But clearly the craziest part is how she advocates against Dewey:

“No Dewey decimal system?”

It was what labeled her a rebel in bibliophile circles. She was a heretic to some for her views on the archaic cataloging system. “I advocate shelving books in ‘neighborhoods’ based on subject matter. It makes more sense to patrons and is easier for them to use.”

Bryce seemed to like the idea. “You must be a very persuasive and busy woman.”

This is a romance novel, you guys. Click through for more excerpts. This one’s a winner.

Old Shep is, of course, a Dog Death Book, of exactly the sort I couldn’t stand either when I was Wallace’s age. So the premise was promising. Plus a theater production provides the perfect opportunity for the best sort of Gordon Korman wacky hijinks. And overall, I was entertained. I particularly enjoyed Wallace’s teammate Rick, whose trademark is combining expressions: “You’re going to be on detention until the cows freeze over.” (Is there a word for this, like spoonerism?)

Unfortunately, just like in Schooled, Korman decides to let many of the characters narrate in alternating chapters. Some of the characters are three-dimensional enough to support this; some (especially Trudi, the central-casting ditz who’s after Wallace) are decidedly not.

When I get a free moment, I want to re-read childhood Korman favorites Son of Interflux and I Want to Go Home! to see if they’re still as hilarious as I thought at the time. It’s possible I’ve just outgrown the guy.

Also reviewed by: The Reading Zone and Spill

Suggestions welcome, especially if you can get them to me by Monday when this year’s summer reading list is due!

ETA: I love your suggestions! There still seems to be a gap in madcap, goofy adventures a la Sachar or Pinkwater, for girls who’ve grown out of Ramona or Harriet the Spy.

Reggie has big dreams for his school, but Clarke Junior School isn’t stepping up. His classmates are more interested in helping themselves than helping each other, and besides, nobody listens to Reggie anyway after an unfortunate incident on the first day of school left him with the nickname “Pukey.” With help from his best friends, Ruthie and Joe C., and the residents of a local homeless shelter where his youth group volunteers, Reggie sets out to change Clarke and change himself. Ideally without any more puking.

I fell in love with this book on page 4, when Ruthie prefaces her current events report in class thusly:

“Because of the American media’s obvious bias, I used seventeen different global news sources — including the Madagascar Weekly — to put my report together.”

Ruthie is my hero. As is Reggie, as is Olugbemisola R-P for writing this fantastic book. These are hilarious, brave, real kids who I miss since I finished their story. This book manages to be an honest, well-rounded friendship story, family story, political story, and coming-of-age. It even discusses religion without being preachy or about disillusionment. Reggie is never in danger of losing his faith, but he’s always considering what it means. None of the spheres of Reggie’s life are neglected or one-dimensional — a pretty stunning feat for such a zippy book.

Not only that, it stars recognizably urban kids with urban kid problems (including money) who will be relatable for well-off suburban kids. (At least, so I suspect — I’ll let you know after I start pushing this on my own well-off suburban kids.) Finding a book whose appeal straddles those worlds is so rare.

Also reviewed by: The Book Smugglers, Reading in Color, and Steph Su Reads (who disagreed with me about the book being “zippy”). And here’s an interview with the author at Mitali’s Fire Escape.

Maureen Johnson is my go-to gal for funny, clever comfort books. The characters and situations are outlandishly hilarious, there are just enough Serious Issues to lend the book the weight of reality without lending it much weight at all, and everything more or less works out in the end. They’re like eating a grilled cheese in the park, which is exactly what I wish I were doing right now.

Also reviewed at: Bookshelves of Doom, The Book Smugglers, and YA Fabulous (which resides at the awesomely-named echthroi.org).

I realized that I’m unfamiliar with the work of a number of people speaking at the conference — mostly because they write for younger kids or children’s poetry or something else outside of my wheelhouse — so I’m going to try to rectify that.

Joey Pigza Swallowed the Key is the first in a series about Joey, a fourth grader trying to get his ADHD* under control. I’ll be the first to admit that out of the world of problems that my students have, ADHD is not one I get. At a fundamental level, my reaction tends to be, “Oh, just chill out already!” In the same way, some of my colleagues don’t get why my favorite nerdy quiet kids can’t have a non-awkward conversation with their classmates. Teachers are people too, and we gravitate towards different types of kids.

But we still have to teach all of them fairly. And like the best fiction, Joey Pigza put me in Joey’s (tied-together, tossed down the hall, spinning in circles) shoes and helped me get for the first time what it’s like to be the kind of kid who can’t sit still. It was written to be entertaining and maybe comforting for kids, but it ended up being bibliotherapy for this teacher, too.

* Presumably, though the diagnosis is never named.

Also reviewed at: MentalHelp.net, Blogcritics, and HomeschoolBuzz.com

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Oh, I loved this book so much! It could so easily have been a typical tale of a pre-teen dream deferred: the organ teaches her to stick with things, makes her family closer, and helps her make new friends, blah blah blah. But the devil — or in this case, the joy — is in the details: her dad, who takes endless correspondence courses in things like “Rolling in Dough: Earn a Dolla’ Baking Challah,” freezes if he has to talk to anyone but the family and the mailman, and gets lost every time he leaves the house. Her hyper-organized workaholic mom. Her new friend Wheeler, who just starts following her home every day and baking with her dad.

I loved the parents, in particular. Two-dimensional parents are a huge YA/kidlit pet peeve of mine, and Zoe’s are anything but. Dad is clearly mentally ill, but he’s just as clearly a supportive, nurturing father who is loved by his family. Mom is the “sane” one, but she has plenty of her own issues. In an ordinary book, these would be crappy, neglectful parents — here, they have problems and wonderful qualities, like everyone.

And of course, Zoe herself cracked me up. Here she is in her pre-organ piano lesson, using Lester Rennet’s Revolutionary Method (a keyboard printed on cardboard):

Mr. Rennet pointed at me. “You can practice in the school lunchroom!”
Had Lester Rennet ever seen a school lunchroom? Did he understand that the lunchroom is a jungle, where sixth-grade beasts stalk the weak and the dorky? Unfolding a revolutionary paper keyboard would be like picking a scab in a pool of sharks — the scent of blood would cause a frenzy.

Zoe is younger than most YA protagonists (5th grade), but her honest, hilarious voice will also appeal to middle school kids (and, um, thirty-year-old librarians).

Also reviewed at: Teen Book Review, So Misguided, and Emily Reads.

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