A “yeah, sure” if there ever was one.
Alley and Rex make some more mischief.
Effervescent sixth grader Alley and bunny-suited fourth grade genius Rex return for more laughs in this sequel to last year’s promising Alley & Rex (2021). This time the pals team up to help each other survive gym class and save breakfast. Rex is loath to shed his bunny suit, but the PE teacher is insistent that he change into standard gym attire. Meanwhile, Alley is desperate to save the free breakfast cart that’s been closed down due to budget cuts. Hilarity, tomfoolery, and elaborate heists ensue as the inseparable pals work toward making smart choices and finding quality solutions to their problems. Fans of the series opener will find plenty to enjoy here. Those who bristled at Alley’s boisterous energy levels in the earlier installment will once again be longing for a tranquilizer dart. The narrative is better paced, and the characterization remains decent. While the story never rises to anything special, there’s solid workmanship on display; this is a book that will fill out a reader’s summer reading log or help pass a dull afternoon. The jokes are fun, the story has just the right dash of mayhem, and the titular pals are engaging enough to keep readers willing to come back for more. Based on cover art, Alley presents as White and Rex is brown-skinned; Alley is cued as Jewish.
A “yeah, sure” if there ever was one. (Fiction. 9-12)Pub Date: Sept. 27, 2022
ISBN: 978-1-5344-9547-0
Page Count: 160
Publisher: Atheneum
Review Posted Online: June 7, 2022
Kirkus Reviews Issue: July 1, 2022
Not your typical kid-with-cancer book.
A rare form of cancer takes its toll in this novel based on the author’s experience.
Seventh grader Ross Maloy wants nothing more than to be an average middle schooler, hanging out with his best friends, Abby and Isaac, avoiding the school bully, and crushing on the popular girl. There’s just one thing keeping Ross from being completely ordinary: the rare form of eye cancer that’s reduced him to the kid with cancer at school. Ross’ eye is closed in a permanent wink, and he constantly wears a cowboy hat to protect his eyes. The doctors are hopeful that Ross will be cancer free after treatment, but his vision will be impaired, and the treatments cause him to lose his hair and require the application of a particularly goopy ointment. This isn’t a cancer book built upon a foundation of prayer, hope, and life lessons. The driving force here is Ross’ justifiable anger. Ross is angry at the anonymous kids making hurtful memes about him and at Isaac for abandoning him when he needs a friend most. Ross funnels his feelings into learning how to play guitar, hoping to make a splash at the school’s talent show. The author balances this anger element well against the typical middle-grade tropes. Misunderstood bully? Check. Well-meaning parents? Check. While some of these elements will feel familiar, the novel’s emotional climax remains effectively earned. Characters are paper-white in Harrell’s accompanying cartoons.
Not your typical kid-with-cancer book. (Fiction. 9-12)Pub Date: March 31, 2020
ISBN: 978-1-9848-1514-9
Page Count: 300
Publisher: Dial Books
Review Posted Online: Nov. 9, 2019
Kirkus Reviews Issue: Dec. 1, 2019
Medically, both squicky and hopeful; emotionally, unbelievably squeaky-clean.
A 12-year-old copes with a brain tumor.
Maddie likes potatoes and fake mustaches. Kids at school are nice (except one whom readers will see instantly is a bully); soon they’ll get to perform Shakespeare scenes in a unit they’ve all been looking forward to. But recent dysfunctions in Maddie’s arm and leg mean, stunningly, that she has a brain tumor. She has two surgeries, the first successful, the second taking place after the book’s end, leaving readers hanging. The tumor’s not malignant, but it—or the surgeries—could cause sight loss, personality change, or death. The descriptions of surgery aren’t for the faint of heart. The authors—parents of a real-life Maddie who really had a brain tumor—imbue fictional Maddie’s first-person narration with quirky turns of phrase (“For the love of potatoes!”) and whimsy (she imagines her medical battles as epic fantasy fights and pretends MRI stands for Mustard Rat from Indiana or Mustaches Rock Importantly), but they also portray her as a model sick kid. She’s frightened but never acts out, snaps, or resists. Her most frequent commentary about the tumor, having her skull opened, and the possibility of death is “Boo” or “Super boo.” She even shoulders the bully’s redemption. Maddie and most characters are white; one cringe-inducing hallucinatory surgery dream involves “chanting island natives” and a “witch doctor lady.”
Medically, both squicky and hopeful; emotionally, unbelievably squeaky-clean. (authors’ note, discussion questions) (Fiction. 9-11)Pub Date: Oct. 3, 2017
ISBN: 978-1-62972-330-3
Page Count: 256
Publisher: Shadow Mountain
Review Posted Online: Aug. 1, 2017
Kirkus Reviews Issue: Aug. 15, 2017
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