Stories of My Life by Katherine Paterson

I'm pretty sure I have never actually recommended a non-fiction book to someone. So deep runs my love and admiration of fiction. 

That being said, I'm going to do the unthinkable, and highly recommend this book (by many-award winning children's author, Katherine Paterson.) So many things about this book were inspiring and encouraging to me....as a mother, as an aspiring author, as a Christian, and as someone who thinks of life as The Great Story Marketplace. 

In the introduction, she was clear that this is not a memoir. (After all, she had promised herself to never write a memoir.) But she also realized that, with the advent of a dishwasher in their home, her children had ended up missing out on hours of family history storytelling. So she wrote these stories--snapshots of her different lives, in China and America and Japan, in school, working, single, married, the modern award-winning author, and most recently, widow. 

As an author, it seems that she really started writing in earnest while she had three small children in her home. (My situation right now.) She mentioned that she started by taking a class or two and was trying to write some poetry every day. And then she thought, if she could just write a chapter a week, she'd have a whole book by the end of a year! (Which makes sense to me.) So it has been inspiring, realizing that it's ok--even good!--to start small, to practice being faithful in writing as an exercise of skill and brain power. And so, since I have children who love poems, and I have some interest in writing poems for them, Katherine Paterson has encouraged me to try writing a poem every week.

Katherine Paterson has been surrounded by Presbyterian ministers. (Her father was one, and she married one.) As a child, she grew up in war-torn China. An incredible prospect she presented: this faithful minister (her father) with his wife and five children, during the time when the Japanese were invaded China and committing unspeakable atrocities among the people. The threat of rape and murder of his entire family was very real. Twice they had to flee China, and when she got to America, Katherine felt that this was the inhospitable, foreign country. Between the story of her father, Maud Henderson (another missionary), and her own story of serving in Japan, I was blown away and humbled by the truly selfless and courageous love demonstrated toward the heathen people of China and Japan. As she wrote of her own journey toward Japan, Katherine mentioned that her fear and distrust of the Japanese ran deeply inside her from her childhood days in China. An yet, she felt that God was calling her to Japan, she prepared to go, and as she considered her four years there, she said that she wished everyone could "have a chance to be loved by the people they thought they hated." In similar fashion, Maud Henderson's humility and faithfulness cuts deeply in astounding ways. Her sacrifice and courage in protecting the daughters of China (hundreds that she cared for and raised in her home) as a single woman, amidst the terrors of Japanese occupation; my heart was wrenched once and again, and I felt that my own love was weak and pitiful in comparison. It's a stunning example of James' exhortation, "True religion that is pure and undefiled before God the Father is this: to visit orphans and widows in their distress and to keep oneself unstained from the world." 

As a mother, I found great encouragement both in her desire to parent well, and in the unmistakable fact that occasionally she didn't. Living in a place were hyper-sensitive "helicopter" parents are the norm, someone who lets their kids climb anything and everything and run around barefoot in 40 degree weather is bound to stick out like a sore thumb. I know I make some mistakes as parents, but my kids are happy and healthy, energetic and imaginative, and (I hope) are learning that life isn't about getting just what they want. Which, incidentally, is exactly what I've been shooting for. So as Katherine Paterson revealed some of stories she has stumbled upon (the ones her children would "never want their mother to find out"), there's a bit of encouragement there to know that those stories will be in every family. And all we can do as we seek the Lord is parent the way we see fit, and trust that God is the one who keeps our children happy, healthy, and faithful. 

There is so much more. But I think this is enough to give you a sense that, whether it's just to indulge in some interesting family stories of a world-famous (and completely admirable) author, or to be truly inspired in some area of life, Stories of My Life should be near the top of your 2019 to-read list! 

On Reading Well by Karen Swallow Prior

This book was such a joy to read, being both interesting and easy to read as well as inspiring to immediately go out and read lots of other books! A few weeks ago, I posted about the introduction of this book, in which Karen Swallow Prior lays out her argument that reading (of the sort that thinks and assesses the content) is good for developing virtue. In the main body of the book, she takes 12 virtues (the cardinal virtues, the theological virtues, and the heavenly virtues) and considers each one in light of a particular work of fiction literature. 

While we could probably take just one work of literature and consider what it has to say about all 12 virtues, I appreciate that she wanted to give the broad spectrum--this book is essentially a lesson on how to look at books from a variety of genres and how to open ourselves to be changed for the better by the goodness and badness we find. She also helpfully considers what each virtue really means and looks like, seeking out clarifications through etymology and other uses of the root words. 

Also, in taking a different book to look at each virtue, Prior shows how we can apply this kind of careful reading to every genre. I certainly have my favorite genres, and she even write about two of my favorite books (A Tale of Two Cities for the virtue of Justice, and Persuasion for the virtue of Patience.) But she considers authors and styles that are widely different, which has since inspired me to look forward to trying out each of these styles, if not each of the books that I haven't yet read. The earliest work is from the 17th century--Bunyan's Pilgrim's Progress which is a Puritan allegory that she uses to think about the virtue of discipline. For more modern works, she uses George Saunders' short story "The Tenth of December" to talk about Kindness. In between we have F. Scott Fitzgerald, Cormac McCarthy, Mark Twain, Tolstoy (along with Dickens and Austen whom I already mentioned), Edith Wharton, Flannery O'Connor, and Shusaku Endo. 

It would be impossible to even summarize the points of each virtue for each book, since that is what Karen Swallow Prior has done in this book.... and it is a book! I can, however, summarize some of my favorite points and mention a few things that I disagreed with. 

The chapter on Faith (which looked at Shusaku Endo's book, Silence) was particularly helpful to me in realizing the danger of pride as we "work out our faith in fear and understanding" as Paul says in Philippians chapter 2. We conscientiously seek to know God and understand what he would have us do.... and before we know it, we can find ourselves looking at other people and thinking, "why aren't they doing what I'm doing?" (Perhaps not expecting them to do the very things we are doing, but we suspect that they aren't seeking God's will the way that they ought to.) I read Silence when I was in college and hated almost every moment of it. And in a way, I felt a bit validated in reading this chapter, because Prior speaks to the discomfort of the subject matter, as we see first one and then two missionaries to Japan apostatize and then become assimilated into Japanese culture. And the central question is, "do they have saving faith? CAN they have saving faith?" And there is no way to read the book and come out saying a positive "yes" or "no." Which is what frustrated me! But Prior points to this as the power of the writing, taking away the pride of the reader. We don't and we never will have the power to say decisively: this person is damned. But we can look at our own faith and say: is this real? And we remind ourselves that this is not our trial...but should it ever become ours, we borrow more words from Paul in Philippians and pray and ask God fervently that "with full courage, now as always, Christ will be honored in my body, by life or by death." 

This chapter on faith, by the way, did not make me want to go re-read the book again. (Perhaps the only one that didn't do that.) I think I still have an almost visceral repulsion to this story, it is so horrifying and unsettling. But I appreciate so much that I now feel like I have gotten the point (or at least one of the points) that I should have seen when I read it 10 years ago. 

Another favorite chapter was on the power of kindness. First, Prior draws the connection with kinship (among other things.) And through the story of Saunders' "Tenth of December", she draws out the power of treating other people like family. We love them, understand them, seek to understand them, and are careful about what we say (or should be), knowing that as family, we might hold more power over their emotions than we ought to. Kindness doesn't always have to go to this extreme, but there is a care and concern at the heart of it that can be directed toward anyone, even the passing stranger on the street. There is also an essential connection between kindness and truth. There is no way to separate the two. "Niceness" is different. Even the etymology of "nice" has an association with ignorance and lack of understanding. The story itself shows a meeting between two strangers in the woods--an old man who is terminally ill and preparing to kill himself, and a boy out pretending "rescue the damsel in despair". They meet, and they are kind to each other, showing concern for the other's health and basic needs. The result of this everyday sort of kindness is that the old man is revived in his desire to live (a sad irony, since he is terminally ill and now must consider the tough days in front of him.) Both he and the boy realize that they were living in a cloud, imagining things that weren't true. Because of their chance meeting in the woods and their kindness, they see the truth more clearly and are ready to meet life with their "eye's open" and ready to appreciate it.

Throughout the book, Karen Swallow Prior has a roughly Augustinian approach to virtues, understanding that they are a mean of behavior or thought between two extremes, which are considered to be the related vices. And throughout the book, I have taken some issue with this... sometimes with the extremes, and sometimes with the whole framework of a virtue being the middle ground between two vices. One example of this is the way she writes about patience. I love much of what she had to say in the chapter on Persuasion (it is, after all, one of my favorite books!) A helpful one-liner that I took note of was, "patience is not passivity, but perseverance." Part of her understand of patience is that it's "a willingness to endure suffering." This is linked to the following idea that if there were no suffering, there would be no need for patience.... which I don't think quite lines up with a normal/everyday understanding of patience and suffering. We have often told our kids that "Patience means waiting without whining or complaining." Perhaps if you have a very soft understanding of suffering, waiting for something could qualify.... but no, waiting in and of itself is not suffering. Now, I do agree that all moments of suffering require patience, but I don't think it follows that suffering must be present for a person to exercise patience. In reading Prior's assessment of the extremes associated with the virtue, I've probably become more set in my disagreement. She says that the vice of excess that is related to suffering is "wrath" (!) and the vice of deficiency is "apathy." And here is my objection: we are talking about patience! (not suffering) Excess and deficiency must be related to the thing in the middle! An excess of patience might result in apathy, but certainly not wrath and anger. And a deficiency of patience is.... well.... impatience. Impatience can sometimes (often does) lead directly to anger, but more closely shows an extreme selfishness and entitlement. She does end the chapter the with extremely helpful and succinct comment that "patience has often been considered a sub-virtue of courage." 

In spite of my disagreement about the framework she is setting up, I have found  most of her thoughts on the actual virtues to be wise and inspiring. I appreciate the many, many references she makes to other writers, theologians, and philosophers. And most of all, I have a better way of reading and practicing virtue at the same time--truly learning to be by doing one of the things I love best: immersing myself in fiction and literature. 

The Vanderbeekers of 141st Street by Karina Yan Glaser

Three chapters in, I thought this book was such a bore. But now that I've finished it, I'm looking forward to reading the sequel that came out just a couple months ago (The Vanderbeekers and the Hidden Garden). What changed? Instead of being impatient with a slow plot, I became so engaged with the characters that I was more interested in their own development and emotions than in the resolution of the central question--which is: Will they have to move? And where? 

While I love a good fantasy book full of imagination and magic and creative settings, every once in a while I need to sit down with a real-life story about normal people with normal problems. The Vanderbeekers of 141st Street is just such a book, and ideal for an early grade school audience. 

This book is appealing to me largely because it's clearly an homage to all lovely homes in the world. This family has made their home in Harlem in Manhattan, which is hard for me to relate to. But there's no doubt that the picture that Karina Yan Glaser paints is very attractive. The Vanderbeekers are an in-tact family of seven (living in Manhattan... which perhaps requires a bit of suspension of disbelief right up front): father, mother, and five kids (plus dog and bunny!). Mr. Vanderbeeker grew up in this particular neighborhood in Harlem, as did all of his kids up to their current ages, and even in this particular house for the last 6 years or so. The Vanderbeekers know everyone in the neighborhood and help take care of the elderly and thoughtfully include those around them in their lives. It's a beautiful picture of the way all people are meant to live in community. A personal favorite moment is a snapshot of how comfortable the family is with all different sorts of people when a "gentleman" in baggy pants with a rhinestone studded dog leash out walking his chihuahua who, upon seeing a contingent of the kids, greets them with, "What-up, Vanderbeekers?" (Even though I would not normally think "gentleman" when seeing a person of this description, I love that he is labeled such in the book, showing that the children see him that way and have a way of treating all grownups as "ladies" and "gentlemen" no matter what stereotype they might fit into.) 

Of course, the family is a bit loud. How can you not be loud when there are 5 kids in one family? In fact, their noise and conspicuous presence is part of what causes their landlord to decide not to renew their lease. So the kids develop a hair-brained (and ill-fated) scheme to capture the heart of the evil Beiderman so he will change his mind and let them stay. The plan includes everything from offerings of homemade place-mats, a kitten, threats a la Treasure Island, and a neighborhood petition to show how Harlem would not be the same if the Vanderbeekers had to move. 

The story is simple and fairly slowly developed. The whole book takes place over about 4 days surrounding Christmas. But each child, and both parents are fondly sketched--each their own delights and sorrows and dreams and memories. They are altogether charming. This book does much to affirm the goodness of a family, both for the members of that family and also for the good of the community that surrounds the family. 

A healthy diet of fiction

I'm currently reading a book called On Reading Well, by Karen Swallow Prior. This is certainly not my usual realm (which I can confidently say is either literature or children's fiction) but rather a dabble into literary criticism with a Christian twist. This book in particular, has the distinction of being an argument for the moral benefit of reading fiction. (Which is not too common today, especially among Christian circles.) So I refrained from writing another book review this week, partly because it seemed a bit much to review books by the same author three weeks in a row, and partly because I'm well into the middle of a book about reading, that I would rather share with the world at large. 

While I'm not at all trained in literary criticism, I have read other books about writing and about assessing the strength and value of the writing that we read. I'm also fairly well read, in the sense that I have read quite a lot and I can articulate both the good and bad points of the books I read. And not having been classically trained in literary criticism, it feels rather validating that in reading this book, my common-sense approach to determining what is good and bad seems to be upheld. (Though this style of literary criticism is considered, at best, quaint in these modern times.) 

Good fiction makes us want to be good people. There. Now isn't that quaint? But it's true.... 

This is what Karen Swallow Prior argues so compellingly in her introduction. 

Virtue is desirable for a good life. And virtue comes, not from knowledge, but from practice. Knowing what is virtuous doesn't make us so.... it's acting virtuous that makes us good people. And how do we learn to act virtuous? By being placed in circumstances where we must choose between right and wrong and we succeed in choosing right. And how do we know what is right and virtuous? Perhaps a couple ways: one way is to call to mind an example that you admire of virtuous behavior. We imagine, "what would so-and-so think or say or do in such a case?" This is the benefit of history. We can think of a specific example with personality that inspires us and with which we can sympathize in their victories and defeats. A second way to know virtue is from philosophy. We think hypothetically about what is perfect and to be desired above everything else in beauty and goodness.... and we form an ideal. 

This is what makes fiction so very powerful. Because fiction is the only place where the ideal (philosophy) can meet the picture (history). In reading a fiction story, we relate to the protagonist (and indeed, all the characters!) in their vicissitudes and we feel the pain of their bad decisions and the glory of their good decisions. We see with an almost omniscient eye the ramifications of their actions and the events leading to the fateful dilemmas that must change the course of their story. In essence, we are so emotionally invested that when we read a book that paints the world in strong and true colors (that show accurately the pain of 'bad' and the joy of 'good'), we are mentally practicing to make the same decisions in our own lives. 

If people become virtuous through practice, reading fiction is a way to practice making good decisions alongside the characters that we read about. Of course we recognize that we aren't really in the same situation.... and yet, we think through the decision as if we were. That's why it's a practice! And it helps train our minds and our hearts to desire to do well and to be worthy of greatness in the real world. Karen Swallow Prior also suggests that even though we aren't truly living out these situations requiring a turning toward right or wrong, we often aren't fully living out our own scenarios even in real life! Yes, we're living, and actually making decisions. But we often don't see (as we do when we're reading) the ramifications and ripple effects of the decisions we're making. We don't see all the movements around us that have brought us to this place. We don't see the history of many years condensed into a mere hundred pages that we have perused over the last couple days to give us a rounded and broad understanding of the virtues and vices that have come this moment to war over our souls. But! The more fiction we read, and the more we practice seeing these things in the books we read, the more we are ready to consider the story of our own lives with greater wisdom and discernment. 

This has certainly been true in my own life. I can easily rattle off a half-dozen fictional characters that have literally changed the way I think and live simply because I have read and re-read and loved the books in which they are cast. And now, in being reminded of the value of their example, I'm once again inspired to search for more, and to be reunited with my old heroes that have brought me to my current place and still have much to teach me. If you don't have fictional heroes, you are missing out on a very great blessing and help toward finishing your own story well. 

Ghosts of Greenglass House by Kate Milford (book review and character summary)

A new mystery, a new search, and a new bunch of crazy people--Ghosts of Greenglass House is everything you would expect of a sequel to Kate Milford's award winning Greenglass House. 

The craziness begins anew when, just a couple days before Christmas, the Wait's show up at the front door of Greenglass House. Who are the Waits? A mysterious and slightly creepy caroling group. They wear outlandish costumes covered in bells and holly and mistletoe and they carry a "hobby horse"--an animal skull bedecked with ribbons and bells and candles. But then, for some reason, everything starts going wrong. The cleaning of the chimney is a complete disaster, filling the air with soot and grime. One guest seems to get poisoned by some punch (someone put Christmas berries in with the spices!) Two other guests are whacked on the head by an unseen molester. 

It seems impossible that all this is coincidence when only the day before, Georgie and Clem showed up at the Greenglass House seeking a  low-profile haven after a job gone wrong. And sure enough, the same evening that the Waits are spreading chaos over the Greenglass House, Georgie and Clem both find that they have been robbed. As far as they can tell, the stash they brought wasn't particularly valuable--just special because it once belonged to Violet Cross, the famed smuggler who supposedly did the impossible and mapped the ever-changing Skidwrack River. Such a map would be an invaluable treasure! It doesn't seem like the map was among the things they found in the old hideaway, but if it was.... things could get a lot messier than a bit of soot on the Christmas tree! 

To complicate matters even more, there's another mystery guest: Emmett Syebuck. He appears to be at the house as an artist obsessed with the stained glass windows. But is he really who he says he is? He clearly has some skill. But his interest in Clem and Georgie when they arrive is more than a little suspicious. Is he the another thief? Is he working for himself? Is he a customs agent? 

In contrast with the first book, Milo learns to use his emotions (instead of ignoring or dampening them) to strengthen his understanding and intuition of those around him. Like the first book, this story draws on the uses of a role-playing game (Odd Trails) to help Milo adapt to new situations and learn how to be a more capable, calm version of himself. And like the first book, there are several side-stories told by the characters--and it is for the reader to determine just how relevant they are to the mysteries at hand. 

All in all, Ghosts of Greenglass House is a fun and fast read that follows well in the footsteps of Greenglass House. Stay tuned for my thoughts on Bluecrowne--the Nagspeake companion novel about the magical first inhabitants of Greenglass House (the Bluecrowne family.)

For those who have taken some time in between reading the first and second book, it might be helpful to have a refresher of characters and summary of what happened in the first book: 

Milo Pine (and parents) - Mr. and Mrs. Pine, with their adopted son Milo, live at Greenglass House and run it as an inn. While not actively participating in smuggling activities, it's generally understood that Greenglass House is a relatively safe haven for smugglers to lie low for a while. The first book revealed the unique history of the house in being owned by one of the greatest smugglers in Nagspeake history (Doc Hollystone). 

Meddy - Milo's friend from the first book, who is actually the ghost of Doc Hollystone's daughter. Her real name is Addie Witcher, but adopts the nickname of "Meddy" when Milo mistakenly thinks that she is the cook's younger daughter. She helps Milo gain confidence and introduces him to the role playing game (Odd Trails) and helps him solve the mysteries of Greenglass House. 

Georgie and Clem - two girls in their twenties who show up in the first book. They are both consummate thieves, specializing in different techniques. In the sequel, they return to Greenglass House as a haven after attempting a "job" together which went badly. 

Owen - a minor character, but meaningful to Milo. This is the man whose affections Georgie and Clem were competing for in the first book. (Clem won.) More significantly, Owen has a tie to Greenglass House because his middle name is the same as the ancient family name that used to belong to the house: (Lansdegown... or Bluecrowne.) He's Asian and adopted, and at least in the first book, knew nothing about his birth family or Asian heritage. Because of the similarities in their situations, Owen becomes something of a mentor to Milo. 

Mr. de Vinge - he has a fairly minor role in this sequel, but does show up. The Deacon and Morvengard agent who was deputized with the Customs patrol who was originally responsible for Doc Hollystone's capture and death. He proves himself ruthless in the first book, and conniving and double-crossing in the second. 

Lizzie and Mrs. Caraway - minor characters. The cook and her daughter, but still safe people and affectionate family friends. 

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.