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So. Here's a question: in children's literature, is it preferable to be an orphan than motherless? Let's consider the options. If a child is orphaned by the death of both their parents, it is usually a device which frees up the child to have an adventure--the sort which could never have been enjoyed if constrained by the banalities of family life. There may be some shuffling about among

Fever Crumb, an orphan in futuristic England is raised by an engineer in a think tank called, appropriately, the Order of Engineers, tisking emotions. But her adoptive father loans her out to assist an archaeologist, Kit Solent on a top-secret mission. Fever is well suited to assist, as she has memories that she cannot explain about hidden vaults of the city. Well, a new face with one blue and one brown eye sets off hysteria in London that Fever is a dreaded Scriven, probably a front runner to an invasion. In their mob mind set, they successful destroy the home base of the Order of Engineers, kill Solent leaving his children orphans, and torch London.

Unknown to the Londoners Fever’s mysterious Scriven mother has joined forces with the Movement and is their head technomancer, assisting their leader Quercus. The Movement uses the first power-hungry moving city, one thousand years before the Mortal Quartet novels, to intimidate and overtake London. In a horrific “modification” Solent is constructed into a stalker, a bionic fighting machine based on the remains of his body. The most touching scene of the entire book centers around this stalker. Reeve has created another dystopia that has a riveting storyline. More is promised about Fever in at least one sequel.

Say "steampuck" three times!

ENDERS' Rating: *****

Philip's Blog (An explanation of the photo is in his biography. He is the one on the right).

I’ve written before on this blog that I don’t have many pet peeves. It’s true. I really don’t. Perhaps I should qualify what I mean though. For there are some things that I hate with the passion of a lambada dancer. But that’s different than having peeves. Peeves are annoyances. Hate is at once emotional and, in my case, completely rational. It’s about seeing something that’s throwing the world off its axis and knowing you must condemn it for the travesty that it is. I will list some things that I hate here:

Captain Chesley “Sully” Sullenberg: Look at this smug son-of-a-farmer. He lands a plane in the Hudson River and they book him on Oprah and 60 Minutes. Next thing you know, they’ll be knighting Toonces the Driving Cat for swerving off a friggin cliff. That’s right. Sully ain’t no better than Toonces. I mean, from where I stand, any pilot who can’t land his plane on a runway is a fascist, socialist, French food-eating, soccer-loving kamikaze! You can, and you should, quote me on that. Want a hero? Try John Travolta. Not only was he the yin to Kirstie Alley’s yang in all those Look Who’s Talking movies, but he also never lands his planes on rivers. Case in point.

Sustainable Agriculture: Cucumbers are like albino rhinos. When I buy a one, I’d like to know that there ain’t any others like it. It’s the last of its line. So, I would hope that after my cucumber has been plucked from its cucumber bush, the entire plant is torched, the soil is drenched with kerosene, and some overalls-clad hillbilly is tossing his corncob pipe down and banjo plucking the inferno into the night. An extreme view? Not if you’ve ever suffered the humiliation of showing up at The International Cucumber Festival in Suzdal to find that some woman also has a kirby shaped like a duck.

Orphans: I’m not talking the Dickens variety or those Slumdog Millionaire tots, though I’m certainly not big fans of their pickpocketing, gameshow-winning ways. What I’m talking about are the ones who are always hanging out at the hotspots with Sandra Bullock and Madonna and Angelina Jolie. Clearly all they want to do is wink and shoot finger-guns at the paparazzi, then parlay the TMZ coverage into a book deal and a perfume line. I’ve had a hard enough time getting department stores to even sniff Dusky, A Fragrance by Aaron Starmer, now I got some 4-year-old Javanese celebutante to compete with for shelf space! It’s enough to make a man cancel his subscription to OK! Magazine.

Wood, Maryrose. 2010. The Mysterious Howling. New York: Harper Collins.

"All books are judged by their covers until they are read."

Now there is a scientific principle that states: Once a train has left the station and is going along at a good clip, it is often fiendishly difficult to slam on the brakes, even if you are clearly headed for trouble (the same holds true for horses that have already left their barns).  This principle is Newton's very first law of motion and was considered old news even in Miss Penelope Lumley's day.
   Penelope had taken physics at Swanburne and, thus, knew all about Newton's laws of motion. Still, she felt that a final, desperate, and heroic attempt to change the course of events that now led inexorably and disatrously to the children attending Lady Constance's party seemed called for, and so she gave it her all.
    "Lady Constance, your plans for a holiday ball sound delightful, and I am sure the children would hate to miss it," she began, "but coincidentally, I was intending to ask you if I may take them on a ski holiday in France until after the New Year..."
   To give you an idea how final, desperate, and heroic this suggestion was, it should be noted that Penelope had never skied in her life, nor had she ever been to France that she could recall, nor did she know precisely where one might sk

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The First Escape. G.P. Taylor. 2008. Tyndale. 288 pages.

In the dining room of Isambard Dunstan's School for Wayward Children, all was not well.

This is a strange book defying all my categories. It's not a traditional novel--roughly half of it is told in graphic (illustrated) form. But it's not a traditional graphic novel either since a good bit of it is in prose. It's published by a Christian publisher, but, for the most part except for one little scene I would say that you'd never be able to tell it was "Christian." What it is, without a doubt, is an action/adventure story.

What I noticed from the start was the writing. Taylor really knows how to set the mood and tone.

Shards of lightning blasted from a black morning sky and burst upon the heath outside. Rain beat and battered against the lead windows that reached upward in vast stone arches. Staring down upon a sheltered gathering of children was the pointed face of Isambard Dunstan himself. The noted explorer's likeness had been captured in stain glass for two hundred years, a look of dread upon his face and a scowl upon his lips. He had left the house to be a home for children abandoned by their parents, but no one who had the misfortune to live there was sure whether his action was a blessing or a curse. (1)

A large wooden door swung open and a fat cook barged through.

In her stubby fingers she carried a massive post of brown gruel that steamed and gurgled like the rumblings of a cow's belly. She glanced up at the image of Isambard Dunstan, who scowled at her as she began ladling the food from the dirty tureen into 166 bowls.

Every eye gazed hungrily. Sniveling noses sniffed each bowl as it was passed from one hand to the next. Fingers dipped quickly into the gruel and then popped into mouths as each child waited to begin breakfast.

"No one eats!" screamed the cook, spitting the words from her toothless mouth. "You eat when I eat and not a moment before." The fierce look on her face dared anyone to take one morsel without her permission. If there was one thing Mrs. Omeron hated more than children, it was children who ate before she did. (3-5)