​Besides being amazing writers, do you know what Lewis Carrol, J. R. R. Tolkien, C. S. Lewis, T. H. White, G. K. Chesterton, Madeleine L’Engle, Brian Jacques, and Neil Gaiman (and many, many others) have in common? They were all deeply influenced by the writing of a humble Scottish minister and pioneer of fantasy literature, George MacDonald.

Sarah Mackenzie, author of The Read Aloud Family, often discusses a concept she calls “reading upstream.” Basically, use your love of a certain book or author as a starting point to explore more books and authors. If you delve into the things that influenced that writer or work, you’re “reading upstream” and gaining a greater understanding of the thing you love—as well as finding new things to love! If you begin reading upstream of almost any fantasy author of the past century, you’re going to find yourself at a big river of inspiration called George MacDonald.

I’ve read a few of MacDonald’s works aloud to my family—they’re particular fans of The Princess and the Goblin illustrated by Arthur Hughes. But it can be hard to find some of his lesser-known works, so I was thrilled when I discovered that Word on Fire Spark just came out with a beautiful new edition of The Golden Key, including two more of MacDonald’s lesser-read fairy tales, The Light Princess and Little Daylight. Just look at this beautiful cover! And the illustrations by Anastasia Nesterova are perfect for these stories (which is saying a lot, considering that MacDonald has been illustrated by some of the greatest artists of the golden age of illustration).

While each of the stories in this collection are fairy tales rich with symbolism, they are very different from one another. The Golden Key is about two neglected children who stumble into a fairy world and must go on a quest. The Light Princess is a wry and humorous story about a princess whose gravity (both on a physical and metaphorical level) has been stolen by an evil witch. Little Daylight highlights MacDonald’s humor as he creates a topsy-turvy verson of Sleeping Beauty, in which the princess is cursed to sleep during the day and wax and wane like the moon when she awakes at night. 

For those of us who have the pleasure of reading MacDonald in a post-Tolkien age, it’s impossible to read without Tolkien’s thoughts on fairy stories intruding (pleasantly) into our minds. Take this quote, for example, from his essay On Fairy-Stories: "It was in fairy-stories that I first divined the potency of the words, and the wonder of things, such as stone, and wood, and iron; tree and grass; house and fire; bread and wine."

You don’t have to search hard in MacDonald’s stories to find this potency and wonder. But what struck me most on my current reading was another fairy story element Tolkien wrote of at length: that of the comfort of finding true joy and happy endings. 

In today’s world, you only need to pick up your phone to find a world full of unhappy stories. So perhaps fairy stories, with their reminder that happy endings are possible and true, are more important now than ever. Did you ever hear the Albert Eistein quote about fairy tales? “If you want your children to be intelligent,” he said, “read them fairy tales. If you want them to be very intelligent, read them more fairy tales.” Tokien or Lewis or L’Engle might adapt that for today’s audiences. I certainly will: “If you want your children to be resilient… to be faithful… to be hopeful… to be kind… read them fairy tales. If you want them to be saints and heroes, read them more fairy tales.” 

The Golden Key is a good place to start.

Here is the link to order from Word on Fire Spark (I think it’s on sale right now!): https://bookstore.wordonfire.org/products/the-golden-key

For more Marvelous Middle Grade Monday recommendations, check out Always in the Middle!​

I am so, SO excited to share with you all a book I'd been dying to read since I first heard of its existence. The Luminous Life of Lucy Landry won't be released until March 5 of next year, but I hope you all start pre-ordering and requesting your libraries to buy it as soon as you can, because it's beautiful and poignant and old-fashioned and wonderful.

Here's the publisher's description:
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Lucy, a spirited French-Ojibwe orphan, is sent to the stormy waters of Lake Superior to live with a mysterious family of lighthouse-keepers—and, she hopes, to find the legendary necklace her father spent his life seeking…

Selena Lucy Landry (named for a ship, as every sailor’s child should be) has been frightened of the water ever since she lost her father at sea. But with no one else to care for her, she’s sent to foster with the Martins—a large Anishinaabe family living on a lighthouse in the middle of stormy Lake Superior.

The Martin family is big, hard-working, and close, and Lucy—who has always been a dreamer—struggles to fit in. Can she go one day without ruining the laundry or forgetting the sweeping? Will she ever be less afraid of the lake?

Although life at the lighthouse isn’t what Lucy hoped for, it is beautiful—ships come and go, waves pound the rocks—and it has one major It’s near the site of a famous shipwreck, a shipwreck that went down with a treasure her father wanted more than anything . If Lucy can find that treasure—a priceless ruby necklace—won’t it be like having Papa back again, just a little bit?

But someone else is hunting for the treasure, too. And as the lighthouse company becomes increasingly skeptical that the Martins can juggle Lucy and their duties, Lucy and the Martin children will need to find the necklace quickly—or they may not have a home at all.

The Luminous Life of Lucy Landry is a timelessly sweet tale of found family from rising Ojibwe voice Anna Rose Johnson, author of NPR Best Book of the Year The Star That Always Stays . Perfect for fans of L.M. Montgomery and Karina Yan Glaser!

I'd like to say that if any of you aren't at least a little bit tempted by a description that encompasses 1) a heroine reminiscent of and L. M. Montgomery character, 2) a big family story, 3) a treasure hunt, and 4) A LIGHTHOUSE… well, you might be human but are you actually a happy person? ;) Those elements make me very, very happy as a reader. They really made this story so beautiful and so much fun.

I won't write at length today about each of the lovely elements of Lucy Landry. But I do want to focus on the big family aspect, as that's solidly in my wheelhouse. A lot of big family stories capture the chaos and fun of a family of many siblings. Many get the sibling rivalry spot on, and most portray the firm bond of love between brothers and sisters. Few, in my experience, capture the way that it's not just the good things about us, but also our flaws and failures and annoying little habits that allow us to help each other grow. Family is a school of love and a school of life. Without rubbing up against each other's rough edges, we wouldn't have the chance to smooth out our own. ​The Luminous Life of Lucy Landry portrays this aspect of big family life more accurately than any story I've ever read. Lucy is a very flawed character. The Martins are, too. They don't get along very well at the onset, and it's not just a misunderstanding they grow out of—it's their flaws, front and center, there for everyone to see. But Lucy and the Martins are also, well, wonderful. They are more virtuous than they are flawed, and those virtues do a lot to ease that work of softening edges. And of course, you can't go wrong when you throw in a good adventure and a treasure hunt!

As I said, The Luminous Life of Lucy Landry is available for pre-order now, and releases this coming March. In the meantime, you can check out Always in the Middle for more Marvelous Middle Grade Monday recommendations!

I remember writing a review years ago (can't track it down now) in which I said I'd read a grocery list if Kate DiCamillo wrote it. I stand by that sentiment. Kate DiCamillo has the ability to take the most basic, simple of stories and make it captivating.

I bring that up only because it was rather hard to pin down what is so wonderful about Kate's newest book, The Puppets of Spelhorst. The ostensible main characters of this original fairy tale are puppets, therefore they cannot make choices or—in themselves—move the action forward. They move from the hands of one person to another, hardly allowing the reader the pleasure of following any human character just as you start to really care about them. The story is simple. The entire drama unfolds in under 150 small, highly illustrated pages.

And yet… it's no grocery list. 

Kate DiCamillo's storytelling is incisive. With simple language and not a single wasted word, she gets to the heart of what it means to be human, what courage looks like, what beauty can do to us, what it means to be part of a story.  She masterfully weaves together the simple, passing tales of each of the humans the puppets encounter as the toys look for their own story, and only the reader can really see the deeper story, the deeper roles they play.

To borrow a quote from the book itself, the feeling I had the entire time reading it was, "It's all so beautiful… I wonder what will happen next."
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Finally, I can't neglect to mention Julie Morstad's gorgeous illustrations. They complement and enhance the simplicity and beauty of the author's writing perfectly. A complete delight.

I'm sure I wasn't the only one to do a little happy dance in my mind when I found out there's a new book coming out in September from Kate Albus, author of A Place to Hang the Moon. Any of you fellow happy dancers? Kate's debut novel completely stole my heart and won an honored place on my shelf, so I couldn't wait to see what she'd write next!
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Like A Place to Hang the Moon, Kate's second book is set during the Second World War, but Nothing Else But Miracles takes place on the other side of the pond, in Manhattan's Lower East Side. Twelve-year-old Dory Byrne and her brothers Fisher and Pike have to fend for themselves while their young father is fighting overseas. They rely, as their father told them to, on their neighborhood—their community in Manhattan that has always been there for them. But when their friendly landlord suddenly dies, their security is threatened. Luckily the neighborhood steps up in an unexpected way—Dory discovers an old, abandoned hotel, accessed only through a rickety hand-operated elevator, above their friend's restaurant. Hiding away there provides them the secrecy and safety they need when their father goes missing—all the while their neighbors continue to provide them with the love and help they didn't even know they needed.

Did I really have to say more than "old, abandoned hotel" for you to know I'm obsessed about this story? I mean, HOW COOL IS THAT? (And it's based on a real place!) Add it to my list with Bag End, the Metropolitan Museum of Art, and the Boxcar Children's boxcar, of "places books convinced me I want to live."

But beyond the evocative setting, Dory's story has a heart as big as the Big Apple itself. Her struggle to find safety in insecure times, to choose love over resentment, and to cling to hope when all seems lost are what make Nothing Else But Miracles a truly excellent book, and one that you'll want to share with everyone you know.

Nothing Else But Miracles releases September 5—trust me, you want to preorder it now so you can read it as soon as possible. Many thanks to Netgalley and Holiday House for providing me an electronic review copy in exchange for my honest opinion.

For more Marvelous Middle Grade Monday recommendations, check out Always in the Middle!

It's a three-for-the-price of one day here, as you get three weeks of vintage reading recommendations all at once! (To learn more about the Vintage Summer Reading challenge that Anna Rose Johnson and I are hosting, click here.)

First up, for the "Big Family" theme: Canadian Summer, Hilda Van Stockum. 

I think I mentioned that I had planned to read one of the All-of-a-Kind Family stories for this category, but I have a bit of a problem in my house where my avid reader children steal my books. It's a good problem to have. Maybe it's one Hilda Van Stockum might have had, as she had six children herself. Those children inspired her many beautiful books, especially her series, The Mitchells, of which ​Canadian Summer is the second of three books.

Of course, as a mama of a large family, my reading of this series zeroes in a bit on Mrs. Mitchell, the wonderfully realistic and yet wonderfully warm and understanding mother of the crew. I think my goal in life is to be Mrs. Mitchell. She takes the mud and the mess and the quarreling and near-death-escapes of her crew in stride (for the most part—as I said, she's wonderfully realistic and she has her moments of fury and panic!). Her understanding brings out the best in each of her children. She may rail against her family's living situation at the beginning of the story (a cabin in remote Canada! with no electricity! or paved roads! or nearby grocery stores! or railings to keep the baby from plummeting off the porch!) but she quickly resigns herself to the situation and joins her children in making what seems less-than-ideal actually become an opportunity for growth and peace and fun. I dare you to read this and not want to rent a remote Canadian cottage for the summer.
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Call my petty, but my favorite scene is when the six children are stuck at home all day during a thunderstorm and get into a raging, screaming, name-calling brawl. It was a good reminder that even delightful fictional families are at their worst when they can't get outside and run around. 

For Week 8's theme of Talking Animals, I chose an obscure title by Robert Lawson: Mr. Wilmer. William Wilmer is an accountant at an insurance company who hates his life and his job…until one day he discovers he has the power to talk to animals. What follows throws story-telling rules to the wind. Because pretty much one good thing after another happens until almost the end of the story when a small (but crucial) conflict is cleared up in a single chapter. And yet I was still at the edge of my seat the entire time…because I just wanted to know what the next good thing would be! It's a rags to riches story that would have made a perfect Gary Cooper movie back in the day.
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​And the illustrations! Robert Lawson was amazing.

In Week 9 we decided to dive into Vintage Picture Books. To coincide with a quick family trip to Boston, I had to choose Robert McCloskey's masterpiece, Make Way for Ducklings. If you haven't read it… it follows Mr and Mrs Mallard and then their eight little ducklings as they look for a place to raise a family, eventually landing upon (literally) the Boston Public Gardens. 
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It's adorable and timeless. 

And because I love discussing these things, here's a little bit of my recent instagram post about this week's reading, in case you're not on that platform… I'd like to know what you think about this topic!
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​I have a great story about Make Way for Ducklings. When I was doing student teaching for a pre-school class in college, I planned a story time and craft based around this book. The classroom teacher had reservations. "The kids probably won't be into a book so old," she said. "And the illustrations probably won't engage them much, seeing as they're black and white. I mean, you can TRY, but..." The sentence faded away into ominous obscurity.
You guys are my people, so probably none of you are surprised to find out that this group of a dozen three and four year olds absolutely loved this old, black and white (I mean, sepia and white, to be accurate) story. They hung on every word. They played ducklings for the rest of the school year. They told me how the way the mallards had to find a new home made them think of when their parents bought a new house. 
I think some people have a tendency to write off old books just because they're old. Surely kids won't like them as much as the ones that are shiny and new, right?
On the other hand, some people tend to write off new books, because they're afraid the shiny newness can't possibly be as good as the old, tried-and-true goodness.
Old books aren't inherently good or bad because they're old. New books aren't inherently good or bad because they're new. You can find goodness, truth, and beauty in both. And you SHOULD. 
If we stop reading old books (and checking them out from the library), they'll fade into obscurity and we'll lose that beauty, those good stories and profound lessons. If we stop reading good new books, artists trying desperately to share the stories and art and ideas that God placed on their hearts won't be able to live that mission.
That's why I care so deeply about sharing good books, old AND new, with my children and with all of you.

A hidden bonus of being a Catholic author is that I've spent my life steeped in story-worthy elements. You want beauty and drama? Walk into a Mass and breathe in the incense and beeswax candles. Let the music of Byrd and Tallis echo in your ears. See the gleam of brass in the smoking thurifer and the sheen of silk on the tabernacle and vestments. You want the perfect story? Read the Bible, with all its heartache and betrayal and sacrifice and longing and love. Or the lives of the saints, echoing this story in their own unique lives.

But the downside to being a Catholic author? It can get annoying when non-Catholic authors steal from the treasure box of Catholic imagery and items. When they do it well, I don't mind so much (I loved The Inquisitor's Tale, for example…even though it did say Dominicans wore brown...). But when they do it poorly and the book wins acclaim, it's honestly painful. A recent award-winning title by a truly brilliant author missed the mark so much on angels and religious life (to a Catholic, "religious life" means living as a nun, sister, priest, brother, or monk) that I was honestly astounded by its stellar reception. Didn't it matter to anyone else that sacred elements of our Faith were being appropriated to add drama and mystique to a story?

Last week I read Back to the Bright Before, by Katherin Nolte--a newly-released story that very much takes advantage of the "Catholic mystique," but also very much gets it right. I am assuming that the Nolte is Catholic or was at some point, because she not only uses Catholic elements carefully and respectfully, but she never lets them get in the way of a really well-told story. It would have been easy to point out much of her symbolism to her readers, but instead she leaves it there like a little Easter egg for her readers to notice or not notice—you don't need to know all the answers because what you're there for is the story.

Here's a description from the publisher: 

When eleven-year-old Pet Martin's dad falls from a ladder on their family farm, it isn't just his body that crashes to the ground. So does every hope her family had for the future. Money is scarce, and Pet's mom is bone-tired from waiting tables at the local diner, and even with the extra hours, it's not enough for a third surgery for Pet's dad. Her five-year-old brother, Simon, now refuses to say anything except the word "cheese." Worst of all? The ladder accident was Pet's fault.
She's determined to fix things--but how? Good old-fashioned grit...and maybe a little bit of magic.
When a neighbor recites a poem about an ancient coin hidden somewhere on the grounds of the local abbey, Pet forms a plan. With her brother, a borrowed chicken, and a stolen pony, Pet runs away from home. If she can find the coin, Daddy can have his surgery, Momma can stop her constant working, and Simon might speak again. But Pet isn't the only one who wants the coin...which means searching for it is more dangerous than she ever imagined.
This dazzling debut novel filled with magic, family, and adventure is sure to be an instant classic.

Here's the thing. This book will be classified as magical realism, but to a Catholic reader, it will read as something even better: a story of miracles. As Pet learns in the story and I have learned in my life, miracles are all around but you'll miss them if you're not looking. How wonderful it was to read a story where faith moved mountains and hope overcame the darkest evil! If you want to see it as magic… that's ok. Maybe we can agree it's the "Old Magic" of Narnia and The Secret Garden, a power bigger than the powers of this world, bigger than evil and bigger than even our biggest problems. 

On a final note—and I know I can't really work this in with a perfect segue—the NUNS ARE SO GREAT. Having lived across the street from a Dominican monastery for several years, and knowing many nuns and sisters very well, I do get prickly when they're portrayed in literature as socially-awkward mystics or repressed goody-two-shoes. Nuns are real people, guys. :) Every single one I've met has entered religious life because she feels called to something bigger and deeper than herself—she is running to a great love, not running away from the world. And that deep love and complete normality was perfectly portrayed in Back to the Bright Before. Sister Melanie, the novice sister who befriends Pet, is just like many young nuns I know: kind and funny and nerdy and normal. I just loved her.

For more Marvelous Middle Grade Monday recommendations, check out Always in the Middle!