To squish or not to squish—such is the question explored in Hey, Little Ant. A bespectacled boy taunts an ant on the sidewalk with the death he is about to inflict on him, thinking of it as “squishing” and not murder. The ant explains why he shouldn’t die: he is not so unlike the boy in that he loves and feeds his family, and though others may think of him as a nuisance, a chip can feed his whole community (and the implication is that there is no reason for the child not to share one chip). When the boy says that all his friends are waiting for him to squash the ant, the ant asks him to imagine them switching places, which gives an opportunity for one of the most wonderful images in this charming book: a giant ant, with glasses, his foot poised above a little boy. The book ends with an ambiguous note-we never know whether the ant is squished or not-and thus this book easily invites discussion with children. It is a mainstay of Born to Read’s Peaceable Stories curriculum. (Diane Magras)
Want a good Maine read for summer, or for that matter, any season? If you have read The Weir by Ruth Moore in our “Mirror of Maine” series for Let’s Talk About It, you will be delighted to know that another book with her finger on the pulse of early twentieth century Maine coastal communities is available. Spoonhandle takes place on fictional Big Spoon and Little Spoon islands, but they are so recognizable that you will be tempted to look for them on a map. Moore’s ability to capture a sense of place and to give us characters that we recognize in emotional places we’ve been before make this a book that calls to you from the shelf again and again. It deals with perennial themes: leaving, staying, or coming to Maine, the clash of classes, the individual versus the community, surviving in hard times. It’s also a great present for Mainiacs who don’t have the good fortune to live here. (Carolyn Sloan)
This Republic of Suffering looks at the Civil War through the lens of death, which at first seems quite depressing...not good summer reading! However, Faust is a masterful writer, incorporating individuals’ experiences to illuminate her arguments. She successfully shares the incredible impact of the Civil War on the American population, while putting faces on the sheer magnitude of destruction. She gets into the complex reasons behind the Civil War, but even more successfully describes the complicated implications of the results. This text is being used in the summer’s Teaching American History program. (Martina Duncan)
I heard Michael White read an excerpt from this novel at the 1st Anniversary event held by the Portland Freedom Trail on July 11, and was interested enough to get a copy from the library. The title is taken from the slaves’ term for “slave catcher,” which is the chosen trade (if it can be called a trade) of the book’s protagonist, Cain. I learned a lot about Civil War-era firearms from the story, and squirmed at some very graphic descriptions of fighting and injury; this book is not for the faint-hearted. It takes some moral fortitude, also, to endure the ruthlessness of the slave masters in the story. But White’s writing is authentic and confident—the Stonecoast MFA program is lucky to have him on the faculty. (Brita Zitin)
Set in Norway, this is a quiet story of Trond Sander’s late life reflections on a fateful childhood summer when he accompanied his father to live in a remote country cabin. As remote as it is, the presence of World War II drawing to a close permeates the memory, as we learn about his father’s mysterious role in the war cause. There are few characters in this story. Aside from the father, there is Trond’s close friend in that summer who invites him to “steal horses” with him, and from there, a tragedy unfolds that Trond’s reflections bring us back to, repeatedly, within the context of his later life. There are two mothers, two fathers, a neighbor or two, several children, and as large as these characters are the natural elements of the woods and the river with Trond’s relationship to them as an adolescent and as a man in his seventies shaping the sensibility of his perceptions.
The art of this narrative is in the way Petterson interweaves past and present, so that the reader is always waiting to learn more and never sure which part of his life will be revealed in the coming pages. I kept waiting to learn about the rest of his life-those central adult years most of us consider the most central to our identity- and as I neared the book’s end, I realized that part of his reminiscence would be permanently missing, but for a few tantalizing morsels sprinkled throughout that make us want to learn more. At the end, one wonders about that larger middle chapter in our lives; is Petterson telling us that ultimately they are less powerful in shaping our ultimate sense of self? Petterson’s prose style is both rich and spare; the deliciously long sentences adding to the haunting poetic nature of the narrative. (Denise Pendleton)