This is a pleasant enough fable, but ultimately a rather slight one. There was so much light in the world we knew we would never be able to count it all. It was an old game with us and we reached two thousand before we gave up. Here was a sweet passage from the book, before it all headed south for me: “Mom, are you being nice?” (She's a preteen and she's terrifying). This was saccharine to the point of being nauseating, but just as I wrote that sentence, my daughter appeared in the doorway, with her hands on her hips, casting warning looks at me again. And everyone clambered and the wind sighed and the grass always swayed and we knew exactly what was going to happen next and nothing was the least bit realistic, and not because it was magical. I felt like Chris Martin of Coldplay while reading this, because I kept crooning to the pages: And it was all yellow.īecause everything was yellow: everyone's eyes, the moon, the clouds, the grass, the leaves (it wasn't even autumn). I'm not talking about magical realism here, people. Oh, puh-leeze, like that would ever happen!

that degrades ever so quickly.īy midway through the novel, I was talking to the book: I chose this book for my 12-year-old for the Massachusetts portion of our Kids Read Across America project, and as far as history goes, the novel gives the feel of the state of Massachusetts nicely, and the story started strong with a compelling mystery. She patted my arm and said, “I know, Mom. I looked at her and said, “I'll give it whatever rating you choose, but you know I must be avenged somehow, for this waste of my time!” She knew my face had turned several shades of green during the last 4 chapters of this implausible and contrived middle grades novel. As my daughter and I finished our read-aloud of this book today, she gave me a sharp, meaningful look and said, “Be nice, Mom, when you review it.”

Nightbird by Alice Hoffman