Scott O’Dell Challenge Part 7: Jip, His Story

The best part of Katherine Paterson’s Jip, His Story (set in 1855; and winner of the 1997 O’Dell Award) is the unexpected appearance of Lyddie Worthen, the mill girl from Lyddie. That book can’t be beat in terms of its depressing-ness (I found it sadder than Bridge to Terabithia, and that’s saying something), so when Lyddie appeared in Jip’s story, college-educated and a teacher, I couldn’t have been happier that she’d achieved her dreams at last.

But long before Lyddie shows up, we’re introduced to Jip, so-named because he fell off the back of a wagon as a baby and was taken to the poor farm (think London workhouses, but in rural Vermont) when no one claimed him. Jip knows nothing about his past, and life at the farm is tolerable, if not enjoyable. Because Jip has a way with animals, he practically runs the place, and his work is the only thing keeping the residents from starvation.

Jip, though a far cry from the feisty Lyddie, is strong precisely because he’s kind in the face of  poverty and brutality. He’s kind to the farm animals, kind to Sheldon, the simple-minded boy others treat as dumb manual labor, and he’s kind even to Put, the lunatic locked in a cage, who was shipped to the poor farm because the county didn’t want to pay for his stay at the asylum. Jip’s so busy being kind that he barely notices life hasn’t been kind to him–until others start to return the favor.

Under Teacher’s (Lyddie’s) encouragement, Jip learns to read and believes he deserves more in life. Put, in his saner moments, helps out on the farm and becomes a true friend to Jip. Around the same time, a stranger shows up in town, someone who takes an unusual interest in Jip, but alternately repulses and fascinates him with his stories about a man searching for his long-lost son. It’s the kind of slick, oily kindness Jip could do without, yet he can’t help feeling hopeful.

The mystery of Jip’s past, the mysterious stranger, and the friendship of Lyddie and her fiance Luke Stevens all wind up in a wrenching, satisfying ending. The solution was so obvious, but it eluded me until 3/4 of the way through, and it was like that moment in Keeper when everything suddenly makes sense–except I should have figured it out sooner.

And the history angle? Even though Jip’s particular struggles are period-specific (poor farms have gone out of fashion, thank goodness), I couldn’t help but think about the news every time the book mentions education, public funding or mental health care. We’re still wrestling with the same problems, and that makes Jip’s story timeless.

Read Full Post »

Scott O’Dell Challenge Part 6: The Game of Silence

After the disappointment of Streams to the River, River to the Sea, I was doubly grateful to read a Louise Erdrich book. Erdrich eased my mind right off the bat by taking responsibility for the historical content: She lists her sources and explains that the story is based on her own family history.

Silence begins where The Birchbark House ended: it’s springtime when 9-year-old Omakayas spies the dilapidated canoes struggling across the lake. The boats are filled with refugees–fellow Anishinabeg whose exile could spell doom for Omakayas’ own community. The entire book is shadowed by the threat of white settlers, but because this is from Omakayas’ point of view, we don’t dwell on the problem. In between the worrying there are mud fights and snowball fights; arguments with Ten Strike, her arrogant moose-killing cousin; and a clumsy attempt to understand her angsty, love-struck sister. It’s these daily details, of course, that make the final pages so heartbreaking.

I liked Silence better than Birchbark: maybe because I’ve had more time to get to know the characters, or because the book is unified by the looming threat of being forced off their land. In Birchbark, the main conflict didn’t start until halfway through.

Read Full Post »

Scott O’Dell Challenge Part 5: Streams to the River, River to the Sea

Whenever I read historical fiction based on real events or people, I like to know where the facts came from. Did the author consult primary sources? or is it historical fiction in the sense of movies “inspired by true events?”

This becomes all the more important when the plot contains enough drama for five novels, as is the case for Scott O’Dell’s Streams to the River, River to the Sea, which is about Sacagawea, the Shoshone woman who guided Lewis and Clark through much of their westward journey. The book starts with a kidnapping, when 15-year-old Sacagawea is taken by the Minnetaree tribe after they kill her mother. We’ve barely had time to absorb the trauma before Sacagawea is kidnapped again (by a rival Minnetaree village). Several random turn of events later (including a season of solitary life, Island of the Blue Dolphins style), she’s married off to a white trader named Toussaint Charbonneau, gives birth to a son, then she and Charbonneau are hired by Lewis and Clark. So off she goes on the 4,000-mile journey, during which she falls in love with Clark.

It’s hard to tell how much of this actually happened, because Scott O’Dell lists just two sources in the preface: The Journals of Lewis and Clark; and Lewis and Clark, Partners in Discovery. He doesn’t say if he read anything written by Sacagawea, or if she left any kind of written record. I have no problems with historical fiction that’s mostly fiction, but when it happens, I expect the author to be up front about it.

Read Full Post »

Scott O’Dell Challenge Part 4: The Fighting Ground

Review: The Fighting Ground by Avi

Jonathan’s father doesn’t like to talk about his time in the army. And because he’s only 13, Jonathan can’t exactly enlist. So when the chance comes to see some action, Jonathan seizes the opportunity, joining a ragtag team of volunteers to defend a nearby village from King George’s men. Over the next 24 hours, Jonathan admires, doubts and comes to fear the Minuteman he’s joined. If they’re fighting against tyranny, why is it so hard to tell one side from the other?

The Fighting Ground doesn’t feel like a traditional Scott O’Dell winner. We don’t see famous battles or Revolutionary War generals, so the book becomes a very personal account of one boy’s journey through the war. It reminds me most of My Brother Sam is Dead, and not just because it’s equally depressing—the moral ambiguity of both armies gives it a depth beyond the expected pro-American/anti-British stance. (Fact: the title of Creepiest Character belongs to a nameless American Corporal).

And it’s impressive how Avi can tell a complete story in the span of 24 hours. Instead of chapter headings, we get timestamps, so we can see, sometimes minute-by-minute, as Jonathan’s perceptions flip completely around. But there are also slow, agonizing moments when Jonathan sneak up on something that you know can’t be good–just like horror film characters who simply have to open that door. So: a thrilling book with a nice glimpse of history, and it’s the perfect partner to Chains.

Read Full Post »

Scott O’Dell Challenge Part 3: Chains

Not long ago, Lisa posted on books “too good to review.” The kind that leave you speechless and gulping for air, because you’ve been so immersed in the story that you forget to surface until you’ve savoured the very last words.

For me, Chains is one of those books. It was incredibly depressing, but incredibly good. In the first two chapters alone, Isabel (and my) hopes were repeated lifted and dashed. After the freedom promised her by her late owner is snatched away one final time, it’s clear Isabel can’t rely on the law, kind individuals, or fate to ensure her freedom.

Read Full Post »

O’Dell Challenge Part 2: The Sign of the Beaver

At the age of 12, I was going to school, eating food purchased from grocery stores and living in a town where the largest wild animals were skittish deer.

At age 12, Matt, the kid in Elizabeth George Speare’s The Sign of the Beaver, is living by himself in northern Maine, in 1769, in a tiny log cabin surrounded by trees, grizzlies and not much else. This peculiar arrangement is only(!) supposed to last 6 weeks, while Matt’s father goes back to Massachusetts to bring the rest of his family to their new home. It doesn’t take long for Matt to lose his hunting rifle (due to stupidity, mostly) and a lot of his food (blame the bears), but before we get critical, let’s remember that most of us wouldn’t last a week in his shoes.

Luckily, Matt is soon rescued (from angry bees and possible starvation) by a Native American named Saknis and his grandson Attean. Saknis wants Matt to teach Attean English. Attean would sooner climb into a bee’s nest. And Matt soon discovers he’s a lousy teacher.

But the boys eventually bond, thanks to Robinson Crusoe, fishing and an endless competition of survival skills. Their friendship feels both genuine and complex–just when you think they’re going to be best chums forever, Attean explains what the white settlers did to his parents, or Matt says something insensitive. Still, they become true friends despite these barriers, and in the end, when Matt faces a tough choice between family and friendship, we’re just as stumped as he is about what to do.

Speare and Jean Craighead George must be kindred spirits, because The Sign of the Beaver makes me itch for the outdoors as much as My Side of the Mountain. Now I can’t wait to snowshoe, carve my own fishhooks (and I don’t even like fishing), or to be extra ambitious, take archery lessons (Katniss vs. Attean: you were thinking it too).

Next up in the O’Dell challenge: Chains by Laurie Halse Anderson.

Read Full Post »

O’Dell Challenge Part 1: Morning Girl

First, a big thank you to @notforlunch for coming up with the brilliant #nerdDell hashtag!

Number one on the #nerdDell list is Michael Dorris‘ Morning Girl. In a mere 74 pages, Dorris immerses us into the lives of twelve-year-old Morning Girl and her brother Star Boy. Theirs is the timeless tale of growing up: they juggle sibling rivalries, family expectations and community values. The book flew by, and I was so engrossed that I didn’t register the vagueness of the setting—there are no dates or place names until the very end, when everything becomes terribly, terribly clear. The revelation left me with chills. I can’t say anything more without spoiling it, and if you’re thinking of reading Morning Girl for the first time, I recommend plunging in without reading any synopsis or summary. The less you know, the better.

I don’t think it’s a spoiler to say that the book isn’t exactly happy. Looking ahead, I can tell it’s going to be a trend. There’s a big cluster of O’Dell winners set during the Civil War era and another clump from World War II (only Dead End in Norvelt promises humor, though I’d love to be proven wrong). I’ll probably need a new Most Depressing Children’s Books list by the time I’m done.

For next time: The Sign of the Beaver by Elizabeth George Speare.

Read Full Post »

Introducing the Scott O’Dell Challenge

Why read all the Scott O’Dell Award winners?

–because historical fiction is the closest I’ll ever get to a trip in the TARDIS

–because only 30 books have won the award, so the challenge isn’t nearly as intimidating as, say, the Newbery reading list (91 books). Plus, I’ve already read 7 of the winning books

–because there are Newbery and Caldecott Challenges galore (including people ambitious enough to read all the Caldecott winners in one day!), and this is a chance to try something different

My plan is to read/re-read all of the books in order–not by date of publication, but in order of when the book takes place. Each time I finish a book, I’ll post some kind of reaction or review. As always, the more the merrier, so feel free to join the challenge by posting in the comments or on your own blog (and provide a link!). (Note: I just added the 2013 winner, Chickadee by Louise Erdrich, on Jan. 18. I hope I can get through a good chunk of the list before Jan. 2014).

The official award description reads:

Established by Scott O’Dell and Zena Sutherland in 1982, the Scott O’Dell Award is given for a distinguished work of historical fiction. To be eligible, a book must be published by a U.S. publisher; the setting must be South, Central or North America; and the author must be a U.S. citizen. Books published during each calendar year are eligible for the following year’s award.

Here’s the list of books and their settings:

Read Full Post »