Greenglass House by Kate Milford

Part of the inspiration to re-read Greenglass House came from enjoying Winterhouse so much, and being reminded in many respects of Kate Milford's novel from 4 years ago. Both novels are set over Christmas vacation in an inn-like setting, featuring boy-and-girl teams that search for clues relating to the house in order to secure the safety and future happiness of the in/hotel and the family that runs it. However, for all the similarities, Kate Milford wins the honors hands down for delivering a better book on the whole. 

In Winterhouse, Ben Guterson developed a great mystery and fun puzzles. But Kate Milford took her characters and story many layers deeper. In Greenglass House, she (seemingly) effortlessly draws out the personal struggles that everyone has faced to greater or lesser degrees. Milo is an adopted son from China with decidedly white parents. He clearly has some kind of OCD. So the story is not only about these kids solving a mystery, but also about how Milo learns new skills to keep his cool when confronted with unexpected, startling, and unpleasant surprises. Who doesn't wish to keep their cool under fire? Isn't that half of what makes James Bond so appealing? 

So Kate Milford weaves these stories of discovery together: discovery of the history of a place and discovery of the character of a person.... almost the creation of a character of a person, because (as she illustrates in her story) we may not control where we came from, but we can absolutely control where we're going and who we are going to be. This is part of why the inevitable comments and facial expressions make him uncomfortable--the one's that say "one of these is not like another." But even more discomfiting is his own tendency to wonder about his birth parents and the endless "what if" questions that haunt his perception of "what might be" and "what might have been." Who hasn't had those thoughts? What if I were born into a different family? What if I had a family that looked like me? What if I had siblings... or if I looked different... or if someone else were the adopted kid and I wasn't?  

Not being someone who has ever struggled with OCD, I appreciate that Kate Milford is able to illustrate (without explaining) some of those struggles and delights. Seeing Milo almost lose it because someone touched his stuff helps me to accept that it's a pretty big deal for someone with OCD. Caring for my friends who have OCD means understanding that their security and safety and peace of mind might often rest in having a complete understanding of what is going on around them (both physically and emotionally.) At the same time, she also illustrates the delight they have when they DO understand and have confidence in that understanding--as when Milo goes in his room, shuts his eyes and relishes the plop as he drops his things in the middle of his desk. Then he turns, eyes still closed, and free falls backwards onto his bed, relaxing completely into the confidence that it is exactly where he knows it to be. 

Milo meets a friend and she introduces him to a role-playing game, Odd Trails. But they don't exactly play the game. They enjoy the elements of pretend to imagine the person or character that they would like to be--and then they think about how they can be that person when their "real" self would be an incompetent mess. For example, with Milo's OCD, he can tell even if the slightest thing is out of place. But when he's being Negret (a sly and stealthy reconnaissance sort of guy), he's more occupied in gathering information and understanding the movements of people around him...so occupied that he doesn't have time to be bothered by the fact that something is out of place.

And what do you know? This imagining and pretending helps Milo to see how Milo (and not his pretend persona, Negret) can live with more confidence, charisma, and generosity. I realize that there are plenty of ways where playing pretend in the real world is dangerous and unhealthy. But in this case and for this purpose, it's a great thing! We could all benefit from a little more imagining of who we wish we were... the heroes we admire, the thoughtful friends who have touched us deeply, and then "pretending" in real life to be that. This is the kind of practice that eventually makes something real. It's the idea behind "do what you know is right until it feels right." However, all along it's most important to keep checking and making sure that the person you are practicing to be is actually someone good and admirable. And now, with the role-playing game, Milo can address some of those questions and actually wonder about them without feeling guilty for even thinking them. Of course it's natural for him to wonder about his birth family. It's doesn't mean he's being disloyal. It doesn't mean he doesn't love his parents. He does! He doesn't wish to be in a different family or home, he just.... wonders. 

And I think this is another thing Kate Milford does excellently in the context of Greenglass House. This is an extremely unusual case of a story with a complete, in-tact family. Parents and child have a good relationship. The parents seem to have a good relationship with each other. They make it through the chaos and uncertainty of the winter holiday with relative cool. After all, they had FIVE guests show up on the same night in a season that typically yields almost no customers. That, coupled with Nagspeak's history of smuggling (and ruthless customs officials) would put anyone on edge, not just the OCD boy who's resenting the intrusion on his Christmas holiday. Mr. and Mrs. Pine divide and conquer with admirable teamwork, and both of them pursue one-on-one time with Milo, genuinely concerned that he has a good Christmas break and knows that they are there for him, even when they are obviously "snowed under" with customers.

But there's no getting around the fact that parents and kids have things to work through even if they have a good family dynamic. In a world where the majority of families are broken and everyone in the family is hurting and distrustful of the others, it's easy to look at those kids who have both parents and actually like being with them and say, "what's your deal? How can you have any problems? You have both parents. You're not being abused. You have it so easy...." And yes. In a way, those families do have it easy and should be thankful for that. BUT. Those families are not perfect, and there is miscommunication and worries and unmet desires and, well, things to work through and figure out. But I'm thankful to see this side of things in a modern children's book: Children protagonists (and real children) do not need to be abandoned or lonely or unsupported by their parents in order to grow and strengthen their character. And to have a whole and loving family is a beautiful thing to be desired and relished whenever and wherever we see it (even in a story.) 

Winterhouse by Ben Guterson

Ben Guterson's debut novel from early this year, Winterhouse, calls to mind many well known and beloved mid-grade mysteries. With and orphaned protagonist (Elizabeth Somers), a beautiful but mysterious holiday abode (The Winterhouse Hotel), various clues and puzzles, a friend and partner in solving said puzzles, an elderly benefactor who has an evil twin.... all of these and more conjure up memories of The Mysterious Benedict Society, The Westing Game, Escape from Mr. Lemoncello's Library, and particularly Greenglass House. For those who have read and enjoyed any one of these books, I can unreservedly say that you will enjoy this one immensely. 

Elizabeth Somers has a relatively miserable existence living with distant cousins of her father's (whom she calls Aunt and Uncle.) An unexplained mystery (no doubt the theme of future sequels) is the disappearance of Elizabeth's parents. Elizabeth herself, was only 4 at the time and has only vague and troubling memories of some kind of violence...but which never seem to line up with her Aunt's story of what happened. Her Aunt and Uncle are sufficiently selfish to not be at all suspicious when some anonymous donor bequeaths $5,000 for them to take a vacation, and tickets and lodging for Elizabeth at the world-renowned Winterhouse Hotel. They and she make their departure for 3 weeks surrounding Christmas, and Elizabeth begins her journey into a jaw-dropping setting: a 13 story hotel on the edge of a lake full of regal splendor and luxurious comforts--the kind of place only millionaires would pay for. So there's no doubt that her aunt and uncle couldn't possibly have arranged her stay, and Elizabeth is haunted and puzzled by the circumstances bringing her to Winterhouse, even as she enjoys the best weeks of her life. 

And they are the best weeks aside from a few odd things... the creepy and sinister couple who also ride the late bus to the hotel, the owner's mysterious midnight visits to the library, whispered conversations, seemingly unsolvable puzzles all over the hotel. But she does make her first "real" friend, Freddie Knox, who is just as keen on word puzzles as she is! He's reluctantly curious about the goings on at Winterhouse, and Elizabeth (through some trial and error) learns that when you have friends, it's important to not be too pushy or to assume that they share all your own interests. 

The location itself is my favorite element of the story. The building is glorious, with an enormous dining hall for meals (complete with nightly magic stunts by the illustrious owner, Norbridge Falls), museum-like rooms full of generations of family paintings, a swimming pool and movie theater, world-famous candy, an enormous library; and sledding, skiing, and ice skating for outdoor fun. And, it's full of interesting people, all pursuing various relaxing holiday activities. In short, a fabulous place for almost anyone. 

The mystery is fun and exciting, with some magical and ghost-y elements. It kept the action going at a fast clip, and I finished Winterhouse in about three days. It's lively in its characters. It's beautiful in its setting. It's totally worth going to, even in (especially in!) your imagination. 

Orphan Island by Laurel Snyder

In Orphan Island, Laurel Snyder has woven together an intriguing mixture of unique characters, Utopian setting, and unanswered questions. The result is captivating, thought provoking, and you should read it. Without being didactic, it teaches its lesson well: Sometimes you have to obey the rules even if you don't know why. Sometimes you have to work with and care for people you don't even like. Sometimes you have to move on and leave behind the things you love even if you try your hardest to hang on. And you won't ever know all the "why's", but someday you'll see enough to be okay with it. 

Orphan Island is a kind of coming-of-age story. It's a fairly simple setup. There's an island with only 9 orphans. Every year (approximately) a boat comes bringing one more child--the new youngest, and immediately taking one away--the oldest. The one who comes is the Elder's (the new oldest's) Care, which essentially means that in the intervening time before the Elder steps into the next boat, he or she has to teach their Care the ways of the island--what's safe and what's not, but always including the three essentials: how to swim, how to read, and how to cook. At the same time, the Elder is responsible for teaching the Elder-in-training about what to do with their Care with the boat comes again. 

We're introduced to our protagonist, Jinny, right as she becomes the new Elder. She watches her best friend, Deen, step into the boat. Simultaneously, she loses her best friend and comfort and receives responsiblility for a snot-nosed, whimpering toddler, who declares her name is "Ess." Jinny does less than a stellar job through her year as Elder. She loves Ess very much, but Jinny struggles with following the rules that were laid out on the island, passed down for who knows how many years..... and we always come back to "why?" Why are these nine children on an island? Are they truly orphans? When did the whole thing start? Why only nine and no more? Why do they always have to be the same ages, leaving at a certain point to be replaced with another youngster? Why. . . ? When. . . ? Who. . . ?

Jinny has her fill of questions, frustrations, and doubts, and when it comes time for her to step in that boat and ride away from the only life she's known to.... who knows where... she rebels. She pulls the boat up on the beach, and for the second half of the story, it's an experiment in what happens when one person decides that she doesn't have to follow the rules. And the story is set up to show--to prove, in fact, that no human being has the ability to just stay where they are. Time keeps moving forward, and children keep growing up. And even when people try to hang on too long, it affects and warps the relationships all around them. No one can just make decisions without them affecting other people. Each of the other children on the island has their own jobs and personalities, and it's peaceful and harmonious while Jinny is operating within the normal setup of the island. But as soon as she goes off the book, each of those relationships changes in a significant way. 

In the afterward, Laurel Snyder admits to writing a back story, a preface that was deleted from the final printed copy. So there is an explanation for many of the questions we're left with. But--oh so true to life--we don't actually get to know what it is. This is the point of the story. We don't get to know everything. We don't get to have everything explained. And yet the world is still SO beautiful. Do we need to have everything explained to enjoy it and love it the way that it is? Can we not just trust that the rules are there for a reason and follow them, and encourage others to follow them because life is good that way? My 12-year-old self would have both loved and hated this book.... it summons courage for those fearful of a new stage in life, which I certainly needed and would have appreciated. But as always, I would have hated the teaching that "the rules" apply to everyone, including me. I, like Jinny, prefer to decide on my own what to do.... but also like Jinny, I've learned that life isn't about what I want. It's about obligations and duty, other people, finding and relishing the delight around us, cultivating the world and ourselves to be more than we were (and in my version) to the glory of God! 

This is a great book. I'll be reading it again, and in about 5 years, my own kids will start reading it.... hopefully, by then, I'll have reconciled myself to them entering a more complicated world outside their homey and childish pursuits. 

Theophilus North by Thornton Wilder

Theophilus North is essentially a collection of short stories or sketches that share the time and place of Newport, Rhode Island in the early 1920s. The book is named after the protagonist--and yet, not so much the protagonist because he is the voice, the author of the book. And his stories are about those he meets during the summer he spends in Newport after he quits his teaching job. The reason he is there is fairly tangential, but we see right at the beginning, he has both a fascination with Newport as a town and also with people in general. He has theories about the trees of Newport and how and why they come from all over the world. He considers the "9 cities" of Newport (like Troy). Some are historical, some modern, some intersecting, some autonomous. (Like the servant's city. Or the aristocratic city....) Straight away, we see his interest in the people around him, and it is not surprising that when he shifts his narration from the 9 cities of Newport and describes the 9 ambitions he has pursued at various points, it is not surprising that we see a theme of understanding people---from anthropology to detective work. 

When someone wins multiple Pulitzer Prizes for literature, he is, indisputably, an excellent writer. So I don't need to tell you that Thornton Wilder is a great author. But what might come as a surprise is that his work is so easy to read. Almost page-turner quality, not because there is fighting and suspense and action, but because he paints a picture of truly interesting people, each unique and real to the reader. We turn the pages because we care about what happens to them. 

I took 15 years in between readings of this book. All that I remembered from the first time was that I enjoyed it very much. Now, I can tell you why I enjoy it. Without being preachy, Theophilus (Teddy, as he prefers to be called) teaches the reader about the delights of caring about people. He occasionally goes about it in some questionable methods, telling the most outrageous lies... so he is not in any way a moral role model. But he's admirable in many ways, and these shine through his various stories as he inadvertently pursues his ambitions (in spite of the consistency of being a tennis coach and getting odd jobs reading aloud) and wanders through the social strata of the 9 cities of Newport. 

One thing that might be important to note is there are two chapters in which the story revolves around sexual themes. This is certainly not a children's book. But I wouldn't say that it's in-appropriate for high-schoolers or older. The fact of the sex is there in the background, but there are no details, no description... it is not erotic in the least. It's seems as if his approach is respectful pragmatism, as if he's thinking, "these are the kinds of stories that some people have, and this is the best way to tell that story." It would also be very easy to skip those chapters, since the whole book reads like a string of short stories, each chapter is fairly autonomous. When I was younger, I believe I must have skipped over these chapters, which perhaps helped me love the book well enough to want to return to it again later in life, when I had better context for digesting the more adult-themed chapters. 

Upon reading it again, I remembered that one thing that has stuck with me over the last 15 years is the sense that each person has his own unique, fascinating story. And if we only take the time to be truly curious, we will find our curiosity well rewarded with a story worth telling. This, I think, is one small way in which this book has shaped my life. More recently (in the last 3 weeks or so since I finished it the second time), I've discovered a new adjustment in my life--a direct result of reading Theophilus North. In the story, Teddy is decisive and clear in making his plans. He considers his schedule, and says "here is the time I can meet with you." I found myself slightly in awe, that someone could make plans and schedule things with such apparent ease. And I thought to myself that I should try this method.

The last several years, my scheduling has most resembled the sort of haggling one sees at a Turkish bazaar. "Here's my best time to meet, and here are 3 other options." And the other party responds, "Your best time is equivalent to my 4th best time.... here are my top three options." And it goes on and on, half the time resolving itself upon the first time suggested, and the other half of the time coming to nothing.... simply petering out with a general assent from all parties that any conjunction of our schedules was doomed from the first. So now, in the last few weeks, I've tried this new way: someone asks some time of me, and I offer them my one best time. So much simpler. This is not in the least an element in the book that it put forward as something admirable or even noticeable--it is not the topic of any story.

But this is the lovely part of Theophilus North and Thornton Wilder's writing. The stories are fascinating. And the characters interesting. And what is admirable shines through whether or not it was the point. There's no artificial highlighting of The Important Thing. Each chapter is a story well told. The important things come through on their own. 

The Penderwicks At Last by Jeanne Birdsall

For me, this book was "okay." It was a sweet conclusion to a series where each sequential book was told from the eyes of the current 11 or 12-year-old in the family--this time, Lydia Penderwick. 

In the first couple books, the older 3 sisters, being close in age, played a large role in each other's stories, and we saw some character development with each of them. But with these last couple (The Penderwicks in Spring about Batty, and this newest release) are more about the one sister, with some minimal interaction with the older sisters. 

As with all Penderwick lovers, I had hoped for more development of the older Penderwicks, but considering the trajectory of the previous books, I felt that this was not Jeanne Birdsall's MO and figured that in a sense, she wrote each book as a "stand alone" story, each a "companion" book to the others. Since the main character is different, the other sisters whom we have grown to know and love are more tangential, little more than names that are mentioned here and there. This expectation was confirmed, and I was disappointed.

It is perhaps understandable that Jeanne Birdsall might not wish to tread the dangerous ground of trying to take some truly beloved characters and age them so that they are as empathetic and charming as they were when children. (Honestly, even Anne Shirley was supplanted by her own children as main characters in the last several books of the series.) 

However, I was at least prepared to be disappointed of a glimpse into the older Penderwick's characters.... but I had hoped for a slightly more substantial story. I do want to give credit for fabulous writing style--each of the books is an absolute delight to read. I'm pretty sure Jeanne Birdsall could write a book about dryer lint and it make it interesting or at least insightful. However, some of her books have much more history, character development, and 'interesting or insightful' events than are displayed in this story. What did take place was described and narrated with fabulous wit and style. But I felt like there wasn't actually that much taking place. Many of Lydia's adventures with Alice (and Ben) felt like filler events in between wedding preparations. 

And I also am happy to go on record saying that I never expected or hoped Jeffrey and Skye to have a romance.... they are completely wonderful as friends and would be terrible as a couple. Batty is a much better option for Jeffrey, considering her grown up persona (I should note, as a caveat to my previous criticism, that we do see a substantial amount of Batty in this book, which is nice.) And it's also nice that Jeanne Birdsall left the romance as an open suggestion at the end of the book, allowing the reader to fill in the future. 

So to summarize: my disappointment is centered around my own lack of interest in the characters. And that stems from simply watching them doing things that I don't find terribly interesting, and without feeling like I really understand the depth of their characters. However, that is as far as my disappointment goes. Even without understanding the characters, I enjoy reading about them and am fond of the family and the aura of the series as a whole. There is no doubt in my mind that I will continue to re-read this series, and not omit this one at the end, in spite of it's probably being my least favorite. (And I DO, in fact, omit re-reading books in a series if I don't like them enough.)

I love this genre; I love Jeanne Birdsall's writing; and I unreservedly recommend the whole series to any girl looking for a good read.