Review by New York Times Review
A Dust Bowl farm in the Texas Panhandle, photographed by Dorothea Lange, from "Years of Dust." A MAN in rumpled clothes walks down a dirt highway. Ahead of him the ground and sky blur together in a bright haze. He has a bedroll slung on one shoulder and stoops a little from the weight. His boots are covered in dust. Turn the page: the man disappears. There's a second photograph, twice as wide, with a road that is achingly empty. Overhead, a black cloud blots out the sky. So begins "Years of Dust: The Story of the Dust Bowl," Albert Marrin's engrossing account of what was arguably the worst ecological disaster in American history. When a severe drought struck the Midwest in 1931, farmers had been churning up the Great Plains for more than half a century. Without native grasses to anchor the topsoil, fields crumbled to dust. Millions of acres of arable land were swept away in black blizzards. Hungry families headed west, pinning their hopes on California. Dust blew so far east, it settled on the White House lawn. In the best possible way, "Years of Dust" feels like a museum in the form of a book. Marrin knits together natural science and sociology, news stories, snippets from novels and poems, eyewitness descriptions, journal entries, and the words of hardtime bards like John Steinbeck and Woody Guthrie. His selection of photographs - paired with maps, posters, engravings and other artifacts - brings the blown-out landscapes to life. (Imagine how thin our understanding of the Dust Bowl would be without iconic images from documentary photographers like Dorothea Lange. Even in the 1930s, these were events you had to see to believe - without pictures, the truth sounded like hyperbole.) Marrin's writing is particularly evocative when he turns an anthropological eye to the 2.5 million migrants - the so-called "Okies" and "tin-can tourists" - who were driven from their homes and became "refugees in their own land." Of the exodus, he writes: "Rattling and wheezing, coated with dust, the aging vehicles swayed under loads they were not designed to bear. Inside and outside, tied to the trunk, roof and running boards, were all the family's worldly possessions. There were bedsprings and bedding; tools; groceries; pots, pans, dishes and silverware; baskets, bottles, basins and buckets; washtubs and washboards. Now and then, a goat or chickens rode in a cage tied to a running board. Passengers scarcely had space for themselves." Kids will recognize most of these worldly possessions. They offer a bridge to the past, making the refugees' extraordinary circumstances tangible. This technique is nothing new; Tim O'Brien recited lists of objects to illustrate personality and motivation in "The Things They Carried." But Marrin uses it well here, revealing how migrant families wanted nothing more than to recreate a sense of home. "Years of Dust" also puts young readers in the shoes of Dust Bowl survivors with heartbreaking photos that focus on children: three boys in overalls crammed into the backseat of a car in Muskogee County, Okla.; a little girl holding her mother's hand as they step over a drainage ditch in a California squatter camp. In a few places, Marrin's efforts to enliven his already lively material tip over into melodrama. (Toward the end of a long section on swarming locusts: "Young children, caught outdoors, screamed in terror as the insects' claws caught in their hair and bodies wriggled into their clothing." Aieee! It's a B-movie.) And there's a hole at the end. The book's final chapter, "Future Dust Bowls," warns readers about man-made environmental disasters on the horizon, including desertification in China and the Amazon. This section is invaluable; it links the Dust Bowl to present-day problems. So it seems strange that there's no mention of global warming. Gripes aside, though, "Years of Dust" is a lucid and powerful book. "The Dust Bowl Through the Lens" visits similar territory, including many of the same photographs, as "Years of Dust." Unfortunately, it's not as cohesive. The book is organized in a series of double-paged spreads, each a mini-chapter on a new theme, presented in a rigid format: text on the left, photograph on the right. This layout makes the narrative feel choppy and, at times, unbalanced. Some topics, like "Coping With Hardship," deserve more than a page, while others warrant less. After a brief introduction, Martin W. Sandler, the author, jumps into his first mini-chapter, discussing "Migrant Mother," Dorothea Lange's celebrated portrait of a destitute woman huddled with three young children. But the full emotional impact of this photo isn't available so early in the book; Sandler has barely begun to explain the historical context that makes the image so moving. The main message of the book - that "pictures shocked the government and then inspired it to take needed action" - is a bit overwrought. Sometimes the story feels torn between two intersecting historical arcs, the crisis of the Dust Bowl and the rise of documentary photography. But in a few memorable spreads, like "Portraying a Nation in Hard Times" and "Reformer With a Camera" - the balance works beautifully. "THE STORM IN THE BARN," a graphic novel by Matt Phelan, offers a very different look at Dust Bowl hardships. In pencil, ink and watercolor Phelan depicts Kansas as a vast, hazy landscape of muted colors. The palette brightens only when 11-year-old Jack imagines another place: his mother describes life before the drought, or a kindly storekeeper spins a yarn whose hero (also named Jack) conquers a twoheaded giant. If the family farm were up and running, Jack would have plenty to do. But the crops are gone. His sister has dust pneumonia. Bullies pick on him at school. Surrounded by forces that - literally and figuratively - are much bigger than he is, Jack feels powerless. These are promising ingrethents for a plot, but Phelan undermines them with sinister scenes that create a sense of quiet dread but don't go anywhere. Jack wonders about snakes nailed to fence posts, a superstitious effort to bring rain. He watches men bludgeon ravenous jackrabbits to death with spades, pipes and baseball bats. The ending is a tangle of violence. Jack finds himself face to face with the Storm King, an evil spirit who withheld the rain to win power. "Do you believe in the power of the Rain?" the spirit hisses. "Do you fear the Storm, boy?" (At this point, Jack lies on the floor of the barn as the Storm King forces rain down his throat, an act that, as it's depicted here, bears an unfortunate resemblance to waterboarding.) Jack finally wins a climactic battle on top of a windmill, and it starts to rain. He's saved everyone. Unless you go with a possibility suggested earlier in the book: Jack has "dust dementia" and has imagined the whole thing. Either way, the fight doesn't feel all that redemptive. Dropping a supernatural enemy into an environment that's already so alien and strange is overkill, like setting a vampire movie on the moon. Once you've got the moon, why would you want to tack on vampires? For a rich, fully formed work of fiction about this period, "Out of the Dust" - Karen Hesse's 1998 Newbery Medal-winning verse novel - is probably still your best bet. Jessica Bruder teaches journalism at Columbia University and is the author of "Burning Book: A Visual History of Burning Man."
Copyright (c) The New York Times Company [November 26, 2009]
Review by Booklist Review
*Starred Review* Ten-year-old Jack and his family suffer the hardships of Dust Bowl America, while a secret in the barn may alter their fortunes forever in this superb graphic-novel evocation of childhood's yearning and triumphs. Phelan (illustrator of the Higher Power of Lucky, 2006) turns every panel of this little masterpiece into a spare and melancholy window into another era, capturing an unmistakable sense of time and place as found in James Sturm's Satchel Paige (2007) even as he takes full, masterful advantage of the medium's strengths by using fantasy elements to enrich the deep, genuine emotional content, much as Shaun Tan did in The Arrival (2008). All the more impressive is how he balances fleet pacing (thanks to low word density) with a thoughtful, contemplative homage to storytelling and storytellers, which, in the tradition of the greatest tall tales, presents an empowering message that all a child needs to change the world is courage and ingenuity. Great for a wide range of readers, this will work particularly well as a gentle introduction for those new to graphic novels or as an elegant argument on the format's behalf against dubious naysayers. A single warning: there is a restrained depiction of a rabbit slaughter, which could upset more sensitive readers.--Karp, Jesse Copyright 2009 Booklist
From Booklist, Copyright (c) American Library Association. Used with permission.
Review by Publisher's Weekly Review
Set during the 1930s, when Kansas farmers tried to survive during a terrible drought, this graphic novel for younger readers shows a boy discovering that he can save his family by bringing back the rain. Jack Clark is a shy 11-year-old whose father thinks he's useless at practical chores. The boy is not used to having any responsibilities, so when he sees a dark figure lurking in an abandoned barn near their house, he doesn't want to do anything about it. He'd rather chalk it up to "dust dementia," until he realizes that the brooding shape is the rain, which has withdrawn from the land so that people will yearn for it until they are willing to worship it as a god. What Jack does next won't surprise readers who've seen countless puny but plucky heroes in juvenile fiction. The big novelty here is the Dust Bowl setting, and Phelan's art emphasizes the swirling, billowing clouds of fine grit that obscure even nearby objects. Older readers might have appreciated more text to make up for the lack of visual clarity, but kids will identify with Jack and appreciate his success. (Sept.) (c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved
(c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved
Review by School Library Journal Review
Gr 5-7-It is 1937 in Kansas, during the Dust Bowl, and 11-year-old Jack can barely remember a world with plentiful water and crops. Unable to help his father with a harvest that isn't there, and bullied by the other boys his age, he feels like a useless baby. Stories offer a refuge, and there are multiple stories in this work. Jack's mother tells about the time when the land was a fertile "paradise." Jack's invalid sister, Dorothy, is reading The Wizard of Oz, gaining inspiration from the adventures of another Kansan of the same name. Jack's friend comforts him with folktales about a brave man named Jack who masters nature, battling the King of the West Wind, the King of Blizzards, and the King of the Northeast Winds. In the end, Phelan turns the Dust Bowl into another one of Ernie's "Jack" tales when the real Jack encounters the Storm King in an abandoned barn and finds out that he has been holding back the rain. The boy must then gather the strength to determine his own narrative, as well as his parched town's future. Children can read this as a work of historical fiction, a piece of folklore, a scary story, a graphic novel, or all four. Written with simple, direct language, it's an almost wordless book: the illustrations' shadowy grays and blurry lines eloquently depict the haze of the dust. A complex but accessible and fascinating book.-Lisa Goldstein, Brooklyn Public Library, NY (c) Copyright 2010. 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.
Review by Horn Book Review
(Intermediate, Middle School) Illustrator Phelan's graphic novel debut brings 1937 Kansas, wracked by drought and hardship, to life, adding a supernatural twist that fits well with the extremities of the Dust Bowl. Populated with Phelan's trademark loose-lined, sparely sketched, emotive characters, this is the story of eleven-year-old Jack, who hasn't seen rain since he was seven. Exploring an abandoned barn, Jack encounters a mysterious, threatening figure with a face of rain and a bag that flashes lightning. The minimalist approach to text complements the measured, masterful panel pacing; whole spreads are wordless, forcing the reader to slow down and follow the visual details of the action. Phelan's use of color is simply stunning; his palette of sepias, dusty browns, and charcoal grays perfectly evokes the desolate landscapes of the Dust Bowl and makes the occasional pop of color -- memories of green fields, stylized depictions of folktales, the angry blood-red of a "rabbit drive" -- that much more striking. The emotional landscape is equally well developed: an older sister who suffers from "dust pneumonia" and reads Ozma of Oz aloud, between coughing fits, to her younger siblings; a father who too easily dismisses his son, who never had an opportunity to prove himself on the farm, as useless. The potent subtext informs both Jack's climactic showdown with the rain figure and the book's tender, triumphant resolution. 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.
Review by Kirkus Book Review
Eleven-year-old Jack Clark feels useless on his family's Kansas farm. It's 1937: The rain went away when he was seven, so he's never been able to help out. His older sister Dorothy is sick with Dust Pneumonia, and little sister Mabel doesn't provide much companionship. Jack is the favorite target of the town bullies, but general-store owner Ernie tries to cheer Jack with traditional "Jack tales." Then the boy sees a mysterious flash in the Talbots' abandoned barn. When he investigates, he discovers a frightening apparition. Talking about it starts rumors he is suffering from Dust Dementia. Just when his family has given up hope, Jack, inspired by Ernie's stories, confronts the creature and fights a fantastic battle with miraculous results. Author/illustrator Phelan's first graphic tale is part historical mystery, part fantasy thriller. The pencil-and-watercolor panels are cinematically framed and often wordless, advancing the plot and delineating character with careful strokes. The bleakness of the Dust Bowl comes through in both the landscape and the hopeless faces of his characters. This is not to be missed. (Graphic fiction. 9-14) Copyright Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.
Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.
