I’m a big nerd who reads too much. Don’t take any of this too seriously.
All in books
If Toni Morrison is described as “America’s Conscience”, Cormac McCarthy represents something closer to America’s unbridled id. His novels are vicious, unblinking reminders of the deep evils of genocide and violence America was born from, without the sheen of manifest destiny and cultural myths to mask them. Through classic Western tropes—chief among them the cowboy—McCarthy reveals the insidious nature of our inherited folklore, the full price of our collective gains rendered in blood.
It’s a trifle, but a consistently pleasant and endearing one. In 1945, maybe that’s what kids needed most.
Surprisingly complex and nuanced in its approach to morality and disability, Johnny Tremain still stands up as a classic work of children’s literature.
Call it Courage is the kid lit version of a beach read, both literally and metaphorically, and it mostly lives up to what it was trying to achieve 80 years ago.
Thimble Summer is the first winner set in the Great Depression. And while I’m sure it does a fine job reflecting the realities of growing up in the ‘30s, it also makes it seem like a really boring time to be a kid.
Seredy’s lavish illustrations and luxurious phrasing help take the edge off of the grizzlier points of the story, but this is still a whacked-out fever dream that reads like Terrence Malick directing a Rob Zombie flick.
What other children’s books had characters grappling with the morality of capitalism in the 1930s?
Caddie Woodlawn is a mean-spirited, hurtful book that belongs in the trash.
Invincible Louisa strikes me as a book homeschool moms looove, but not the cool homeschool moms.
Unlike some other authors who’d won the Newbery by 1933, Lewis could write the hell out of a children’s book.
Waterless Mountain, a deep dive into Najavo (Diné) culture written by Laura Adams Armer, is the first Newbery book I haven’t been able to borrow from the local library, and after reading it, I’m bummed that it’s one I purchased for my own collection.
After the mostly grueling (though intermittently enjoyable) slog of getting through the first decade of Newbery winners, nothing could have prepared me for The Cat Who Went to Heaven. How the hell did it sneak onto this list?
The book is competently written, and it’s easy to see how a stereotypical 1930s American Girl® might have liked reading about a doll’s adventures. But I’ll be the first to tell you: Hitty sucks.
This strange little gem of a novel flies by in a flash, slowly pulling the reader along with just enough intrigue and mystery to build suspense from chapter to chapter.
Gay-Neck is, hands down, the best title to win the Newbery Medal as of 2020. What is a gay-neck? Why is it hyphenated? What makes it gay? Is it only the neck that’s gay, or are some other body parts at least bi-curious?
Will James’s life certainly doesn’t have the markings of a traditionally celebrated children’s author—he spent a year in Nevada State Penitentiary for stealing cattle, moved around between stunt work and the Army, and developed a serious drinking problem that sent him to the grave at age 50.
Of the five books recognized by the Newbery Award selection committee in 1925 and 1926, four of them were short story collections. If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.
Once lockdown hit in March, I decided to read 100 books in 2020. And as of the ball drop on December 31st, I’d finished 104. (Though it was a lovely experience, here’s hoping I have less free time on my hands in 2021!) My selection ran the gamut, from rereading old favorites that did (To Kill a Mockingbird) and didn’t (East of Eden) hold up, to tearing through the complete works of Kurt Vonnegut and the Harry Potter series. Here’s a list of the cream of the crop, 10 books I read this year that stood out as being particularly touching, impressive, and meaningful.
