turtle in paradise

Turtle in Paradise: The Graphic Novel has one of the prettiest and most colorful book covers I’ve ever seen. And obviously, as a human (aka someone who judges books by their covers), I was drawn to it. I had never read a Jennifer L. Holm book before, but I thoroughly enjoyed this middle grade graphic novel, an adaptation of a book by the same name, illustrated by Savanna Ganucheau and colored by Lark Pien. It’s sweet, tart, and endearing – just like a Key lime pie.

A graphic novel adaptation of the beloved, bestselling Newbery Honor-winning novel.

Eleven-year-old Turtle is smart and tough and has seen enough of the world not to expect a Hollywood ending. After all, it’s 1935 and money—and sometimes even dreams—is scarce. So when Turtle’s mother gets a job housekeeping for a lady who doesn’t like kids, Turtle heads off to Florida to live with relatives. Florida’s like nothing Turtle’s ever seen before, though. It’s full of ragtag boy cousins, family secrets to unravel . . . and even a little bit of fun. Before she knows what’s happened, Turtle finds herself coming out of her shell. And as she does, her world opens up in the most unexpected ways.

Inspired by family stories, three-time Newbery Honor winner Jennifer L. Holm blends family lore with America’s past in this charming gem of a novel, now adapted into graphic novel form by rising star Savanna Ganucheau.

 

For Turtle, growing up in the South during the Great Depression means that she’s used to uncertainty. She and her mother Sadiebelle (who has her head stuck firmly in the clouds) make due with any situation – even when Sadiebelle’s employer won’t allow children. So Turtle is shipped down to the Florida Keys to live with her cousins and aunt, whom she has never met before. Upon arrival, Turtle is alerted to the existence of a Diaper Gang, barefoot life, and other Conch (Florida Keys native) peculiarities. As she adjusts to life in the Keys, several mysteries unravel – and the only question remaining is: will Turtle finally find her home in Florida? Or will her mother eventually buy them a home in Georgia?

 

Turtle in Paradise: The Graphic Novel is a gem of a graphic novel – full of shenanigans, feisty cousins, hard-headed Turtle, and the ups and downs of extended family life. For Turtle, who has been an only child, and a practical one at that, it is an adjustment. Turtle’s experiences, illustrated in loving detail and color, are by turns laugh-out-loud funny, bittersweet, and charming. The book reads as a series of connected vignettes, slowly illuminating the mysteries of Turtle’s parentage and lineage, the will-she/won’t-she of being able to keep her cat Smokey, and the all-consuming effort to earn money so that she and her mother can have the sense of security that a home would bring.

 

I loved the historical tidbits and worries that are particular to Turtle’s time. She’s a product of her upbringing: practical, clever, and able to fit in with any crowd, and yet she has soft spots: for her cat, for her crotchety old grandmother, and for her mother, a dreamer who left Key West and ended up a housekeeper. I also loved the illustrations! Especially those of activities that barely exist in the US any longer: sponge fishing, turtle harvesting, encyclopedia sales, and so on. Through this book, you can feel both the heat and the ocean breeze of the 1930s Keys.

 

I already adored Savanna Ganucheau’s art from her collaboration with Kevin Panetta in their YA graphic novel Bloom, but this collaboration with Holm and Pien is something special. Ganucheau renders her art digitally in Photoshop, and Holm’s big-eyed characters emote in such a lovely way with those eyes. The art and text combination evoked smells, tastes, visuals, auditory stimulus, and, of course, feeling. In addition, colorist Pien’s pastel sherbet palette of colors is evocative of sun-drenched days and bright light. The combination of all three? A delight.

 

In all, Turtle in Paradise is a pearl, a peach, a star! of a graphic novel, and one that I enjoyed in one gulp.

 

Recommended for: fans of historical fiction, anyone who likes Savanna Ganucheau’s art (Bloom!), and those ready for a summer-y middle grade read filled with poignant moments, à la This One Summer and Be Prepared.

 

Fine print: I received an advanced copy of Turtle in Paradise for review consideration from the publisher. I did not receive any compensation for this post.

a deadly education

Does author Naomi Novik need an introduction? Just in case you are new here, she wrote the enormously successful Temeraire series (Napoleonic wars + dragons), as well as reimagined fairy tales Uprooted and Spinning Silver. Novik also writes fantastic fanfic – I especially love her Harry/Draco HP fic and Jaime/Brienne GOT fic. And while I’ve had a mixed reaction to her published novels, as soon as I heard that her latest title A Deadly Education (in the new Scholomance series) was a take on Harry Potter, with a dark Hermione Granger character, I was HOOKED. I preordered the book 8 months early, convinced my sister to buy it as well… and then when it arrived at the start of the pandemic-altered 2020-21 school year, I looked at it longingly and said… I’ll read that later. Later ended up being after the end of the school year, but I finally did it! And I just want to say that A Deadly Education is enormously interesting and fun, and I can’t wait for the sequel.

 

Lesson One of the Scholomance: Learning has never been this deadly. 

A Deadly Education is set at Scholomance, a school for the magically gifted where failure means certain death (for real) — until one girl, El, begins to unlock its many secrets. 

There are no teachers, no holidays, and no friendships, save strategic ones. Survival is more important than any letter grade, for the school won’t allow its students to leave until they graduate… or die! The rules are deceptively simple: Don’t walk the halls alone. And beware of the monsters who lurk everywhere. 

El is uniquely prepared for the school’s dangers. She may be without allies, but she possesses a dark power strong enough to level mountains and wipe out millions. It would be easy enough for El to defeat the monsters that prowl the school. The problem? Her powerful dark magic might also kill all the other students.

 

What is this book? Short version: it’s the story of Galadriel (or El, for short), who has survived to the end of her junior year at a deadly magical school called Scholomance, and desperately wants to make it out alive – but is hampered by her affinity for hugely destructive magics (and her unwillingness to “go bad”), her status as an outcast, and her upbringing as an indie kid, without the protection of a magical enclave to shield her from some of the dangers of life and school. El’s run-in with Orion Lake, school hero, changes everything. El’s strategy for survival will have to change, and fast, if she wants to make it out of Scholomance alive!

 

A Deadly Education is the magic school slaughterhouse of your dreams – or maybe your nightmares?? The setup of the school, its secrets, history, and architecture, are intricately imagined and described, and that will appeal to the love of world-building for most fantasy fans. There are partial map cross-sections as the endpapers, and illustrations of student rooms at the end of the book as well. Novik manages another difficult task simultaneously – she never info-dumps, and the plot and characterization are fast-paced and deep, respectively. As the reader gets to know Scholomance and its politics, and the world which would create such a deadly school, El is navigating its mal-infested hallways and trying to decide whether anyone’s intentions are pure (she thinks not!). The pacing is fabulous, and the tension ratchets up continuously – sometimes in predictable ways, and sometimes in surprising ones. Novik, and El, keep the reader guessing.

 

What I liked: El. She is constantly (constantly!) making up for her lower status, and it makes her resourceful and clever. I fell in love with the push-pull of her inner monologue, watching her work with/against her affinity handicap, and her either rude or calculating reactions to the other students she encountered. I cheered when she accidentally made friends, and wanted nothing so much as another whole book about her to keep the momentum (and enjoyment!) going. 

 

I also loved the world of the Scholomance itself. The school feels utterly original and yet pulled from the best parts of other magical school stories. It is rich in monsters, be they human or magic-created, and there is room for many histories and stories within the school itself, and in a world populated by those who have survived the trauma of such a school. If the novel wasn’t quite so violent, it might slot in nicely as a YA book – it deals easily with the conundrum of removing parents and other adults to inspire independence in young characters by creating a school that doesn’t require them at all.

 

I would be remiss if I didn’t mention the valid criticism of representation and stereotypes in this book. Before I ever picked it up, I read excerpts about harmful stereotypes within the book: the way El (a person of color) “hisses” language, of Black hairstyles such as dreadlocks depicted as nests for dangerous mals, and more. A Deadly Education is not perfect. I enjoyed it despite its issues, and I think it’s important to acknowledge that I knew of them before reading, and I kept them in mind while reading, and I still enjoyed the reading experience. This is, for me, an exercise in liking (or perhaps loving!) a flawed thing, while still holding myself accountable as a reader. I’m interested to see if any others also had this experience?

 

In all, A Deadly Education is a ridiculously enjoyable roller coaster ride of a book. I already preordered the sequel!

 

Recommended for: fans of resourceful heroes and heroines who are caustic and clever, those who liked Sarah Rees Brennan’s In Other Lands and other tales of magical schools, and anyone who likes their coming of age with a punch and a fantastical edge.

the house in the cerulean sea

This reading adventure began, as many do, with recommendations. The startling thing is that I followed through and read the book at all. In my life as an English teacher, I’ve learned that books are many, time is short, and during the school year I will get no reading done (unless forced). TJ Klune’s The House in the Cerulean Sea started popping up all over the place on Instagram first – and not just around its release date, but a swell of love and support over many months. That was fine, and I noticed it, but it didn’t prompt me to take action. Then I showed up to my book club’s Zoom meeting a couple of months ago and it was personally recommended by long-time reading friends. Their arguments were persuasive – I purchased the book then and there! And only 2ish months later, I read it all in one day. The House in the Cerulean Sea delivered on its promised cozy vibes, and reading it was a nice way to slide into summer mode.

 

Linus Baker leads a quiet, solitary life. At forty, he lives in a tiny house with a devious cat and his old records. As a Case Worker at the Department in Charge of Magical Youth, he spends his days overseeing the well-being of children in government-sanctioned orphanages.

When Linus is unexpectedly summoned by Extremely Upper Management he's given a curious and highly classified assignment: travel to Marsyas Island Orphanage, where six dangerous children reside: a gnome, a sprite, a wyvern, an unidentifiable green blob, a were-Pomeranian, and the Antichrist. Linus must set aside his fears and determine whether or not they’re likely to bring about the end of days.

But the children aren’t the only secret the island keeps. Their caretaker is the charming and enigmatic Arthur Parnassus, who will do anything to keep his wards safe. As Arthur and Linus grow closer, long-held secrets are exposed, and Linus must make a choice: destroy a home or watch the world burn.

An enchanting story, masterfully told, The House in the Cerulean Sea is about the profound experience of discovering an unlikely family in an unexpected place—and realizing that family is yours.

 

The House in the Cerulean Sea is the story of Linus Baker, a government worker in a fictional (and nominally magical) world who is desperately lonely, but keeps himself too busy fulfilling his job according to the draconian Rules and Regulations to think very deeply about his dissatisfaction with his life. The only bits of happiness he has are the sunflowers in his garden, his cat Calliope, and his record collection. Linus’ internal monologue is immediately hilarious, but his life overall is sad and dreary. This metaphor is extended even further in tragicomic fashion: Linus constantly misses the bus (or it is late), forgets his umbrella on rainy days, and engages in light self-hatred (about his weight), along with holding a seeming life-long goal of blending in with the wall paint. Luckily, the business of the book is to make him happy. Author Klune accomplishes this by delving into the fantasy portion of the novel, when Linus must make an unusual casework visit to a whimsical island and observe the family who live there. Over the course of his visit, Linus (or Mr. Baker, as he goes by at the orphanage he is “investigating”) slowly develops his capacity for happiness, and by the end of the book all’s well that ends well.

 

What I knew going into reading the book: magical house/school, cozy vibes, quiet read, LGBTQ+ characters. What I got in the first several chapters: an absolutely miserable main character in an awful desk job that gave me flashbacks to some of my own worst working experiences. Let’s just say there was some whiplash between expectations and reality. I almost put the book down about 5 times in the first 5 chapters. I kept going because of the promised payoff from the recommendations of others. So, with that off my chest, I can say… this book IS lovely in many ways, as is Linus, but they both require a bit of patience from the reader to uncover their strengths and treasures.

 

Author Klune’s task in this novel is a complex and delicate one: to start with a character that the reader can immediately identify as unhappy, unambitious, and with low self-esteem, and expose them to a combination of plot and character elements that will thoroughly change their outlook on life, actions, and future, all without seeming “out of character.” It is a masterful character study, but it doesn’t feel contrived – it instead is a story suffused with homey, magical details, and I think that is why it is so beloved. 

 

So, that’s the book. I think it was successful on its own merits, and a feat of engineering! And obviously, cozy vibes and quiet reads are nothing to shake a stick at. BUT DID I ENJOY IT??? That is a tough question, and one I’ve been asking myself over and over again in the last 12 hours or so since I finished the book. And I think the answer is, to use one of my favorite words, complex. On one hand: yes. I can appreciate the underpinnings that make this book art, and I appreciate the aura of it all, and of course I love magical stories. But one thing about being in the head of a character with such low self-esteem, and such a dreary outlook on life, is that is hard not to get trapped in the emotional transference. Other people in the book kept telling Linus he was worthy and delightful, and yet… on his side, he couldn’t see it. And thus, in a way, the reader (or at least THIS reader) couldn’t see it. As I said, complex. I feel satisfied that I didn’t waste my time reading the book, but it’s not a favorite, or even a “keep it on my shelf” book. It’ll go live instead in my classroom library at school!

 

I do appreciate LGBTQ+ characters getting to live everyday lives, and being the centers of cozy books. I also appreciated that, while the book is marketed to adults, it will be very popular with younger readers and those who read YA and crossover titles. Because of the novel’s focus on children’s lives and children’s well-being through Linus’ line of work, the feel is quite innocent and light, even when it deals with heavier themes and subject matter like prejudice and child abuse. 

 

In all, a perfectly satisfactory summer read, and one for when you need a dash of whimsy and warmth in your life.

 

Recommended for: fans of Katherine Addison’s books (especially The Angel of the Crows, which I read and also enjoyed in a complex way last summer), those who enjoy quiet fantasy with hints of Diana Wynne Jones and/or Robin McKinley, and anyone who wants to see more LGBTQ+ representation in science fiction and fantasy!

what we don't talk about

We all know that helpful maxim "Don't judge a book by its cover." And we all know that graphic novels are the exception, right?? RIGHT??! After all, they give you a glimpse of the art that will either make or break the book. That quick look at the art style (via the cover) is often the thing that will prompt me to pick a book up at all. When I first saw the fabulous colors and cover art of Charlot Kristensen's young adult graphic novel What We Don't Talk About on Twitter it immediately snagged my attention and prompted me to pre-order (and I'm not mad about it!).

 

Farai has been in a relationship for two years and has never met her partner’s parents. Until this weekend. 

Farai has finally persuaded Adam to introduce her to his parents, but the visit to the in-laws turns out to be a horrible experience for her. She starts to feel uneasy and ostracised. When confronted about this experience Adam tries to play down the situation and does not show any understanding for his partner's concerns. Then things get a whole lot worse and Farai has to question if she can be with a man whose family does not accept her and who is not willing to face the difficulties related to an interracial relationship. 

Examining contemporary issues of race, bigotry and the difficulties that interracial couples face, What We Don't Talk About is an exciting debut from a burgeoning talent and important new voice in graphic fiction.

 

Farai has been with Adam for two years, and thinks it's well past time that she met her boyfriend's parents. When they take a weekend trip to meet them, though, something immediately feels off. What is going on with his mom and her insensitive comments? When does insensitivity turn the corner into bigotry and racism? Why is Adam closing himself off and ignoring her ? In this contemporary comic, Farai will need to confront microaggressions (and just plain aggression), stereotyping, and decide whether she can live with what she knows now... or if she needs to make a change.

 

In What We Don't Talk About, Kristensen spins a story about, quite literally, the things we don't talk about: family tensions exacerbated by abuse and/or just plain unrealistic expectations, hidden (and more overt) bigotry, the pressure placed on people of color when they must decide between calling someone out on their racism and/or "keeping the peace," and the inevitable relational fallout when partners disappoint you – times one thousand, because gaslighting. While it might not be the most complex of narratives, Kristensen's storytelling has excellent pacing and keeps tensions ratcheting higher and higher. This book has the feel of a thriller, with several moments where as a reader you can't tell if a scene will devolve into actual violence. That alone would make the story a standout, but add in truly delicious art, and you have a bit of magic.

 

And about that art! Kristensen's style avoids outlines and is layered with color and brush texture (from, I'm assuming, a digital medium). It is also full of light: each scene's light source throws gorgeous shadows on the characters, and the effect is colorful and subtle at the same time – gradations of light can add to the tension and mood, or diffuse it. The art was truly the thing that drew me to this comic, and it will be the thing that keeps me reading (and following) Kristensen's future endeavors: it has a gorgeous, unexpected, and lucid quality. I am a bit in awe of how much it added to the story – the art was truly the star.

 

I think the one weakness of What We Don't Talk About is its brevity. The gorgeous art and heavy subject matter are a fantastic juxtaposition, but I came away wanting to know a little bit more about Adam and Farai as characters before this fateful trip: maybe a scene or two with Farai's family? A couple of flashbacks to happier times for emotional contrast? A parallel storyline? It needed *something* but I'm not an editor and I couldn't tell you exactly what would work best. As it is, this brief story still packs a punch, and is certainly worth a read. I'll be looking forward to see what Kristensen does next!

 

In all, What We Don't Talk About is a beautifully illustrated debut graphic novel about the pressures behind the breakup of an interracial relationship. The truly gorgeous art is not to be missed!

 

Recommended for: fans of young adult and contemporary graphic novels, those trying to diversify their reading lists, and anyone interested in gorgeous art!