By Maureen Tai, 11 April 2024

In middle-grade verse novel, No Matter The Distance (ages 8+), eleven-year-old Penny Rooney begins her spring break thinking about the poetry slam competition that’s just been announced, the theme of which is “What I Know About Myself.” Penny knows a lot about her best friend Cricket (brainiac and space enthusiast), her older sister Liana (music lover and nickname generator), and cystic fibrosis (the genetic disorder she was born with). But does Penny know anything about herself?

Out of the blue, a silvery dolphin appears in the creek next to her home, separated from its pod. In the weeks that follow, Penny and the dolphin forge a wondrous connection that ultimately saves the dolphin and allows Penny to discover who she really is. While Penny makes some rather brave (perhaps a little foolhardy) decisions on her own, she is never, ever, alone in the world. A timely reminder in these fractured times to any adult reader (because adults should read this too) that the most important responsibility to any child is to ensure that they are part of a safe and loving family and community.

This well crafted and masterfully written novel does not shy away from describing the precarity of living with a life-shortening genetic condition. What makes this verse novel outstanding is that the author manages to convey so many difficult truths, yet finely balance it throughout with a heartfelt and inspiring message of hope. A truly wonderful read.

Ages 8 and up.

By Maureen Tai, 12 October 2023

We wouldn’t normally review another book in a series but Black (ages 8+), even though it proclaims itself as Book II to Brown (which we read, loved and reviewed several years ago), stands very much on its own two feet, thank you very much. This middle grade, heavily-illustrated, realistic fiction book is about the well-meaning but slightly dim-witted Jack, who becomes smitten with an alluring, yet standoffish newcomer to his town. In a bid to win the heart of his Lady Love, Jack concocts a dubious plan involving the theft of the Mayor’s prizewinning chicken. As his scheme quickly unravels, Jack must enlist the aid of his good friends, dependable Rusty and clever Lou. Transforming into their alter ego superhero selves, the three children race to solve the mystery of the kidnapped chicken while making the front page news in the process. Jack’s story is quirky, well-paced and fun, and the deadpan humour and seemingly unfinished illustrations will have you in stitches (we were laughing so hard at one point that we were crying). A perfect chapter book for emerging and reluctant readers.

For ages 8 and up.

By Maureen Tai, 21 September 2023

“So that’s the question, I guess, for you and for me and for all of us trying to do this sacred task of telling stories for the young: How do we tell the truth and make that truth bearable? – Kate DiCamillo

The Tōhoku earthquake and tsunami of 2011 continue to cast long shadows. The middle grade, realistic/fantasy novel The House of the Lost on the Cape (ages 10+) opens with this horrific event, drawing readers into the fates of the three main characters. Kiwa, Yurie and Moeka are brought together by circumstance, only to be bound together by a common purpose and similar needs: the need to love, to be loved and to be part of a community.

Kiwa Yamana, or Obāchan (Granny), is the central figure; a kind and spritely elderly lady bound for a nursing home in Kitsunezaki (Fox’s Point) but who, due to the tsunami, ends up sheltering in a gymnasium. Yurie Sano is a childless wife escaping an abusive marriage who sees a young speechless girl on a train and rather impulsively, decides to follow her when she alights. The girl, Moeka, is being escorted to her uncle’s house, but disaster strikes, and both Yurie and Moeka find themselves in the same gymnasium as Obāchan. In an unusual turn of events, Obāchan ends up informally adopting Yurie (now with a newly assumed name of Yui) as her daughter-in-law and Moeka (now known as Hiyori) as her granddaughter. The three move to an old, thatched house at the tip of Fox Cub Cape. According to Obāchan, their new house is very much like a mayoiga (lost house), a sentient being with a personality who brings good fortune to all those who find it. As Yui and Moeka slowly adjust to their new roles and their new lives, they discover that there is more to Obāchan than meets the eye, especially after they are introduced to Obāchan’s many colourful yōkai friends. These deities and supernatural spirits from Japanese folklore – kappa, Jizō and zashiki warashi, among others – are a charming, friendly bunch, and they come without hesitation to Obāchan, Yui and Hiyori’s aid when the three must stand together against an ancient enemy.

Despite being, at its core, an engrossing and imaginative Good-versus-Evil fantasy story, the reality of the earthquake and the tsunami’s aftermath are never downplayed. Yui’s fright as she witnesses houses being swept away. Hiyori’s overwhelming feelings of grief, despair and loneliness. The severity of the physical destruction. The devastating loss of lives. All these aspects are masterfully weaved into the narrative, described in Kashiwaba’s unadorned, thoughtful and honest writing, the truth no less poignant, but to borrow Kate DiCamillo’s words, made bearable for young readers. Therein lies the skill of both writer and translator, conveying the true heart of the novel, with its beat that stays with us long after the last page is turned.

For ages 10 and up.

By Maureen Tai, 28 October 2022

The titular Lizard in this middle grade, historical thriller and riveting page-turner is a poor, green-eyed boy of mixed parentage. Abandoned by his Chinese mother and subsequently by his beloved British uncle, Lizard survives on petty crime and odd jobs in 1940s Singapore. His life is turned upside down when a job – to steal a teak box from a hotel room in the swish Raffles Hotel – goes horribly and unexpectedly wrong. The next thing he knows, Lizard is on the run. But why? From whom? What are the secret contents of the teak box? Suddenly, everything Lizard knows is not what they seem to be. Even his best friend Lili, his neighbour and a lover of curry puffs. Could she be more than just the daughter of a Chinese tailor living in Chinatown? Lizard’s Tale (ages 8+) will have you at the edge of your seat as you follow Lizard on his perilous quest to unravel the mystery surrounding his contraband. What is just as exciting for an older, Asian reader like me, is to see authentic details of pre-war Singapore both big – like the Raffles Hotel – and small – like the Brylcreem used by a local thug to slick down his hair – in a traditionally published, middle grade novel. Unputdownable.

By Ben, 10 October 2022

Ben and I recently read Inkling (ages 8+), an imaginative and emotionally satisfying middle-grade novel by the author of the dark, gripping and suspenseful The Nest. We had a chat about it after breakfast.

M: So, can you tell me, in a nutshell, what Inkling is about?
B: It’s about a boy called Ethan and an ink splotch that comes to life called Inkling that draws things.
M: It’s like a fantasy story?
B: Kinda fantasy, kinda fiction? It’s suspenseful. Also well-written and funny in parts.
M: What sort of kid is Ethan? Is he like anyone you know?
B: [Thinking] No, he isn’t. He’s very protective of Inking though, so he’s a nice kid …
M: … and he’s also protective of his younger sister too, right?
B: Yeah, he’s really good at looking after his younger sister Sarah, he’s very kind to her and plays games with her and stuff. But then Sarah’s not annoying like my sister [knowing look] …
M: Ummm, let’s not bring your sister into this [rolling eyes]. Let’s get back to the story. So, this Inkling draws things …
B: Yeah, when Inkling goes onto pages in a book, all the words and pictures get sucked up into him, like he’s an eraser but more effective, and then he starts talking like the books he eats. So if he reads an old book, he’ll start speaking in old English like an old person.
M: Hmmm. Inking doesn’t have a mouth or eyes, does he? How does he talk?
B: He speaks by writing the words on paper or on any surface, but his one weakness is glass. He slips on glass so he can’t climb up the wall of a glass or a tank which is where he gets trapped by the bad girl …
M: No, no spoilers!
B: Oh, ok.
M: But there are bad people in this story?
B: Yeah, the main bad characters are Vika and her father. Vika is Ethan’s rival at school. She’s mean and sneaky but she’s also really good at drawing …
M: But Ethan’s not that good?
B: At the start of the story he isn’t, but then he gets good at it by the end.
M: If you had Inkling, what would you get him to do for you?
B: [No hesitation] If I had Inkling, I’d get him to do my homework and school for me.
M: Well, it’s a good thing you don’t have him then!

By Maureen Tai, 26 September 2022

In S.F. Said’s imaginative, engrossing and dark-ish middle-grade novel, Varjak Paw (ages 8+), the titular cat is no ordinary feline but a Mesopotamian Blue. This exotic, ancient breed is descended from Jalal, legendary adventurer and hunter. The stories about Jalal, legends in their own right, are recounted by Varjak’s grandfather, and they intoxicate the young kitten, so much so that the venerated ancestor starts appearing to Varjak in his dreams. When a strange, malevolent Gentleman and his two murderous black cats suddenly appear on the scene, ending Varjak’s life as he knows it, our hero realises that he will need to master the long-forgotten Seven Skills in the Way of Jalal in order to save himself, his family and his newfound friends. A compelling story about loyalty, courage, finding (and believing) in yourself. And obviously, a perfect read for cat lovers.

By Maureen Tai, 19 September 2022

Nine-year old Astrid Glimmerdal has lion’s mane hair, a farmer dad, a marine scientist mother, a pet seagull and a curmudgeonly, ex-troll best friend/godfather. She is also the only child in her small, remote and fictional village of Glimmerdal (her namesake). Nestled at the foot of snow-capped mountains, the village is also home to the irritable Klaus Hagen and his adults-only Wellness Retreat, lovelorn digger-owner Peter, window-peeper-and-people-snooper Sally, and dog-owning-hair-stylist Theo. With this delightful setting and such an intriguing cast of characters, it is inevitable that a charmingly written, funny and touching story flows, as surely as the babbling waters of the River Glimmerdal, from the pages of Astrid the Unstoppable. In this middle grade novel, translated from the original Norwegian, Astrid – the self-proclaimed thunderbolt of Glimmerdal – uncovers secrets about her nearest and dearest while making new friends and leaving a trail of havoc in her wake. Irrepressible, spirited and adventurous souls aged 8 and up will adore this engaging read (I certainly did!).

By Maureen Tai, 3 April 2022

In the charming, semi-autobiographical, middle grade novel, The Year of the Dog (ages 8+), the Taiwanese American narrator has a whole year – the animal year she was born in – to find out who she is. Pacy starts the year lucky, making a new best friend at school and welcoming a new baby cousin to her loving, close-knit family. However, a series of disappointments leaves her questioning if her luck has finally run out … Pacy’s endearingly honest, first-person narrative is masterfully interspersed with stories recounted by Pacy’s mother of her own childhood in Taiwan and early immigrant experience in America. While the multi-generational and cross-continental setting, richly coloured with Chinese beliefs and traditions, will resonate with readers of Chinese descent, Lin’s metaphorical and often humorous prose (not to mention her cute line drawings) makes The Year of the Dog a universally appealing and timeless read.

By Ben, 27 March 2022

I first heard of Restart (ages 10+) a middle grade, realistic fiction novel about second chances, from my daughter while she was still in middle school and a keen participant for her school in the Battle of the Books competition. It was the only book she had willingly read several times, and enjoyed each time. So when I found a copy among the piles of donated books in our local secondhand bookshop for kids, Rebooked, I took that as a sign. I had to read it too.

And as usual, Ben came along for the ride.

By Maureen Tai, 20 March 2022

Some months ago, I had the pleasure of hearing literary translator, Avery Fischer Udagawa, read an excerpt from J-Boys (ages 10 and up), a refreshingly unique, memoir-style middle grade novel set in post-war Tokyo. I was so taken by the reading that I vowed to track down the book to share with my 11-year-old son, a feat I accomplished only several months later, but it could not have been more timely. Russia’s invasion of Ukraine had just begun and anxiety-inducing pronouncements of World War III were being shared and reshared on his school chat rooms like a nasty piece of schoolyard gossip. The time had come to talk about the reality of war, not as a vaguely discomforting series of grim facts from an unconnected past, but as a terrible ever-present violence that humans are capable of inflicting upon one another. What I didn’t expect was how J-Boys would help me frame that conversation.

J-Boys chronicles, in a series of linked, short stories, the life of a fourth-grade Japanese schoolboy, Kazuo, spanning 8 months in 1965. World War II ended two decades ago but its long shadow lingers, in particular for those who lived through those turbulent times. The effects of the war – nothing gory or grisly – are referred to fairly frequently throughout the book. Fortunately, Kazuo’s world, compared to that of his parents’, is infinitely more idyllic. He lives with his mum, dad and dog-obsessed younger brother in small but comfortable company housing. He does his homework in front of their black-and-white TV. He has a posse of friends who become the titular J-Boys: Nobuo, the butcher’s son, Minoru, a Korean boy, and Akira, a professor’s son. After school, they play in an empty lot before heading home for family dinners where fresh tofu – which Nobuo dislikes – features prominently. Kazuo loves curry rice, but hates miruku, a foul-tasting skimmed milk beverage that is forced on school children. He loves watching TV, but hates studying. He longs to try an American-style hanbaagaa (hamburger) but has to settle for a wafu (Japanese-style) hanburuguru steak instead (inexplicably, the word hanburuguru becomes my son’s new favourite word). While the events in Kazuo’s life are semi-fictional, the non-fictional elements of the setting are – or were – real, as explained in small shaded text boxes, unobtrusively interspersed with the narrative.

In these hyper-fast, instant-gratification times that we live in, we forget that what nourishes the body most is a long, warm soak in the bath, not constant jolts to the senses. J-Boys is not an irreverent graphic novel, page-turning adventure, nail-biting mystery or inspirational story of triumph-over-adversity, which are the narrow categories that most popular middle-grade books seem to fall into these days (to my chagrin). What it is, is an authentic, gentle, amusing yet poignant meander through the memories of a young boy growing up in a post-war world. It is a boat trip on a river, not a roller coaster ride. It is a comfort, not a distraction. Particularly for me, a child of Kazuo’s generation, it is a reminder that there is a light at the end of the tunnel, however long and devastating that tunnel might be, and that is a reminder worth sharing with future generations.

For ages 10 and up.

By Maureen Tai, 20 February 2022

Moo (ages 8+) is a whimsical, heartfelt middle-grade, mixed prose/verse novel about twelve-year old Reena, her little brother Luke, the eccentric, irascible Mrs Falala, and Mrs Falala’s coterie of pets: Paulie the pig, China the cat, Edna the snake, Crockett the parrot, and last but not least, Zora, the ornery, ill-tempered Belted Galloway heifer (phew, that was a long sentence!).

On a whim, Reena’s family relocates from a bright, bustling city to a small, rural town in Maine, near the ocean and mountains. Equally on a whim, Reena and her brother are volunteered by their parents to help Mrs Falala with her chores, three days a week. Initially reluctant, the children soon discover that there is more to Mrs Falala than meets the eye, and that there is a simple cure to Zora’s obstinance, a cure that Reena is determined to administer …

This charming and light-hearted contemporary novel with its text playfully spaced and sometimes, in different fonts, will appeal to young, emerging readers and animal lovers. Parents be forewarned though: this book might very well turn your child into a vegetarian!

By Maureen Tai, 13 February 2022

Disarmingly titled Bungee Cord Hair (ages 8+) is the middle-grade, verse novel sequel to Tofu Quilt, one of a rare handful of children’s novels set in Hong Kong. Our protagonist, Yeung Ying, is still an aspiring writer, but she is now a tween. She has left her beloved grandmother and extended family behind in Mainland China and rejoined her parents and siblings in 1960s Hong Kong. She was brought over under false pretences, and it is not an easy coming-of-age. Yeung Ying must learn how to live with her immediate family again after being apart for so many years. Being a girl, she has to fight for her education, a right traditionally reserved for boys and for those who can afford school fees. Above all, Yeung Ying discovers that she must shed her Mainland Chinese, “Communist” style of looking and speaking, and look and speak like a Hong Konger in order to escape ridicule and bullying, and to be accepted in her new home. Racism is, sadly, just as prevalent in Asian countries as it is in Western societies. Bungee Cord Hair is the first middle-grade novel I’ve read that candidly depicts how Chinese from the Mainland were historically looked down upon and derided by their (superior) Chinese counterparts in Hong Kong.

The author deftly and thoughtfully weaves into the narrative, elements of Chinese traditions, culture and folklore, creating a charming and compelling read. Yeung Ying’s lyrical account of triumph over adversity is as much an inspirational story for children, in particular girls of Chinese descent, to be resilient even in the most dire of circumstances, as it is an important and authentic first-hand account of life in colonial Hong Kong.

By Maureen Tai, 16 January 2022

Published almost two decades ago, Dog (ages 10+) is a funny, charming and absorbing coming-of-age, middle-grade novel about an unattractive mongrel dog’s search for a human owner he can train. After surviving death by drowning as an infant and the tragic loss of Black Nose, his adoptive mother, heartbroken Dog leaves the rubbish tip that has been his puppyhood home and heads into town for the first time. Dog is so intoxicated by the new sights, sounds and smells that he forgets to be cautious and ends up in the dog pound. All seems lost until a tiny, strong-willed, red-headed girl sweeps into Dog’s life with the force of a hurricane. Plum, as the little girl is christened by Dog, is the owner of his dreams. Little does Dog know that his adventures are just beginning …

Dog is a well-paced, whimsical tale peppered with colourful characters that will keep younger and older readers alike – and in particular, animal lovers – riveted from start to finish. Proving that, with a little bit of canine (and feline) ingenuity, even the hardest of human hearts can be trained to love.

By Ben & Maureen, 7 November 2021

When the children were younger, they’d play a game using Google Translate to translate a piece of text from say, English to Chinese, and then translate the resulting Chinese text back into English again. The ultimate translation was usually so different from the original version that it would illicit hoots of laughter and we’d shake our heads at the limitations of Google Translate. I’m reminded of these limitations whenever I read a translated work of literature where I have working knowledge of the original language in which it was written, like Sachiko Kashiwaba’s Temple Alley Summer, a middle-grade, fantasy-mystery novel that I recently shared with my non-Japanese speaking son. Even though I have never set eyes on the original, as we read the English version, I could imagine hearing the words of the original work, like lilting musical notes in the background. The feel, the “imi” (meaning) of the work, was distinctly Japanese, and I attribute this accomplishment to the masterful translation by Avery Fischer Udagawa, who is no stranger to Kashiwaba’s writings. Thanks to her, my 11-year-old is also no longer a stranger to Kashiwaba’s imaginative stories either.