The Penderwicks at last

Review by Booklist Review

*Starred Review* Our 2005 review of The Penderwicks (which went on to win the National Book Award) ended with the words, it would be nice to see more of the Penderwicks. Now, in this fifth volume, we see the last of them. Lydia, who wasn't born when the first book began, takes center stage. Her oldest half-sister is getting married at the Arundel estate, where the series began. As in previous volumes, events occur the wedding being most important and reading to new friend Alice's sheep possibly the least but it is the warm familial interplay and the bright uniqueness of the characters that continues to make these books stand out. In the case of Lydia, born to dance, the focus is on her ability to maintain her sense of self amid the many strong, delightful characters surrounding her. Fans of previous books will also be excited to learn the fates of Rosalind, Skye, Jane, and Batty especially Batty whose tangled romances might point the way to a forever love. Beautifully crafted, both in descriptions and characterizations, this makes for a fitting end to a much-praised series. One note: Lydia is only 11, and Alice is a real hoot. So it's not difficult to imagine a spin-off. Hint, hint.--Cooper, Ilene Copyright 2018 Booklist

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

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Review by Publisher's Weekly Review

In this final installment of Birdsall's Penderwicks series, the lovable, uniquely talented Penderwick family returns to the setting of the first novel, Arundel, a grand estate in the Berkshires, where oldest daughter Rosalind is to be wed to her boyfriend Tommy. Youngest daughter Lydia, now age 11, was not yet born when the rest of the clan visited there 15 years ago, but she's heard about its wonders and is thrilled to arrive early with sister Batty and their two dogs to help with preparations. In true Penderwick fashion, Lydia makes every day an adventure with her newfound friend Alice, the daughter of Arundel's caretaker. There are plenty of surprises in store for the two, including an array of welcome and unwelcome visitors. The excitement and boisterous activity that permeate all the previous books are in abundance here as well, as Lydia's siblings join her at Arundel, showcasing their individual skills and working together to creatively solve all conflicts during MOPS (meetings of Penderwick siblings). Full of reunions with old friends, fond remembrances of good times, and developments of new friendships (and at least one possible romance), the novel provides closure, and at the same time opens the door to new possibilities as Lydia and her brother and sisters go "prancing, leaping, gamboling into the future." Ages 8-12. Agent: Barbara S. Kouts. (May) © Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved.

(c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved

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Review by School Library Journal Review

Gr 4-6-Lydia, the youngest Penderwick sibling, is now 11 and takes center stage in this fifth and final entry in the National Book Award-winning series. And what a stage she has: the story is set at Arundel, the legendary estate which, for Lydia, has previously existed only in her sisters' stories. The last time the entire family was at the estate was 15 years ago; now they are gathered for Rosalind and Skye's double wedding. Lydia is eager to explore the place "where the possibilities for adventure are endless." She finds a kindred spirit in Alice Pelletier, who lives in the cottage where the Penderwicks stayed and whose father is Cagney, the object of Rosalind's preteen crush, now a history teacher and the estate's caretaker. Lydia and her siblings are less pleased to see another Arundel native: Mrs. Tifton, who remains a rigid and humorless foil for the Penderwicks' exuberance. The wedding serves as a seamless device to bring back more characters from previous books who arrive at the ceremony with pleasant surprises. Birdsall's writing, effervescent as ever, turns routine moments into delightful vignettes: Lydia finds an abandoned chair leg under a couch, "stoically waiting for the rest of its chair to come back." While Birdsall provides enough backstory for this entry to stand on its own, she rewards fans of the series with a meeting that brings the saga full circle and a closing image reassuring readers that the Penderwicks, like imagination and adventure, will live forever. VERDICT A richly satisfying curtain call for a beloved series.-Marybeth Kozikowski, Sachem Public Library, Holbrook, NY © Copyright 2018. 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

This closing volume in the beloved Penderwick series, featuring two sisters marriages and ones heartbreak, is told from the point of view of eleven-year-old Lydia, the youngest Penderwick half-sister. Denaker voices Lydia with a squeaky youthfulness that makes her childlike decision-making quite believable. Animal-loving Batty, now nineteen, is also voiced with a youngish, nasal tone that recalls her role as the former baby of the family, while other Penderwick sisters speak with the grace and fluidity of the young women they have grown to be. Best of all, Denaker infuses her general narration with the passion, flightiness, ingenuousness, and sense of possibility that characterize the Penderwick world. anita l. burkam (c) Copyright 2018. 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

The beloved family is backand taking their final bow.In this fifth and final title in the endearing series, the spotlight is on the youngest sibling, now-11-year-old Lydia, would-be dancer. Everyone's gearing up for the wedding of eldest sister Rosalind, scrambling to ensure the happy couple can get hitched without a hitch at Arundel, the imposing estate where the Penderwick saga began (The Penderwicks, 2005). Thrown into the mix is an older brother who's aspiring to be a film director; riotous animals, including a stair-climbing chicken and an independent-minded sheep; and snooty interference from the estate's former owner. Lydia meets a new gal pal; gets embroiled in the arrangements of what eventually evolves into a double wedding; and emerges as her own winning personality. As in the other series titles, Birdsall writes with a knowing, breezy hand and infuses cozy, old-fashioned, humorous warmth into the proceedings while adhering to a white default. Occasionally, Lydia comes across as younger than her years. Still, readers will appreciate the younger girl's antics and the numerous musical references (which threaten to date the novel) and will likely swoon over the wedding details, some unrealistic. Certainly, die-hard fans will rejoice that the author virtually promises that two very popular characters will wed several years hence. Is an encore to come?Please don't go, Penderwicks; it's too soon to say goodbye. (Fiction. 9-12) Copyright Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.

Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.

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Lydia believed in dancing wherever she could--on sidewalks, in supermarket aisles, libraries, swimming pools, parking lots. Today her stage was a bench at the bus stop. It was a challenge dancing on something so narrow, but Lydia took measures to keep from falling--small steps, no leaps, and heavy reliance on upper-body motion.   "Music, Maestro!" she said. "What tempo, Miss Penderwick? I believe I'm in the mood for something snappy, Maestro. Snappy it is, then."   Lydia's singing wasn't up to her dancing, and her inner maestro's humming was rarely on key, but the rhythm! Lydia and rhythm were as one while she bopped back and forth, being what her father called the Embodiment of Music. He'd come up with that when Lydia was too young to know what "embodiment" meant. She was now in fifth grade, though, and knew just about any words her father could come up with, as long as they were in English. (Sometimes he spoke in Latin.) Being the embodiment meant that she brought the spirit of music to life in her dancing.   One last spin, and Lydia bowed, waiting for applause that wouldn't come. There were no other people at the bus stop, and the Penderwick dogs weren't paying attention. The older of the two, Sonata, was asleep under the bench. Sonata was often asleep--Lydia's mother called her Zen Dog. The other dog, Feldspar, was Sonata's son, with the same goofy bug eyes, but he was no Zen Dog. He considered life an opportunity for excitement, especially these two parts of life: Lydia's older sister Batty and whatever he'd most recently found to carry around. Today it was a plastic clothes hanger.   "Remember not to chew it up and swallow the pieces," Lydia told him.   Feldspar eyed her with disdain. He knew better than to do such a silly thing. Somewhere deep in his mixed-breed DNA was a bit of retriever, and retrievers never ate the spoils of the hunt, especially when the spoils were plastic and didn't taste good. Just because he'd happened to accidentally eat one of Lydia's headbands didn't mean that his instincts were dead.   Lydia checked the road for incoming buses. She and the dogs were waiting for the one that would deliver Batty, who studied music in Boston. In Lydia's opinion, Batty didn't come home often enough, and left too soon when she did--this time, she'd be gone at the end of the weekend. Of all the Penderwick siblings, Batty was the one who best understood Lydia and her dancing. Probably because Batty was a musician, a singer--they were both expressing music, but in different ways.   With Batty away at college, only Lydia and her brother, Ben, were left at home with their parents. Ben was sixteen and cared primarily about watching and making movies with his best friend, Rafael. Sometimes they put Lydia in their movies. So far, she'd been a child genius murdered by her country's enemies, a chess champion killed by her insane rival, and Joan of Arc burnt at the stake; in the current project, she was a sentient apple that would be eaten at the end of the film. Weary of dying for her brother's art, Lydia wished he would find a new theme.   There were three other sisters in the family, grown-ups in their twenties. Two of them, Rosalind and Jane, lived in apartments not too far from home and were always popping in and out. The third, Skye, was in California, working on her doctorate in astrophysics. She'd been out west since she'd first left for college--when Lydia was only four--and could get back home to Massachusetts only a few times a year. Lydia missed her greatly. Family lore had it that she'd been the first tiny baby Skye was drawn to. Skye denied it, saying that she hadn't bothered much with Lydia until she was three and could speak some sense, but Lydia didn't believe that. She was certain she could remember being swaddled, safe and warm, gazing up into Skye's blue eyes.   No bus yet, so time for another dance. For this one, Lydia chose to express great longing and beauty with languid gestures. She'd have to imagine the great longing, as she hadn't experienced much of that, but beauty was all around her, in the daffodils abloom in the Ayvazians' yard, across from the bus stop, and--Lydia thought, privately--in her very own hair. She had no pretensions to beauty, but she did have good hair: red, with just the right amount of curliness. It was her mother's hair, and Ben's. None of the other siblings had this hair, because they'd had a different mother, who'd died long before Lydia was born.   As she brought her dance to an end, Feldspar began making the weird noise that his family politely called barking, though it was more a combination of whining and throat clearing. Anything else was impossible with your mouth full of a hanger. But he and Sonata had worked out a system--whenever Feldspar made that noise, Sonata chimed in with actual barking, so that together they made enough noise to accomplish whatever Feldspar had set out to do.   That's what happened now. Sonata woke up and raised her voice high, and Lydia jumped off the bench and took a firm hold on the dogs' leashes. She'd learned long ago that they could sense Batty's approach from afar. If they were clamoring, that meant Batty's bus was about to come into view. And there it was, cresting the hill, steadily approaching with its precious cargo.   When Batty got off the bus, beaming, as pleased to be home as her family would be to have her there, Lydia held back, knowing that the dogs were always greeted first. The dogs knew it, too, pressing against Batty, quivering with joy while she murmured her love to them and gently stroked them head to toe, reassuring herself that they were as happy and healthy as when she'd last seen them. Ben had once dubbed Batty the Saint Francis of Cameron--Cameron was the town where the Penderwicks lived--and no one had disputed him, except for Batty herself, who believed that it should be normal, not saintly, to have limitless love for animals.   Excerpted from The Penderwicks at Last by Jeanne Birdsall 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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