Masterpiece

Review by New York Times Review

CHILDREN who grow up in city apartments, I imagine, occasionally daydream about the lives of the tiny animals who reside under the sink or behind a wall. Glimpsing a mouse or a bug making a sudden dash across the kitchen floor, only to disappear into some otherwise invisible portal, can conjure the idea that vast, secret lifestyles are flourishing just out of sight. And especially in a lonely hour, a child may feel particular affinity with these hidden creatures, sensing that they, too, have lives apart from the serious bustle of the adults around them. Elise Broach's novel "Masterpiece" begins by offering us such a secret world. Behind a water-softened wall in the fancy Upper East Side kitchen of the Pompaday family lives a chatty and cheerful beetle family. Mama and Papa dote on their darling son Marvin; they dine on delicious garbage. The family takes an outing every Tuesday, when the maids come, by riding underneath the vacuum to the solarium, where amid "furry leaves of violets" the bugs enjoy a day of nature. All unbeknownst to the Pompadays, especially the status-conscious, real-estate-selling mother and her grouchy second husband. Mrs. Pompaday is insensitive to her lonely 11-year-old son, James, who misses his father and wishes his parents hadn't divorced. Marvin, observing James in secret, longs to befriend the boy, although other than a generic sympathy one might feel for an outsider, Broach never quite conveys what Marvin finds so compelling about this inexpressive child, other than the fact that he was "unlikely to make sudden movements" and once refrained from squashing Marvin when they had a chance encounter in the kitchen. Yet Marvin feels the urge to bridge the gap between man and beast, and on the night of James's disappointing birthday party, ventures into the boy's bedroom to drop off a little gift. While there, he spies an open bottle of ink and paper (given to James by his artist father - a gift James had considered boring) and, as the boy sleeps, proceeds to dip his front legs into the ink and create a perfect miniature replica of the wintry scene outside. The graceful and intricate drawing is discovered in the morning, first by James and then by the adults, who gush over his genius and immediately want to sell the drawing - responses that in real life run the danger of subverting a child's pure joy in making art by causing him to be overly aware of the presence of critics. When James's father takes him (with Marvin riding along in a pocket) to the Metropolitan Museum of Art, a curator chances to see the drawing and likens it to the work of Albrecht Dürer, and a scheme is hatched that catapults "Masterpiece" into the world of art heist, crime-solving and forgery. While the plot is exciting at different turns, any sense that this book might be about the unfolding of talent or the creative impulse is muddied, and instead some of that same rhapsodic gushing by adults continues, along with a lot of talk about the awesomeness of fame and other aspects of the business of art, rather than the creation of it. The entry of the curator presents other problems. Where Broach has drawn all her characters up until now in a charming, whimsical style, staying faithful to the conventions of a world in which boys and bugs commune, the book's dreamy tone is interrupted with the curator's abstract talk about Dürer, melancholy, Nietzsche, beauty, virtue and so forth. Suspension of disbelief comes clonking down. The story would have been better served if the world of the Met, and the adults with all their opinions and scheming, had been presented through the filter of Marvin's or James's point of view. Except for the few times the bug and boy are cloistered away together making drawings, their time is spent standing around while the adults natter on. How do the adults sound to them? Do any moral quandaries about their deceptions go through their minds? "Masterpiece" is perhaps most satisfying when we are invited into the world behind the softened wall and permitted to remain uninterrupted. Like Marvin, whose parents fuss over him after a nasty dip in the bathroom sink, filling a "bottle cap with warm water and adding a single grain of turquoise dishwashing detergent," we wish we could also sink "into the bubbles" and float to our hearts' content. Barbara Feinberg is the author of "Welcome to Lizard Motel: Protecting the Imaginative Lives of Children."

Copyright (c) The New York Times Company [October 27, 2009]

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Review by Booklist Review

James lives an invisible existence in a grand apartment on the Upper East Side. His mother, busy with her new husband and baby and her climb up the Manhattan social ladder, has little time for him. By contrast, Marvin, a beetle whose overprotective, extended family resides behind James' mother's kitchen, gets more attention than he wants. The two find friendship when James' artist father gives him a pen-and-ink set, and Marvin discovers his talent for drawing, crafting delicate, museum-quality miniatures with his legs. When Marvin and James find themselves embroiled in a plot to steal a Dürer drawing from the Metropolitan Museum, they must find creative ways to communicate to foil the thieves and protect the masterpiece. Murphy's own pen-and-ink spot art reflects the text's sweet insouciance. With suspense, art history, complex family relationships (human and arthropod), and a resonant friendship, this enjoyable outing will satisfy the reserved and adventurous alike.--Barthelmess, Thom Copyright 2008 Booklist

From Booklist, Copyright (c) American Library Association. Used with permission.

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Review by Publisher's Weekly Review

With overtones of Chasing Vermeer and The Borrowers, this inventive mystery involves two families that inhabit the same Manhattan apartment: the Pompadays--a slick, materialistic couple, their infant son and thoughtful James, from the wife's previous marriage--and a family of beetles, who live behind the kitchen sink and watch sympathetically as James's charms go unappreciated. Careful though the beetles are to stay hidden, boy beetle Marvin crosses the line, tempted by a pen-and-ink set James receives for his 11th birthday. Marvin draws an intricate picture and then identifies himself to a delighted James as the artist. Before James can hide Marvin's picture, Mrs. Pompaday loudly proclaims her son's talent and even James's laid-back artist dad compares the work with the drawings of Albrecht D rer. A trip to a D rer exhibit at the Metropolitan Museum of Art follows, James stowing Marvin in a pocket; before long a curator is asking James to forge a D rer miniature of Fortitude as part of an elaborate plan to catch an art thief (can a tiny virtue defeat big lies?). Broach (Shakespeare's Secret) packs this fast-moving story with perennially seductive themes: hidden lives and secret friendships, miniature worlds lost to disbelievers. Philosophy pokes through, as does art appreciation (one curator loves D rer for "his faith that beauty reveals itself, layer upon layer, in the smallest moments"), but never at the expense of plot. In her remarkable ability to join detail with action, Broach is joined by Murphy (Hush, Little Dragon), who animates the writing with an abundance of b&w drawings. Loosely implying rather than imitating the Old Masters they reference, the finely hatched drawings depict the settings realistically and the characters, especially the beetles, with joyful comic license. This smart marriage of style and content bridges the gap between the contemporary beat of the illustrations and Renaissance art. Broach and Kelly show readers something new, and, as Marvin says, "When you [see] different parts of the world, you [see] different parts of yourself." Ages 8-13. (Sept.) (c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved

(c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved

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Review by School Library Journal Review

Gr 4-7-James, 11, can't impress his ambitious mother until he produces a miniature drawing resembling D rer's work. Unfortunately, the artist is Marvin, a beetle in James's apartment. Boy and insect foil an art forger's plans while keeping Marvin's identity secret. This terrific blend of art history, mystery, and fantasy explores friendship and family dynamics too. (c) Copyright 2011. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.

(c) Copyright Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.

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Review by Horn Book Review

(Intermediate) As in Broach's earlier novel Shakespeare's Secret, high art, deep intrigue, and warm friendship converge. James's eleventh birthday party is such a depressing affair that Marvin, an extroverted kitchen beetle, can't resist secretly making him a present. The elegant miniature cityscape he draws (with two front legs dipped in ink) is mistaken for James's work, leading the boy and the beetle to form an unlikely (and, on the beetle's part, silent) friendship. Soon the two visit the Metropolitan Museum of Art to see a show of Albrecht Durer -- whose work Marvin's drawing resembles to an astonishing degree -- and become embroiled in the world of art forgery and theft. Echoes of Selden's Cricket in Times Square, Norton's The Borrowers, Balliett's Chasing Vermeer, and the inimitable E. B. White's Charlotte's Web sound throughout; the derring-do adventures and ethical conundrums the two protagonists face grow organically from a remarkable friendship and make for an engrossing story. From HORN BOOK, (c) Copyright 2010. The Horn Book, Inc., a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.

(c) Copyright The Horn Book, Inc., a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.

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Review by Kirkus Book Review

Eleven-year-old James Terik isn't particularly appreciated in the Pompaday household. Marvin, a beetle who lives happily with his "smothering, overinvolved relatives" behind the Pompadays' kitchen sink, has observed James closely and knows he's something special even if the boy's mother and stepfather don't. Insect and human worlds collide when Marvin uses his front legs to draw a magnificent pen-and-ink miniature for James's birthday. James is thrilled with his tiny new friend, but is horrified when his mother sees the beetle's drawing and instantly wants to exploit her suddenly special son's newfound talents. The web further tangles when the Metropolitan Museum of Art enlists James to help catch a thief by forging a miniature in the style of Renaissance artist Albrecht Dürer. Delightful intricacies of beetle life--a cottonball bed, playing horseshoes with staples and toothpicks--blend seamlessly with the suspenseful caper as well as the sentimental story of a complicated-but-rewarding friendship that requires a great deal of frantic leg-wiggling on Marvin's part. Murphy's charming pen-and-ink drawings populate the short chapters of this funny, winsome novel. (author's note) (Fantasy. 10-14) Copyright ©Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.

Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.

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The journey through the dark apartment to James's room was an arduous one. Rolling the nickel across the kitchen tile went relatively smoothly, but hoisting it over the door sills left Marvin exhausted and panting. He had to watch for trouble every step of the way, not just night-roving Pompadays, but the booby-traps of forgotten gum or scotch tape on the floor, or worse yet, a foraging mouse. When he finally reached James's bedroom, he had to sit for a minute to catch his breath. A streetlamp outside the window cast dim light across the walls, and in the bluish blackness, Marvin saw the mountainous silhouette of James, asleep under the blankets. He heard the boy's deep breaths. Marvin thought about the birthday party. Had it been a good day for James? The boys at the party weren't his friends. The presents had been an uninspired mix of electronic games and designer clothing. Mrs. Pompaday was as fussy and self-centered as always, and even James's father, whom Marvin liked a lot, hadn't come up with a present that seemed to please his son. Marvin glanced down at the worn face of the buffalo nickel. Would the coin make up for everything else? Probably not. Suddenly, Marvin felt so sad he could hardly stand it. A person's birthday should be a special day, a wonderful day, a day of pure celebration for the luck of being born! And James's birthday had been miserable. Marvin rolled the nickel to a prominent place in the middle of the floor, away from the edge of the rug where it might be overlooked. James would see it here. He looked around the dark room one last time. Then he saw the bottle of ink. It was high up on James's desk, and it appeared to be open. Curious, Marvin crawled across the floor to the desk and quickly climbed to the top. James had spread newspaper over the desk, and two or three sheets of the art paper his father had given him. On one page he'd made some experimental scribbles and had written his name. The pen, neatly capped, rested at the edge of the paper, but the bottle of ink stood open, glinting in the lamplight. Without really thinking about what he was doing, Marvin crawled to the bottle cap and dipped his two front legs in the ink that had pooled inside. On his clean hind legs, he backed over to the unused sheet of paper. He looked out the window at the nightscape of the street: the brownstone opposite with its rows of darkened windows, the snow-dusted rooftop, the streetlamp, the naked, spidery branches of a single tree. Gently, delicately, and with immense concentration, Marvin lowered his front legs and began to draw. The ink flowed smoothly off his legs across the page. Though he'd never done anything like this before, it seemed completely natural, even unstoppable. He kept glancing up, tracing the details of the scene with his eyes, then transferring them onto the paper. It was as if his legs had been waiting all their lives for this ink, this page, this lamp-lit window view. There was no way to describe the feeling. It thrilled Marvin to his very core. He drew and drew, losing all sense of time. He moved back and forth between the bottle cap and the paper, dipping his front legs gently in the puddle of black ink, always careful not to smear his previous work. He watched the picture take shape before his eyes. It was a complicated thatching of lines and whirls that looked like an abstract design up close, as Marvin leaned over it. But as he backed away, it transformed into a meticulous portrait of the city-scape: a tiny, detailed replica of the winter scene outside the window. And then the light changed. The sky turned from black to dark blue to gray, the streetlamp shut off, and James's room was filled with the noise of the city waking. A garbage truck groaned and banged as it passed on the street below. James stirred beneath his bedcovers. Marvin, desperate to finish his picture before the boy awakened, hurried between the page and the bottle cap, which was almost out of ink. At last he stopped, surveying his miniature scene. It was finished. It was perfect. It was breathtaking. Marvin's heart swelled. He felt that he had never done anything so fine or important in his entire life. He wiped his ink-soaked forelegs on the newspapers and scurried behind the desk lamp, bursting with pride, in a fever of anticipation, just as James threw off his blankets. James stumbled out of bed and stood in the center of the bedroom, rubbing his face. He looked around groggily, then straightened, his eyes lighting on the floor. "Hey," he said softly. He padded over to the nickel and crouched, picking it up. Good for James, thought Marvin. Of course there was no reason to worry that he'd overlook it. James turned the coin over in his palm and smiled. "Huh," he said, walking toward his desk. "I wonder where this came from." Marvin stiffened and retreated further behind the desk lamp. James gasped. Marvin watched his pale face, his eyes huge, as he stared at the drawing. He quickly looked behind him, as if the room might hold some clue that would explain what he saw on the desk. Then slowly, brows furrowed, James pulled out the chair and sat down. He leaned over the picture. "Wow," he said. "Wow!" Marvin straightened with pride. James kept examining the drawing, then the scene through the window, whispering to himself. "It's exactly what's outside! It's like a teeny, tiny picture of the street! This is amazing." Marvin crept around the base of the lamp so he could hear the boy better. "But how...?" James picked up the pen and uncapped it, squinting. He lifted the bottle of ink and frowned, screwing the bottle cap back on. "Who did this?" he asked, staring again at the picture. And then, without planning to--without meaning to, without ever thinking for a moment of the consequences--Marvin found himself crawling out into the open, across the vast desk top, directly in front of James. He stopped at the edge of the picture and waited, unable to breathe. James stared at him. After a long, interminable silence, during which Marvin almost dashed to the grooved safety of the wainscoting behind the desk, James spoke. "It was you, wasn't it?" he said. Marvin waited. "But how...?" Marvin hesitated. He crawled over to the bottle of ink. James reached across the desk and Marvin cringed as enormous pinkish fingers swept tremblingly close to his shell. But the boy avoided him, carefully lifting the bottle and shaking it. He unscrewed the cap and set it down next to Marvin. "How?" he asked again. Marvin dipped his two front legs in the ink cap and walked across the page to his picture. Unwilling to change the details of the image, he merely traced the line that framed it, then stepped back. "With your legs? Like that? Dipping them in the ink?" A wide grin full of wonderment and delight spread across James's face. "You really did that! A bug! That's the most incredible thing I ever, ever, ever saw in my whole entire life!" Marvin beamed up at him. "And with my birthday present too! You couldn't have done it without my birthday present." His voice rose excitedly, as he leaned closer to Marvin, his warm breath almost blasting Marvin over. "It's like we're a team. And you know what? I didn't even want this birthday present before. I thought, what am I going to do with this, I'm not like my dad, I don't even know how to draw. But now, it's like the best thing I ever got. This birthday is the best one ever!" Marvin smiled happily. He realized that James could not for one minute see his expression, but he suspected somehow that the boy knew anyway. Just then, they heard a noise in the hallway and Mrs. Pompaday's voice: "James, what are you doing in there? Who are you talking to?" Marvin dove for cover, squeezing under James's china piggybank at the exact moment that Mrs. Pompaday swept into the room. Excerpted from Masterpiece by Elise Broach All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.

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