where they always used to get her favorite candy, licorice. As he moved closer he realized all the windows were cobwebbed with boards and tape showing that he was not welcome here. Moving a little farther he came to a park where she used to immediately pull his arm to the garden and jump into the flowers until a smiling park ranger told her to get out. But now all that remained as the old man hobbled up was the cold hard dirt, an old torn-up magazine, and one withered flower. He bent down to pick the last beautiful memory, when a sharp wind flew through the trees and snatched the flower in its fearsome jaws. It continued to howl until the man shuffled away, taking shelter in a gazebo that looked to be a thousand years old. There in front of him was a merry-go-round. The wind pushed it around and around and every time it turned a white horse, now faded gray, brought the laughter of a small girl with it. He sat there for what seemed like an eternity until the laughter faded from his mind. He got up and walked against the wind, his face seeming like an old grape. Leaving the park he entered a subway and bought a ticket for the next train, not caring where it went. Sitting down, he imagined picking her up so she could grab with her small fingers the holding bars and squeak in her delighted voice, “I’m Tarzan.” Then everyone would look up from his or her newspaper and laugh. But no one was on the train today and a single tear full of emotions fell from his eye. He emerged from the subway and he walked on, in front of him a ray of light broke through the clouds. Erik Dinardo, 13Carlisle, Massachusetts Susannah Benjamin, 13Greenwich, Connecticut
Hope
He sat there for what seemed like an eternity The wind whistled against his head as the leaves blew in a cyclone and rain threatened with a distant rumble of thunder. The man turned, his black overcoat flapping. Walking slowly away, he hoped his memories would not be blown away as the dry brittle grass. His hand felt empty and cold without her small hand gripping his. The streets were empty as he boarded the bus. Staring out of the window the man could almost hear her voice pointing out anything that her little eyes could see. The voice faded as the bus abruptly came to a halt, and the cracked and broken voice of a driver said, “End of the line.” He got slowly up, his back bringing pains that did not hurt around her. Climbing down the stairs he saw with his hazy eyes a candy shop where they always used to get her favorite candy, licorice. As he moved closer he realized all the windows were cobwebbed with boards and tape showing that he was not welcome here. Moving a little farther he came to a park where she used to immediately pull his arm to the garden and jump into the flowers until a smiling park ranger told her to get out. But now all that remained as the old man hobbled up was the cold hard dirt, an old torn-up magazine, and one withered flower. He bent down to pick the last beautiful memory, when a sharp wind flew through the trees and snatched the flower in its fearsome jaws. It continued to howl until the man shuffled away, taking shelter in a gazebo that looked to be a thousand years old. There in front of him was a merry-go-round. The wind pushed it around and around and every time it turned a white horse, now faded gray, brought the laughter of a small girl with it. He sat there for what seemed like an eternity until the laughter faded from his mind. He got up and walked against the wind, his face seeming like an old grape. Leaving the park he entered a subway and bought a ticket for the next train, not caring where it went. Sitting down, he imagined picking her up so she could grab with her small fingers the holding bars and squeak in her delighted voice, “I’m Tarzan.” Then everyone would look up from his or her newspaper and laugh. But no one was on the train today and a single tear full of emotions fell from his eye. He emerged from the subway and he walked on, in front of him a ray of light broke through the clouds. Erik Dinardo, 13Carlisle, Massachusetts Susannah Benjamin, 13Greenwich, Connecticut
