leaina

Broadly speaking, I liked Star Wars: The Mask of Fear, the first book in a planned trilogy of Star Wars Political Thrillers pitched as Andor Prequels, For Fans Of Andor.

This one is set right after the declaration of the Empire and is mostly about the separate plans that Bail Organa and Mon Mothma pursue in order to try and limit their government's whole-scale slide into fascism, with -- as we-the-readers of course know -- an inevitable lack of success. It is of course impossible not to feel the weight of Current Events on every page; the book came out in February '25 and so must have been complete in every respect before the 2024 elections, but boy, it doesn't feel like it. On the other hand, it's also impossible not to feel 2016 and Hillary Clinton looming large over the portrayal of Mon Mothma as the consummate politician who is very good at wrangling the process of government but whom nobody actually likes.

That said, as a character in her own right, I am very fond of Mon Mothma, the consummate politician who is very good at wrangling the process of government but whom nobody actually likes. With her genuine belief in the ideals of democracy and her practiced acceptance of the various ethical compromises that working within the system requires, she makes for a great sympathetic-grayscale political-thriller protagonist. I also like the portrayal of her marriage in this period as something that is, like, broadly functional! sometimes a source of support! always number three or four on her priority list which she never quite gets around to calling him to tell him she's back on planet after a secret mission before the plot sweeps her off in a new direction, oops, well, I guess he'll find out when she's been released from prison again!

Anyway, her main plot is about trying to get a bill passed in the Senate that will limit Palpatine's power as Emperor, which involves making various shady deals with various powerful factions; meanwhile, Bail Organa has a separate plot in which he's running around trying to EXPOSE the LIES about the JEDI because he thinks that once everyone knows the Jedi were massacred without cause, Palpatine will be toppled by public outrage immediately. Both of them think the other's plan is kind of stupid and also find the other kind of annoying at this time, which tbh I really enjoy. I love when people don't like each other for normal reasons and have to work together anyway. I also like the other main wedge between them, which is that both of them were briefly Politically Arrested right before the book begins, and by chance and charisma Bail Organa joked his way out of it and came out fine while Mon Mothma went through a harrowing and physically traumatic experience that has left her with lingering PTSD, and Mon Mothma knows this and Bail Organa doesn't and this colors all their choices throughout the book.

Bail Organa's plot is also sort of hitched onto a plot about an elderly Republic-turned-Imperial spymaster who's trying to find the agents she lost at the end of the war, and her spy protege who accidentally ends up infiltrating the Star Wars pro-Palpatine alt-right movement, both of which work pretty well as stories about people who find themselves sort of within a system as the system is changing underneath them.

And then there is the Saw plotline. This is my biggest disappointment in the book, is that the Saw plotline is not actually a Saw plotline; it's about a Separatist assassin who ends up temporarily teaming up with Saw for a bit as he tries to figure out who he should be assassinating now that the war is over, and we see Saw through his eyes, mostly pretty judgmentally. I do not object to other characters seeing Saw Gerrera pretty judgmentally, but it feels to me like a bit of a cop-out in a book that's pitched as 'how Mon Mothma, Bail Organa, and Saw Gerrera face growing fascism and start down the paths that will eventually lead to the Rebel Alliance' to once again almost entirely avoid giving Saw a point of view to see his ideology from within. But Star Wars as franchise is consistently determined not to do that. Ah, well; maybe one of the later two books in this trilogy will have a meaty interiority-heavy Saw plotline and I'll eat my words.

(NB: I have not yet seen S2 of Andor and I do plan to do so at some point, please don't tell me anything about it!)

osprey_archer

littlerhymes asked which Newberies were hardest to find. As it happens, I kept a list of how I found all the Newberies, so I can answer this in some detail!

When I started this project, I was living in Indianapolis, and the Indianapolis Public Library had all the Newbery Honor books back to 1970. Since I looked this up in 2020, it’s possible they have some sort of cutoff where they keep at least one copy in the system for fifty years? Or maybe it was just a coincidence.

At any rate, the cutoff was sharp at 1970 itself, when there were three books the Indianapolis library didn't have. Through my mother, I had access to the Evergreen Library Consortium which connects libraries through Indiana. Through my father, I had access to the Purdue University libraries. Using these resources, I found two of the Honor books of 1970, except The Many Ways of Seeing: An Introduction to the Pleasures of Art, which my mother bought me as a present, which is CHEATING.

Um. I mean, thank you for the kind present, Mom!

(But it’s still not in the proper treasure hunt spirit!)

These two libraries also filled the gaps in the Indianapolis collection of the 1960s Newberys.

In the 1950s, the treasure hunt got real. I got four books through interlibrary loan. One I read on a trip to the Indiana State Library, and another I read on in the Lilly Library Reading Room in Bloomington, which conveniently has a collection of first editions of many Newbery Honor books.

I also read one through openlibrary.org, and I will note that many of the books I found through other means are available on this website. I only used it a few times for two reasons: one, the scanned books tend to give me a headache, and it’s impossible to be fair to a book while you have a splitting headache. And two, this also cut into the whole treasure hunt aspect. Does openlibrary.org bring you a book on a little pillow like the Lilly Library? Absolutely they do not.

(I also almost certainly could have gotten all the books I found in various archives and reading rooms through interlibrary loan, but again, would they have been brought to me on a little pillow? No! Sometimes one must simply embrace the thrill of the chase.)

For the 1940s, I had one Indiana State Library book, three interlibrary loans, and three Lilly Library Reading Room books. (I also read two more books on openlibrary.org, and it was the poor scanning of Eva Roe Gaggin’s Down Ryton Water that broke me.)

The 1930s were the hardest decade by far. I had twenty-three interlibrary loans, three Lilly Library books, two Indiana State Library books (I should note that the Indiana State Library doesn’t check out the older materials in its collection, so all these books I read in the library), four Lilly Library Reading Room books, and near the end of the project I discovered that the Purdue Archive had one of the books I needed, so I got to read that one in the Purdue Archive Reading Room.

The 1920s were actually easier, mostly because the Newbery Committee chose far fewer runners-up in the 1920s than the 1930s, but also because the 1920s books were beginning to come off copyright. (As of 2025, they’re all out of copyright.) So I could read many of them through gutenberg.org or Google Books, but since 1928 and 1929 were still under copyright at the time, there was still an interlibrary loan, a Lilly Reading Room book, and an Indiana State Library book.

And that is the tale of my Newbery treasure hunt! Now that I’ve finished the list, I feel a trifle bereft: what books can I have the archivists bring me on little pillows now? However, you’ll be pleased to hear that I’ve already started a small list of books that I look forward to reserving at the archives at my leisure.

osprey_archer

In the afterward to Max in the Land of Lies, Adam Gidwitz mentioned Melita Maschmann’s Account Rendered: A Dossier of My Former Self as one of the most important sources for the book, and also a book that he would urge everyone to read. Of course I had to try it, especially given that Gidwitz’s Melita Maschmann is one of the most likable characters in Max in the Land of Lies, for all that she is a true believer Nazi who, moreover, gets only very limited pagetime.

Now I realize some people may object to the idea of a likeable Nazi true believer, but I believe in order to understand evil one of the things we have to let go of is the belief that there’s any clear relationship between likability and goodness. If you will excuse a digression into quadrant theory, likability and goodness are two separate axes, and most of us are happiest with the “likable and good” quadrant and the “unlikable and bad” quadrant. Neither of these create cognitive dissonance. We want the people whom we like to be good and the people we hate to be bad.

But “unlikable and good” and “likable and bad” can both be a torment. You know that you should like so-and-so, because they’re so useful and helpful and have all the right opinions, but really you would climb out a window rather than spend an hour alone with them because they just grate on you. Or, you like so-and-so a lot, because they’re so funny and charming, and when other people say they’ve done bad things it’s probably lies, or jealousy, or a failure to understand the complexity of their character, or… oh God what if they are bad. You like them so much and they’re bad?? What does that say about you??? NO the accusations of badness are LIES.

(Or else, you insist that you never really liked them THAT much, like my friend with the Harry Potter tattoo who insists she was never THAT into Harry Potter.)

So: Melita Maschmann, likable Nazi true believer, who very slowly after the war began to look back on her former self and say, “What the fuck was I thinking?” This book, written in the form of a letter to her former best friend, a Jewish girl who had to flee Germany, is Maschmann’s attempt to figure out what, in fact, she was thinking.

The idea of the book as a letter is sometimes slightly alarming (can you imagine handing someone a book-length manuscript and saying “This is why I was a world-historically bad friend”?), but as a literary device it’s useful, because it gives Maschmann an imaginary interlocutor to pull her up short whenever she reaches a particularly “But didn’t this make you rethink your choices?” moment. Kristallnacht? The starving Poles when you were first posted to Poland? The time the local German army didn’t have enough troops to evict the Poles from their village to make way for German settlers, so you had to help? Maybe the time that you drove a truck around stealing furniture from the local Poles to give it to a German family that had settled in one of these newly emptied villages?

This last in particular was not merely wrong but also illegal even at the time, but rather oddly it’s also the only one that Maschmann didn’t have a single qualm about when she did it. The rest of these events did give her pause, but at the end of the day there’s a vast gulf between being taken aback and actually rethinking the ideology that has shaped your entire life.

Maschmann turned to National Socialism because she was an idealist who loved the idea of the National Community that cuts across classes and binds everyone together and fixes the poverty and shame that have crippled her country since the Great War. It was a way of rebelling against her parents that nonetheless embraced many of their beliefs: not only the sense that democracy had failed, but also the belief that violent competition among countries is inevitable, so although you might flinch from things you saw while invading Poland, if you didn’t invade Poland then Poland would assuredly invade you.

By this point you, my imaginary interlocutor, may well be asking, “But what part of this is likable, you monster?” Well, part of it is the fact that Maschmann had the strength of character to look back afterward and try to make sense of what she had done. This is something that most human beings seem to find almost impossible even when there aren’t war crimes involved.

Her account is clear-eyed, both in the sense of sheer observation - there’s tons of interesting detail here about life on the ground during the invasion of Poland, for instance - and in the sense that she’s trying to look at these events squarely, to explain without justifying, to say “this is what we were thinking” and hope that this might help turn other people aside if they find themselves straying into a similar path.

But even in Maschmann’s younger self, there are many appealing qualities. She was an indefatigable worker with a yearning to help people, an idealist who latched onto absolutely the wrong ideal. If she had latched onto a different ideal –

Well, the twentieth century was not short on ideals that led to mass destruction, so if Maschmann chose a different ideal, she might have been just as destructive in a different direction. Why do I find something so appealing about idealists, when ideology is used to create and justify so much suffering?

osprey_archer

What I’ve Just Finished Reading

We are undergoing some upheaval at work, and as always in times of upheaval, I’ve turned to the soothing verities of mystery novels. In this case, I read Rex Stout’s The Doorbell Rang, my first Nero Wolfe novel, which features MANY delicious meals, Nero Wolfe taking on J. Edgar Hoover’s FBI, and a certain amount of Wolfe’s assistant Archie ogling women, the last of which means that I shouldn’t read too many of these books in a row or else I’ll get too irritated to continue. But I do mean to circle back to Rex Stout from time to time!

I also finished Elizabeth Gaskell’s Gothic Tales, which wrapped up with “The Grey Lady,” in which a woman escapes from her evil husband (a secret highwayman!) with the aid of her lady’s maid Amante, who disguises herself as a man and passes herself off as our narrator’s husband.

What I’m Reading Now

Continuing my meander through Aldo Leopold’s A Sand County Almanac. Reading all those Newbery books from the 1930s, 40s, and 50s has really helped me appreciate this book more, because their repeated paeans to Progress (and cowardly, skulking wolves who need to be shot) makes it clear just how hard Leopold was swimming against the tide when he notes that Progress has drawbacks, such as the fact that if you shoot all the wolves, the unchecked deer population will eat the mountainside down to easily eroded dirt.

Also, a quote that struck me: “We all strive for safety, prosperity, comfort, long life, and dullness.”

What I Plan to Read Next

Genzaburo Yoshino’s How Do You Live? The label at Von’s said this book was one of Miyazaki’s favorites as a boy, and how was I to resist that?

rachelmanija

This novel appears to be a well-written and enjoyable but conventional haunted house story; it turns out to have a twist on that theme which I've never encountered before. I very much enjoyed discovering that for myself, so if you think you might too, don't read the spoilers.

A young couple, Emily and Freddie, move from London to Larkin Lodge, an old house in Dartmoor, while Emily's recovering from a serious accident. After she fell off a cliff, her heart stopped and one leg was permanently damaged. Doctors warned her and Freddie that she might suffer from post-sepsis mental complications, so when she starts perceiving weird things involving Larkin Lodge, both she and Freddie think it's probably her, not the house. Emily and Freddie's marriage is not the greatest, but is that something that was previously going on, or is it cracking under stress, or is the house having a bad effect on them?

Emily and Freddie are not the best people, but that really works for the story. I thought it was a lot of fun.

Spoilers! ( Read more... )

Content notes: Not even slightly gory or gross. Mention of a miscarriage (off-page, not described). Some violence, not graphic. No on-page animal harm, but the body of a dead raven is found.

osprey_archer

rachelmanija suggested a list of Forgotten Newbery Books that Are Really Worth Reading, so I’ve compiled my top ten, listed here in order of year of publication. For obvious reasons, this list skews toward the older books, and I tried to pick ones that I felt have been really forgotten, although it turns out that it can be a bit hard to tell if a book has been truly forgotten or if I, personally, just hadn’t happened to heard of it before this project.

1. Marjorie Hill Allee's Jane’s Island, 1932. Come for an engaging story that also meditates on women’s place in the sciences and society, stay for lovely description of life around the Wood’s Hole research station, and also for the cranky German scientist who is VERY shell-shocked from World War I and FIRMLY intends to prove that nature is red in tooth and claw.

2. Dorothy P. Lathrop’s The Fairy Circus, 1932. FAIRIES put on a CIRCUS with the aid of WOODLAND CREATURES. What more could you want from a book!

3. Erick Berry’s Winged Girl of Knossos, 1934. Have you always wanted a retelling of the tale of Theseus and the minotaur crossed with Daedalus and Icarus with a genderswapped Icarus who is a tomboy in the tomboy-welcoming culture of ancient Crete? Yes you have.

4. Christine Weston’s Bhimsa, The Dancing Bear, 1946. Two boys (one English and one Indian) go adventuring across India in the company of their friend Bhimsa, the dancing bear. A fun adventure story.

5. Cyrus Fisher’s The Avion My Uncle Flew, 1947. An adventure story set in post-World War II France, featuring a glider and some secret Nazis in the mountains and the most impressive literary trick I’ve seen in a Newbery book, or indeed in pretty much any book ever. (I talk about it at more length in the review but don’t want to spoil it here.)

6. Claire Huchet Bishop's Pancakes-Paris, 1948. In post-war Paris, a young boy gets a box of pancake mix from some American soldiers, and makes pancakes for his mother and sister for Mardi Gras. That’s it! That’s the story.

7. Louise Rankin's Daughter of the Mountains, 1949. When a young Tibetan girl’s beloved dog is stolen, she chases him all the way across Tibet and into India to get him back. Super fun adventure story. No one is the least bit fazed at the idea of a girl having an adventure.

8. Jennie Lindquist's The Golden Name Day, 1956. Nancy spends a year with her Swedish-American relatives and they get up to all sorts of lovely escapades. Beautiful illustrations by Garth Williams, who you may be familiar with from the Little House series. There should be more books which are just about characters having a fantastic time.

9. Mari Sandoz's The Horsecatcher, 1957. A Cheyenne boy wants to become a horsecatcher rather than a warrior. I’m not planning a companion post to the Problem of Tomboys about Boys Who Don’t Want to Do Classic Boy Things, but if I were, this book would be on it. Fascinating evocation of our hero’s world.

10. Cynthia Rylant's A Fine White Dust, 1987. Kind of an outlier on this list, which is mostly adventure stories and people having good times stories. This one is a realistic fiction story about a boy growing up in the South who falls in love with a traveling preacher. VERY intense. EXTREMELY gay. Never admits to being gay but nonetheless one of the gayest books I’ve ever read. Very short. I read most of it in one lunch break and spent that entire lunch break internally keening because it is VERY STRESSFUL but in a good way.

mrissa

I have my schedule for Capclave! I'm doing three panels and a reading (should probably figure out what I'm reading...). Here's what we've got:

The Power of Places. Friday, 5:00. Every work of fiction has a setting. This is especially true of science fiction and fantasy where the settings are imaginary – other planets and fantasy realms. How do writers decide on a setting and communicate it to the reader? What makes some settings seem real while others mere painted backdrops? How does society help to shape the world around it? What writers have effective settings and what techniques do they use?

The Absolute Boss. Friday, 7:00. Much of SF/Fantasy has Galactic Emperors and Kings of fantasy kingdoms. We have Disney Princesses but not Disney Elected Leaders. Many plots feature the Return of the King. Why are there so few democracies in SF/Fantasy? What does it mean when our entertainments focus on absolute rulers?

Author Reading, Marissa Lingen. Saturday, 3:00.

Hopeful Fiction for Dark Times. Saturday, 4:00. The world seems to be in a dark place, such that "peddling hope" could appear irresponsible. Panelists will talk about hopepunk, cozy fantasy, and other forms of "lighter" fiction, giving examples, and talking about how hope is particularly important.

osprey_archer

When I was first compiling my reading lists, I kept thinking, “Oh, I’ve been meaning to read more by that author! And that one! And that one!” At last it occurred to me that it might be useful to compile a list of those authors from each year and then, you know, actually revisit that author’s work.

When I compiled the first list for 2012 (the first year I have complete enough records to make it worthwhile), it ended up including three Rosemary Sutcliff entries, and I realized that if I didn’t take evasive measures I would probably end up with twenty Rosemary Sutcliff books in a row in the 2013 list. So I refined the parameters: each author gets only one listing per year.

I’ve already read my way through 2012 and 2013 and most of 2014 (still waiting for Elizabeth and Her German Garden! Come on, library!), but it occurred to me that it might be fun forthwith to share my lists as I work on them, and also a good chance to get input if I’m still deciding which book to read for an author. So! Here is the 2015 list. The crossed-out entries are the books I’ve already read for this list.

~~Jacqueline Woodson – Peace, Locomotion~~

~~Rosemary Sutcliff – Little Hound Found~~

Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn – In the First Circle or Cancer Ward. I have both on hold, so we’ll see which gets in first

Zilpha Keatley Snyder – Today Is Saturday (a book of poems. Possibly Snyder’s only book of poems?)

~~Ruth Goodman – How to Behave Badly in Elizabethan England~~

~~Ngaio Marsh – A Wreath for Rivera~~

Sarah Rees Brennan – Long Live Evil

Dick Francis – Whip Hand

Margaret Oliphant – probably Kirsteen, although the library has a number of others, including Phoebe Junior and Salem Chapel. Also a bunch of biographies? I hadn’t realized Margaret Oliphant wrote biographies.

~~Elizabeth Gaskell – Gothic Tales~~

Andy Weir – Hail Mary

mrissa

Review copy provided by the publisher. Also the author is a friend, as you will find out if you read to the end and see that I am in the acknowledgments for the honestly light and easy work of being Brandon's pal.

Good news for those of you who wait until a series is complete to read it: this is the second book in a duology! So you can just pick up Catalyst and Castoff and read them together, if you haven't yet. I'm going to try not to spoiler the first book too much, which is going to leave me vague, because this is definitely my favorite kind of sequel: the kind where the consequences follow on hard and fast from the first book. Happily for those with shaky memories, there's a quick summary at the beginning of this one.

So there are airships! There are strange vast somewhat personified forces! There are people working out their relationships in the face of personal and social change! It's that lovely kind of fantasy novel that almost might be a science fiction novel in its concern with human interactions with truly alien intelligences. I love that kind. I want more of that basically always. And if it can come with airship adventures alongside the ponderings of the nature of intelligence and caring about others, even better. Very glad this is about to make it out into the world so I can talk to more people about these books.

skygiants

genarti and I have been working our very slow but delighted way through We Are Lady Parts, the British sitcom about an all-Muslim punk rock band composed of opinionated women with beautiful and compelling faces. I'd been seeing a lot of gifsets of these faces before we watched the show and I am pleased to report that they are even more beautiful and compelling at full length. For those of you who have missed the gifsets, please enjoy Lady Parts performing "Villain Era":

Watch on YouTube

The two most protagonist-y protagonists are Saira, the band's lead singer/guitarist, who is at all times extremely punk rock, and Amina, a stressed-out trad-Muslim scientist with terrible stage fright, who really has to work to access her inner punk rock. The cast is rounded out with Ayesha, the angry lesbian drummer; Bisma, who plays the role of maternal peacemaker until she starts to chafe at it; and Momtaz, the band's go-getter manager. The first season focuses mostly on the question of whether Amina can conquer her own inhibitions enough to contribute her excellent guitar skills and huge Disney eyes to the band after Saira press-gangs her into joining them. The second season brings the whole band up against the music industry more generally, and the various ways that the public pressure of moderate fame starts to push each of them into re-examining their self-image and relationships to their music and identity. It's a good show! I liked it very much!

Also, like everyone else in the world, we have recently watched KPop Demon Hunters. Also a very good time featuring banger music tracks -- I'd seen it described as 'a series of really good music videos' and broadly I agree with this assessment -- plus twenty pounds of fun kdrama tropes stuffed into a five-pound bag. Probably would not have felt compelled to write anything about it except for the fact that by an accident of timing, we ended up watching the season finale of Lady Parts the day after we watched KPop Demon Hunters which made for a very funny accidental wine pairing. Both funny and telling to go from ( high-level spoilers for both KPop Demon Hunters and Lady Parts )

osprey_archer

In the days of my youth, when I finished The Golden Compass, I immediately snatched up its sequel the The Subtle Knife and dived in. I zoomed through, finished it up, and set it aside with an impatient yearning for the next book to come out already, as surely the third book in the series would redeem this middle book, which was ever so slightly disappointing.

Upon rereading The Subtle Knife with

littlerhymes, I still find it ever so slightly disappointing. I feel this review would have a stronger narrative arc if my opinions had changed, but actually they’re pretty much the same.

(Well, okay, there is one difference. As a child, I don’t think I noticed the creepy instrumentality of Asriel’s forces in his fight against the Authority, most prominently the two angels who let Stanislaus Grumman/John Parry get shot because “his task was over once he’d led you to us.” Just catastrophically failing at the Kantian maxim to treat people as ends not means. This may be something that Pullman will unpack in The Amber Spyglass; I genuinely don’t remember.)

First of all, I’ve just never loved Will like I love Lyra. The best parts in The Subtle Knife in my opinion are the bits where Lyra goes off on her own and does her Lyra thing, like the bit where she goes to meet Mary Malone and makes the dark matter machine talk to her like the alethiometer. (I also loved the bit where Mary Malone has a chat with the dark matter machine and follows its directions through a door to another world, and one of the reasons I MOST wanted the sequel to come out, like, yesterday, was that I really wanted to know what would happen to her next.)

The bits where Lyra and Will work together to solve problems are also fun. The bit where they confront Lord Boreal about stealing the alethiometer and his snake daemon pokes its little head out of his sleeve? Iconic. The part where they use the subtle knife to get back into his house by cutting windows back and forth between worlds, culminating in Will hiding behind Lord Boreal’s couch and Lyra crouched beside him, but in another world? Amazing job leaning into the premise.

When it’s just Will doing his Will stuff? Eh. He’s fine I guess. I don’t dislike him, but he’s just kind of there taking up time we could be devoting to Lyra.

I had also pretty much forgotten everything that focused on the adult characters, possibly because as a child I simply didn’t care about adult characters (with the exception of Mary Malone) and therefore didn’t bother to read those parts. They are not bad parts! They just weren’t what I was into at eleven. I probably appreciated them more now.

But I think the bigger problem with The Subtle Knife is that it just can’t live up to The Golden Compass. In The Golden Compass, Lyra moves through many different worlds-within-worlds in her own world, and they’re all fascinating, almost all places that the reader would love to visit. Who wouldn’t want to have a glass of Tokay in the Jordan College Retiring Room, attend one of Mrs. Coulter’s cocktail parties, ride in a gyptian boat, see the bear’s fortress at Svalbard?

At the end of The Golden Compass, Lyra walks into the sky to explore strange new worlds, seek out new life and new civilizations, etc. etc., and what does she find? The world of Ci’gazze, which starts out vaguely promising - an abandoned city, that’s cool, right? But it turns out to be completely full of Spectres that will suck out your life the second you hit puberty, and it appears to have no other characteristics, none of the richness of any of the places Lyra visited in her own world.

But the next book, my child self was sure, would get us back on track. We would visit more worlds, and these worlds would be INTERESTING worlds, and maybe Will would just kind of disappear.

osprey_archer

I was all set to write a post about how there aren’t that many SFF books that won Newbery honors or awards, but then I actually totted them up and realized that this is a classic case of a sampling error. The problem is not that few SFF children’s books won awards, but that I didn’t read most of those books specially for this project. I read a bunch of them just as part of my general reading as a child, because the Newbery SFF books, it turns out, include an extremely high percentage of absolute bangers.

(For the purposes of this post, I’ve excluded nonsense books (which after all had their own post) and also most books about talking animals, just because I tend to see those as their own genre with its own concerns. There are a couple that in my opinion stray over into more general SFF territory, and I have included them here.)

It’s also true that the SFF Newberies tend to cluster in the more recent years, so as I’ve been working backward there have been fewer and fewer, in part perhaps because nonsense books and folktales were more heavily represented in the earlier years. The first indisputably fantasy book to win a Newbery Honor is Dorothy Lathrop’s delightful The Fairy Circus in 1932. There are just a few in the 1940s, but these include Julia Sauer’s Fog Magic (which I read and adored as a reprint in fourth grade), as well as Ruth S. Gannett’s still popular and beloved My Father’s Dragon.

But in the 1960s and 70s, the Newbery Award got on a fantasy roll, and honored classic after classic. Madeleine L’Engle’s A Wrinkle in Time, Lloyd Alexander’s The Black Cauldron and The High King, Sylvia Louise Engdahl’s Enchantress from the Stars (another reprint I loved in my early teens), Robert O’Brien’s Mrs. Frisby and the Rats of NIMH (my mom read this to my brother and me), Ursula K. Le Guin’s The Tombs of Atuan (I read this within the last couple of years and it 110% holds up if you come to it for the first time as an adult), Susan Cooper’s The Dark is Rising and The Grey King, and Elizabeth Marie Pope’s The Perilous Gard (another beloved favorite of my youth! I just couldn’t get enough of the 1970s books apparently).

This amazing streak continues in the 1980s and 90s with Robin McKinley’s The Blue Sword and The Hero and the Crown, Nancy Farmer’s The Ear, the Eye, and the Arm and The House of the Scorpion, Eloise Jarvis McGraw’s The Moorchild and Lois Lowry’s The Giver and Megan Whalen Turner’s The Thief and Gail Carson Levine’s Ella Enchanted...

If someone asked for a reading list to introduce them to American children’s SFF from the latter half of the twentieth century, I think you could quite legitimately just hand them this list as a starting point. It hits many of the best authors and most famous and beloved books.

This winning streak continued into the 2000s with Kate DiCamillo’s The Tale of Despereaux (which I personally didn’t care for, but clearly many others do), Shannon Hale’s Princess Academy (also not a personal favorite) and Grace Lin Where the Mountain Meets the Moon (which I loved).

Where the Mountain Meets the Moon won an honor in 2010. In the fifteen years since then, the Newbery has gone a bit SFF mad (including three SFF honorees in 2024), but perhaps at the expense of its earlier all but unerring judgment. I’ve liked some of the work that has won in recent years (particularly Christina Soontornvat’s books), but I don’t think it’s as strong as the books from 1960 to 2010.

Now a skeptical reader might point out that I read many of the earlier books at an impressionable age, so perhaps the root of the problem is simply that I’ve aged out of the target audience. This is of course possible but also incorrect, as my taste is impeccable and my judgment 100% objective, but I think it also reflects changes in publishing.

First, the years around 2010 were the years of the explosion in YA publishing, which siphoned off a lot of books that would earlier have been published as children’s books. And the great YA explosion also changed the kind of YA books that were published: publishers were looking for the next Twilight, which (with all due respect to Twilight) is not likely to result in books as complex and meaty and uninterested in romance as, let’s say, The Tombs of Atuan.

At the same time, there was a wider swing back toward moralism in literature, the belief that the point of a story is to be a vehicle for good values. The values that modern-day moralists are different from the values of their Victorian forebears (very few people today are het up about the importance of keeping the Sabbath), but the basic instinct is the same, and it has the same deforming effect on literature. Not every book needs to be an expose of social injustice. Some people just want to write about fairies putting on a circus.

osprey_archer

What I’ve Just Finished Reading

Over the years,

littlerhymes has been educating me about Australian children’s literature. Most recently she sent me Colin Thiele’s Storm Boy, a slim and lovely book full of gorgeous descriptions of the barren yet beautiful storm-wracked shore where seabirds nest. Our hero, Storm Boy, lives here with his father, and befriends a baby pelican whom he names Mr. Percival. ( Spoilers )

After a gap of years since my last Ngaio Marsh, I returned to my favorite Golden Age mystery author! (Sorry, Sayers and Christie. Sayers in particular I think is probably actually a better writer than Marsh, but the heart wants what it wants.) This time, I read A Wreath for Rivera, in which a convoluted-seeming mystery winds round to a satisfyingly simple solution. The family dynamics are excellently portrayed as usual in Marsh, and although I love her mysteries I do just a little bit wish she’d written a non-mystery or two, just to see how it would have turned out.

I also finished Daphne du Maurier’s Golden Lads: Sir Francis Bacon, Anthony Bacon and Their Friends, which is one of those books that is interesting while you’re reading it but also eminently put-downable, hence the fact that it’s taken me a few months. Despite the title, it’s really a biography of Anthony Bacon, Tudor Spy, with just a bit of Sir Francis Bacon (presumably Sir Francis’s name is more marketable). Major downside of being a Tudor spymaster: you pay for the whole operation out of pocket and are rewarded, at best, with gratitude.

Continuing the spy theme, I read Ben Macintyre’s Operation Mincemeat: How a Dead Man and a Bizarre Plan Fooled the Nazis and Assured an Allied Victory, a rollicking adventure featuring spies who are having the time of their lives. They pull off a major intelligence coup which is made into a major motion picture about fifteen years later, in which spymaster Ewen Montagu himself got to play a cameo role! Spying: extremely effective, glamorous, and also glorious. The antithesis of Le Carre.

What I’m Reading Now

In Elizabeth Gaskell’s Gothic Tales, I just finished the tragic story “Lois the Witch,” about a girl accused of witchcraft during the Salem witch trials. Really effectively miserable and claustrophobic. If anyone ever tries to pack you off to your sole remaining surviving family in Puritan New England, I strongly suggest that you find a job as an under-housemaid instead.

What I Plan to Read Next

Dick Francis’s Whip Hand awaits!

mrissa

Pria Anand, The Mind Electric: A Neurologist on the Strangeness and Wonder of Our Brains. This is the most like Oliver Sacks of anything I've read since Oliver Sacks died, and one of the ways in which that's the case is that Anand is writing from her own experience as a neurologist but also as someone who has gone through relevant symptoms and has a particular perspective, so: in the tradition of Sacks rather than attempting to clone him. If you like "weird things brains do oh goodness" stories, this will be your jam, and it sure was mine. Also Anand is meticulous about gender: if there are relevant studies that talk about the occurrence of a particular condition among trans women as compared to cis women, cis men, or trans men (or etc. with other groups in the spotlight), she will note them as clearly and calmly as she would something about cis women, treating it all as part of our composite picture of how the brain works and what affects it. Highly recommended.

Charlie Jane Anders, Lessons in Magic and Disaster. This book completely wrecked me. It's in some ways a gentle story about subtle and small-scale magic and about human relationships in our own structurally substantially unequal society. It's also about long-term grief where most stories that touch on grief are fairly short-term (months or 1-2 years) or muted somehow, and it's the only recent book I recall really delving into helping your parent with their grief while you, an adult, deal with your own differently-shaped grief for the same person. It's really beautifully done, I wanted to be doing nothing else but reading it once I started reading it, and also it was emotionally devastating in parts.

Scott Anderson, King of Kings: The Iranian Revolution: A Story of Hubris, Delusion, and Catastrophic Miscalculation. Sometimes I feel like the most confusing parts of history are not the really distant ones--who doesn't like a good Ea-Nasir joke--but the things that happened just before you arrived or as you're arriving. They're simultaneously foundational to a bunch of the world around you and happened while you weren't looking, in ways no one thinks to teach you formally. For me, born in 1978, the Iranian Revolution is one of those things, so when I spotted this on the library's new books table I picked it up immediately. This is a detailed history from someone who got to interview many of the Americans involved, and who is committed to not oversimplifying the benefits or detriments of the shah's reign. I could have wished for somewhat deeper Iranian history, though there was some, and stronger regional grounding, but also those things can be found elsewhere, it's all part of the process. The fact that there's an American flag on the cover of this book as well as an Iranian flag is not an accident. A book that was focusing on Iranian relations with for example France in this period would have a very different take.

Stephani Burgis, A Honeymoon of Grave Consequence. Discussed elsewhere.

Robert Darnton, A Literary Tour de France: The World of Books on the Eve of the French Revolution. This is a microhistory of booksellers and their job routes and wares in the pre-Revolutionary era. Of all of Darnton's books, I'd say this should be low on the list for people who are not deeply interested in the period, least of general interest. Luckily I am deeply interested in the period. So.

John M. Ford, From the End of the Twentieth Century. Reread. Satisfying in its own inimitable way. Those poor skazlorls.

Karen Joy Fowler, Black Glass. Reread. And the threads Karen was pulling out of the genre/literary conversation at the time were so different from the ones Mike did, I hadn't intended to read them in close proximity to compare and contrast but it was kind of fun when I landed there.

Gigi Griffis, And the Trees Stare Back. This is not my usual sort of thing--creepy YA with eventual explanation--except for one major factor: it's set in the lead-up to the Singing Revolution in Estonia. Really great integration of historical setting and speculative concept, bonded hard with the characters, loved it. Most of the historical fiction I read has me reading through the cracks of my fingers, wincing at what I know is coming but the characters do not. This was the opposite, I spent the entire book super-excited for them.

Dave Hage and Josephine Marcotty, Sea of Grass: The Conquest, Ruin, and Redemption of the American Prairie. I am always disappointed to find out that I am already pretty expert in something, because I learn less that way. The American Prairie! Soil restoration, water conservation, habitats, farming...it turns out I already know quite a lot about this. Darn. If you don't, here's a good place to start.

John Lisle, Project Mind Control: Sidney Gottlieb, the CIA, and the Tragedy of MKULTRA. Ooooof. This is another "I saw it on the library's new books shelf" read for this fortnight, and its portrayal of CIA misbehavior was...not a surprise, but having this amount of detail on one project was...not cheering.

Ada Palmer, Inventing the Renaissance: The Myth of a Golden Age. If you internalized the idea that historians should be effaced as completely as possible from the writing of history, in the pretense that the history wrote itself really, this will not be the book for you. Ada Palmer is as major a factor in this book as Machiavelli or any of the Medicis. If, on the other hand, you enjoy Ada's classroom lecture voice, it comes through really clearly here. There are some places where I was clearly not her target audience--I honestly don't have a personal investment in what Machiavelli's personal religious stance was, so the chapter about why we want him to be an atheist was speaking to a "we" I am not in. Still, lots of interesting stuff here. Including, surprisingly, cantaloupes.

Jo Piazza, Everyone Is Lying to You. This is a thriller about social media influencers in the group that would have been called "Mommy bloggers" a generation ago, set in the Mountain West. It's very readable, and if you know anything about tradwife influencers you'll see lots of places where it's spot on. I think people who read a lot may find the twists less twisty, but it doesn't rely solely on twists for its appeal.

Joe Mungo Reed, Terrestrial History. I haven't had a satisfying generational epic in a long time. This one spans Earth and Mars, with point of view characters in four generations and multiple points on their partially shared timeline. My preferences would have been for more of everything, more all around--for a generational epic this is comparatively slim--but still very readable.

Sophy Roberts, A Training School for Elephants: Retracing a Curious Episode in the European Grab for Africa. The subtitle calls this a curious episode. It is instead a staggeringly depressing demonstration of how colonialism was fractally horrible. Zoom in a little closer! more horrors! hooray! No. Not hooray. And Roberts is clearly not claiming it is a cause for celebration, but...well. For me this microhistory was more upsetting than illuminating. Maybe I should stop looking at the new books shelf at the library for a minute.

Jessie L. Weston, The Three Days' Tournament: A Study in Romance and Folk-Lore. Kindle. Comparison and contrast of different appearances of a particular legend throughout western/northwestern Europe and England. Nostalgic for me because I used to read a lot more of this sort of thing.

Darcie Wilde, A Purely Private Matter, And Dangerous to Know, A Lady Compromised, A Counterfeit Suitor, and The Secret of the Lady's Maid. This is not all the Rosalind Thorne mysteries there are, but it's all the Rosalind Thorne mysteries my library had. If you like the first one, they are consistent, and I think you could probably start anywhere and find the situation and characters adequately explained. Regency mysteries! Do you want some of those? here they are.

rachelmanija

After disliking both The Hollow Places and The Seventh Bride by T. Kingfisher, and for similar reasons (idiot heroine who refused to believe in magic when it was happening right in front of her; annoying tone), I gave up on her works. But since lots of my customers like her, I ordered this book. And when it arrived, it was so beautiful that I had to pick it up and examine it. And then I figured I'd read a couple pages, just to get an idea of what it was about. Those couple pages quickly turned into the first chapter. Then the second. The next thing I knew, I was actually enjoying the book, and finished it with great pleasure.

Anja is a scientist specializing in poisons and antidotes, who regularly takes small doses of poison to understand their effects and test out antidotes. She saves the lives of poisoned people, sometimes. This gets her enough fame that one day the king shows up, asking her to save his daughter, Snow, who he believes is being poisoned...

This is a very loose retelling of "Snow White," making clever use of elements like the apple, the mirror, and the poison.

Like the other books of hers I read, this one is set in an unambiguously magical world and/or has a portal to an unambiguously magical world, and has a heroine who doesn't believe in magic. I guess this is an obligatory Kingfisher thing? At least in this one, Anja doesn't deny that things are happening when they're clearly happening, she just thinks that maybe there is some underlying scientific explanation. This makes at least some sense, as she's a scientist. (Though in my opinion, science is basically a framework and a worldview, and a scientist in a magical world would be doing experiments to figure out how magic works, not denying its existence.) In any case, Anja does not act like an idiot or a flat earther, but pursues the clues she finds and doesn't deny what they suggest. She's kind of monomaniacal, but in a fun way.

Hemlock & Silver meshes multiple genres. It's not a horror novel or even particularly dark for a fantasy, but it has some genuinely scary moments. It's often very funny. And one aspect of the story, while technically fantasy, is so methodically worked out and involves so much science (optics) that it feels like science fiction. There's also a murder mystery, a romance, a surprisingly agreeable rooster, and a talking cat. It all works together quite nicely.

osprey_archer

I went into the Newbery Project expecting to see certain changes over the decades, but some of the most fascinating changes have been the ones that I didn’t know enough to expect at all, like the rise and fall of the nonsense book.

Now let me say at the outset that I don’t much enjoy nonsense books. Until recently I would have qualified this statement by saying “except Alice in Wonderland,” but then I reread Alice in Wonderland and I guess what I enjoyed as a teen was reading The Annotated Alice and discovering that Carroll’s verses were send-ups of moralistic Victorian poems and songs? In any case, I didn’t enjoy the reread.

As such, I’ve never sought out nonsense stories, and therefore my observations about the form are offered on the basis of nonsense books I’ve read more or less by accident. However, my impression is that Alice in Wonderland popularized nonsense as a form of children’s literature in the Anglophone world, and that popularity lasted until at least the 1920s, as evidenced by William Bowen’s The Old Tobacco Shop: A True Account of What Befell a Little Boy in Search of Adventure (posts here and here), Anne Carroll Moore’s Nicholas: A Manhattan Christmas Story, and Anne Parrish and Dilwyn Parrish’s The Dream Coach, all of which won Newbery Honors during the 1920s.

But after this point, nonsense books lost the critical favor of the Newbery committee. Nonsense books continued to be published, most famously and successfully Norton Juster’s The Phantom Tollbooth in 1961. (Palmer Brown also made a career of this sort of thing in the second half of the 20th century.) But the Newbery committee had largely moved on. After honoring three nonsense books in its first decade, it honored just three more in the rest of its long life: Anne Parrish’s Floating Island (1931) and The Story of Appleby Capple (1951), and Catherine Besterman’s The Quaint and Curious Quest of Johnny Long-foot (1948).

That was the last Alice in Wonderland-type nonsense book to be so honored. At this point, I’m not sure new ones are being published, either. I have clocked a few more recent Newberies as nonsense-adjacent (Ellen Raskin’s Figgs & Phantoms (1975), Peggy Horvath’s Everything on a Waffle (2002), and Jack Gantos’s Dead End in Norvelt (2012)), but they differ from earlier nonsense books in that they technically take place in the real world and nothing exactly impossible happens… but at the same time the stories are absurd.

Given that I am, as aforementioned, not very fond of nonsense books, I can’t weep buckets over this development. But all the same, I do find something weirdly delightful about the prevalence of nonsense books in the first decade of the Newbery award, simply because they have no moral point - no point at all except the desire to delight.

rachelmanija

Poll #33561

Open to: Registered Users, detailed results viewable to: All, participants: 120

View Respondents

Which books would you most like me to review?

View Answers

Hemlock & Silver, by T. Kingfisher. The first book of hers I've actually liked!
54 (45.0%)

Lone Women, by Victor LaValle. Fantastic cross-genre western/historical/horror/fantasy.
37 (30.8%)

Into the Raging Sea, by Rachel Slade. The best nonfiction shipwreck book I've read since Shadow Divers.
41 (34.2%)

The Blacktongue Thief/The Daughter's War, by Christopher Buehlman. Excellent dark fantasy.
27 (22.5%)

The Bewitching, by Silvia Moreno-Garcia. Three timelines, all involving witches.
18 (15.0%)

Mexican Gothic, by Silvia Moreno-Garcia. Exactly what it sounds like.
36 (30.0%)

Archangel (etc), by Sharon Shinn. Lost colony romantic SF about genetically engineered angels.
39 (32.5%)

We Live Here Now, by Sarah Pinborough. Really original haunted house novel.
36 (30.0%)

The Buffalo Hunter Hunter, by Stephen Graham Jones. Outstanding indigenous take on "Interview with the Vampire."
50 (41.7%)

When the Angels Left the Old Country, by Sacha Lamb. A Jewish demon and angel leave the old country; excellent voice, very Jewish.
65 (54.2%)

Some other book I mentioned reading but failed to review.
4 (3.3%)

osprey_archer

My mother volunteers at the local library, and sometimes I help her process the new books, which is how I discovered Sandra Nickel’s Making Light Bloom: Clara Driscoll and the Tiffany Lamps.

Picture book biographies seem to be having a real moment, which is convenient for me as I’ve apparently got a weakness for them. Most of the current run focus on a lesser-known woman or person of color who did a cool thing, for values of “lesser-known” that vary from “actually I think this person is really pretty famous” to “no one has ever heard of this person.”

Clara Driscoll definitely falls in the latter category. Not only is she not famous now, but she was unknown in her own lifetime, as she did her work under contract in the Tiffany factory. She started out cutting out glass for the famous Tiffany windows, a job that required quite a bit of artistic taste as these windows are famous, among other things, for their gorgeous variegated glass - the cutters had to select the particular part of the big sheet of glass that would look best in the whole window.

Eventually, it occurred to Driscoll that one might also make stained glass lamps. Her design for a dragonfly lamp caught Louis Tiffany’s eye, and the lamp went to the World’s Fair, where it was a big hit. Tiffany gave Driscoll permission to design more lamps, and she went on to design at least sixty, all with beautiful nature themes.

The illustrations by Julie Paschkis are in a striking stained glass style: it was this reason that the cover caught my eye. Like Tiffany windows, the colors vary within one panel, orange drifting into red and green to yellow. A rich and lovely array of colors.

skygiants

Sometimes you hit the end of a book and immediately think 'I'd like to read that over again' because there's some sort of big twist that you know will make you experience the whole thing differently, and sometimes you hit the end of a book and think 'I'd like to read that over again' not because of any Major Plot Reveals, but because the book is woven together in an interesting enough way that you want the chance to fully appreciate how all the pieces fit now that you've seen the full puzzle.

This second case was my experience with The Fortunate Fall, a cyberpunk novel from 1995 that came back into print last year and that I did not quite manage to read in time for the Readercon book club (so I extremely appreciate

kate_nepveu's extensive notes on it including the intertextuality with Moby Dick.)

The book is narrated by Maya Andreyeva, a 'camera' -- a cyborg news-reporter modified to provide not just full sensory experience but also associated memories, context, etc. to the viewing public. When the book begins -- well, when the book begins, it has already ended, as Maya tells us; her whole audience has already experienced all the relevant events through her eyes, and now she's telling it to us again, in a narrative that she can control and that's on her own terms, contextualizing only what she wants to contextualize and hiding what she wants to hide. Which is a very fun way to begin a book, by consciously keying you into its distortions and elisions, and for the most part I think the text lives up to it.

Anyway, when not the book but the story begins, Maya has decided to put together a series commemorating the anniversary of a major [future]-historical tragedy, and has just gotten assigned a new screener for the project -- a sort of editorial figure who sits in between the camera and the audience, filtering out bodily functions and bad words and anything else that could be trouble for the network. Because of the amount of time they spend immersed in the heads of their cameras, screeners tend to become rapidly very enthusiastic and romantic about them! Maya's new screener Keishi is a beautiful and mysterious young woman who is, indeed, very enthusiastic and romantic about her! And definitely not keeping any secrets about her skills, her identity, or her reasons for being there working with Maya, no sir.

In true noir mode, Maya's initially normal-seeming historical research into a tragedy that's as long-ago and terrible and world-shaping for her as the Holocaust is for us ends up leading her increasingly out of the bounds of conventional society down a dangerous rabbithole, at the end of which lies forbidden knowledge about the world, forbidden knowledge about her own past, and forbidden knowledge about a really sad whale. And, following along with her, we as readers gradually start to piece together not only the particular dystopian shape of the world -- the parts that Maya already knows and the parts that Maya doesn't -- but also the shape of the story, the themes that it cares about and that have actually been driving the plot this entire time: embodiment, censorship, the atrocities we commit to end atrocities, and the power and beauty and absolute hard limits of queer love, just to name a few.

I don't know that everything about the book has fully aged well. I understand the well-meaning failure mode in cyberpunk that leads an author to posit a Monolithic Utopian Isolationist Africa when the rest of the world has gone to dystopian shit, but I think it is a failure mode. I also admit that I thought the entire grayspace digital-world sequence was a little bit boring. But for the most part the book is not at all boring, it's interesting in the way that only a book that actually trusts its readers to be doing an equal amount of work as they go is interesting. I did not in fact actually then read the book over again, upon hitting the end, because it was extremely overdue at the library [and I had five more equally overdue books on the pile] but I expect I will do so sometime in the nearer rather than the further future. Maybe I'll have the chance to hit another book club.

mark posting in

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The Newbery Treasure Hunt

Book Review: Account Rendered

Wednesday Reading Meme

We Live Here Now, by Sarah Pinborough

Forgotten Newbery Books that Are Really Worth Reading

Capclave!

Revisiting My 2015 Reading List

Castoff, by Brandon Crilly

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Book Review: The Subtle Knife

SFF in the Newberies

Wednesday Reading Meme

Books read, late August

Hemlock & Silver, by T. Kingfisher

Nonsense in the Newberys

Labor Day Book Poll

Picture Book Monday: Making Light Bloom

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