Notes from the dog

Review by Booklist Review

Paulsen's latest is the subtle, sensitive tale of 14-year-old Finn and the summer he spends connecting with his next-door neighbor, Johanna a grad student battling breast cancer. Finn's not much of a people person; in fact, he was hoping he could get through summer without speaking to more than 12 individuals. But Johanna ropes him into working on her garden, and manure incidents and rabbit attacks aside, it's not unpleasant work. Soon Finn finds himself drawn into Johanna's family, which is everything Finn's is not: large, boisterous, and emotional. He ultimately recognizes his time with her as a gift of self-confidence and purpose. This quiet, steady story is light on surprises, but that doesn't mean there aren't moments of power. Johanna's chemo-related vomiting is chillingly offhand, leaving readers to share Finn's mixed sense of embarrassment and horror. The only misstep is the purposefully narrative device of Finn's dog delivering inspirational messages from Johanna. Still, this is an effective homage to cancer survivors everywhere and the people of all ages who love them.--Kraus, Daniel Copyright 2009 Booklist

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

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Review by Publisher's Weekly Review

Paulsen (Mudshark) writes another touching story about human kindness and humanity. Reclusive and insecure, Finn lives with his father, his dog and his friend Matthew, whose parents are divorcing. Being 14 isn't easy for Finn ("I feel like an alien dropped onto a strange planet and that I always have to be on the lookout for clues and cues on how to act and what to say," he muses), and his plan for summer is to talk to "fewer than a dozen people" and read as many books as possible. However, his intentions are thwarted when 24-year-old Johanna shows up to house-sit for his neighbors. She is lighthearted, imaginative, optimistic and has breast cancer. While Finn is usually overwhelmed by human contact, Johanna's sensitivity is disarming, and she hires him to plant a garden for her as a distraction from her illness. The plot is straightforward, but Paulsen's thoughtful characters are compelling and their interactions realistic. This emotional, coming-of-age journey about taking responsibility for one's own happiness and making personal connections will not disappoint. Ages 12-up. (July) (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 5-9-Finn, a shy 15-year-old who finds it difficult to talk to people, never dreamed that his life would change during the summer in Gary Paulsen's novel (Random/Wendy Lamb Bks., 2009). It starts out as usual, with Finn at the library with a stack of novels-but then Johanna moves in next door and everything changes. Before he knows it, the 25-year-old who is battling breast cancer has inspired him to spend his time making a garden in his backyard, to fundraise for her cancer benefit triathlon, and to ask Carla out on a date. From time to time, his dog, Dylan, arrives with notes in his mouth offering words of wisdom for him to consider. Finn, and his best friend Matt, learn about themselves and that family isn't always about whom you are related to, but rather the people you meet along the way. Nick Podehl's narration is spot-on, moving flawlessly from an awkward antisocial teenage boy to a 20-something breast cancer patient to a father and grandfather and back again.-Kristie Miller, Alexander Central School, NY (c) Copyright 2012. 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

(Middle School) Shy fourteen-year-old Finn already has his summer planned. But when twenty-something grad student Johanna moves in next door, instead of the peaceful reading and silence he has in mind, he finds himself gardening, fundraising, and connecting with people. Johanna is going through chemo for breast cancer, and when she asks Finn to work with her on creating a garden in his plain grass yard, he can't turn her down. She also communicates with Finn by sending him anonymous notes delivered by his dog, offering wisdom like "You're not as ugly as you think." Paulsen mixes sorrow and humor, depicting the rough side of chemo realistically, and he shows Finn and his friend Matthew displaying competence and compassion in caring for Johanna in a way that demonstrates to the middle-school audience that taking action to help is much better than turning away. Finn's gardening mishaps -- such as transplanting and caring for poison ivy -- lighten the mood, and the novel's conclusion is triumphant and touching. 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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Sometimes having company is not all it's cracked up to be. I was sitting on the front steps of my house with Matthew and Dylan. Matthew was listening to his ear buds, eyes closed, half-humming, half-singing the good parts of the song like he always does, and Dylan was asleep on the ground, snoring and twitching. Matthew's into his music and Dylan's a dog so I didn't pay much attention to either of them. I was trying to read. Matthew's the only true friend I've got. He's not my best friend. That's Carl, because we've always got a lot of the same classes and spend the most time together in school. Matthew's not even my oldest friend. That's Jamie, because I've known her since we went to nursery school together. He's definitely not my most fun friend--that would have to be Christopher, who goes to a school for the gifted and always has some crazy story to tell about the supersmart people he knows. Matthew lives right across the street and is always over at my house. That summer, he was actually living with us, because his parents were in the middle of a divorce. Their house was for sale and they'd each recently moved into nearby apartments. But Matthew had said he wasn't going to learn how to do the shared custody thing on his summer vacation. Then he'd said he'd just stay with us until everything got settled. I was impressed that Matthew called the shots that way, but not surprised that his folks and my dad agreed; Matthew has a way of always making sense so people go along with him. But that's not what makes him my true friend. It's because he's the only person I know who doesn't make me feel like he's drifted off in his head when I'm talking. Anyone who listens to everything you have to say, even the bad stuff and the boring things that don't interest them, is a true friend. Matthew's always been the only person who's easy for me to talk to. He's a lot like Dylan when you think about it. Matthew and I aren't anything alike. I know, for instance, that it's got to be easier to be Matthew than it is to be me. There's something so . . . easy about the way he does everything. He gets better grades than me, even though he hardly ever studies. He's on about a million teams at school, and whatever he does in football, baseball, basketball, tennis or track, he looks confident in a way that I never do. He has friends in every group at school: the brainy people, who, even in middle school, are starting to worry about the "com app" (that's the universal college application form, but I only know that because I Googled the word after I heard them talking about it so much); the jocks, who carpool to their orthopedic doctor appointments together and brag about torn cartilage and bad sprains; the theater and band and orchestra members, who call themselves the arty geeks and then laugh, like it's some big joke on everyone else; and, of course, the losers. Like me. Matthew would never call me a loser, not to my face and not behind my back, either, but we both know that I don't fit in and that I'm just biding my time in middle school, waiting for high school and then college, after which I hope I can get a job where I'll be able to work by myself. It's not that I don't like people, but they make me uncomfortable. I feel like an alien dropped onto a strange planet and that I always have to be on the lookout for clues and cues on how to act and what to say. It's exhausting to always feel like you don't belong anywhere and then worry that you're going to say the wrong thing all the time. Real people seem so . . . mysterious and, I don't know, high-maintenance to me. People in books, though, I like them just fine. I read a lot, partly because when I was little and my dad couldn't afford sitters, he'd drag me to the library for his study groups. He was in night school and he's been there ever since. He'd sit me at a table near him and his classmates and give me a pile o Excerpted from Notes from the Dog by Gary Paulsen 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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