No slam dunk

Review by Booklist Review

Combining contemporary issues with basketball action, this middle-grade novel will be a sure-fire hit with readers who love sports. Wes has been selected for an elite basketball team with some of the best players his age, including Dinero, another player who is at the top of the game. But Dinero plays for himself, likes to show off, and feels a bit threatened by Wes' talent. Off the court, Wes is dealing with his dad, a former Navy Seal who has returned from Afghanistan with PTSD. Lupica weaves contemporary family issues, such as mental illness and overinvolved sports parents, with action-filled basketball scenes. Detailed descriptions of basketball games every few chapters are sure to keep sports fans reading. Some of the current player references may date the book quickly, but the overall topics of teamwork and family will stay relevant. Hand this to readers of Tim Green or Kareem Abdul-Jabbar's Streetball Crew series. An additional purchase for collections where sports novels are popular.--Sarah Bean Thompson Copyright 2018 Booklist

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

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Review by School Library Journal Review

Gr 4-7-Wes Davies's father always taught him that in basketball, what mattered most was being a good teammate. However, when Wes's dad comes back from his last Navy SEAL mission in Afghanistan, he isn't there to cheer Wes on as his travel team, the Annapolis Hawks, compete for a championship. As things get harder with his teammate Dinero and his father's struggles, Wes relies on basketball more than ever. Lupica's on-court descriptions are accurate and fast-paced; readers' hearts will beat to the shot clock and cheer on Wes's every move. The chapters are short and alternate between basketball and Wes's home life, making this a fast read for reluctant readers. But while he achieves gritty realism on the court, the non-sports scenes and themes are not as well executed. Lt. Davies's has PTSD and issues with alcohol abuse. Wes speaks of it often to his school counselor and mother, but never gets angry or has any negative emotions about the situation. Wes's only concern is for his father and his father's feelings. There is no reckoning or much accountability, just an acceptance of wrongdoing. Many readers will likely be left waiting for a confrontation that never comes as Wes's hero worship is taken to new extremes. VERDICT Purchase with caution where Lupica is very popular.-Kerri Williams, 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

As seventh grader Wes Davies's basketball team competes for a championship, his Navy-veteran father sinks into PTSD-caused alcoholism. Meanwhile, Wes's showy team nemesis "Dinero" challenges Wes's commitment--drilled into him by his father--to above all be a good teammate. Short chapters alternate between on-court action and Wes's home life. The resolution feels tidy, but hoops fans will root for resilient and likable Wes. (c) Copyright 2019. 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

Can you be a leader and a teammate on the court and off?Wes Davies should be playing the best basketball of his life; he is a small forward on the elite Annapolis Hawks seventh-grade team, and his former nemesis, flashy point guard Dinero, is now his teammate. But victories on the court can't make up for troubles at home. Wes's father, Lt. Michael Davies, has returned from a final Navy SEAL mission in Afghanistan with injuries that are both physical and emotional. No longer his son's mentor and hero, Lt. Davies has moved out of the family home to combat the elusive enemy that is PTSD, relying on alcohol rather than his wife and son for support. Wes is convinced that if he can be a basketball standout, his father will again be the man he was. Meanwhile, Dinero has issues of his own, with a hypercompetitive father who aggressively stage-manages his son's career. Short chapters that leave readers intrigued will capture basketball fans who love exciting play-by-play and who appreciate references to the stars of today. Lupica handles complex issues of scarred veterans, fathers and sons, and the difference between competition and battle with ease, making the familiar story of the redemptive power of sports feel new. Wes is white, and Dinero is cued Latinx; naming conventions point to a diverse team overall.An easy-to-read sports book that taps into basketball as both a means of connecting characters and a platform for problem-solving. (Fiction. 10-14) Copyright Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.

Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.

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ONE  Everybody always says there's only one ball in basketball. Now one had just hit Wes in the side of the face, making him feel like somebody had slapped him. Hard. It was a basic three-on-two drill: Wes on the right wing; Emmanuel Pike over on the left; Dinero Rey, the one leading the break, in the middle. There were two defenders waiting for them as they crossed half-court, waiting for Dinero to make the first move, to decide whether to keep the ball or pass it. It was less than an hour into the Annapolis Hawks' first practice together. Wes was now Dinero's teammate, a year after they'd been the stars of opposing teams in the sixth grade. As Dinero made his way down the court, Wes knew the defenders were expecting him to give it up. They knew what Wes did: Dinero was even better passing a basketball than he was dribbling it with either hand or shooting it from the outside or driving it to the basket. There was a reason why he was called Dinero even though his real name was Danilo. He was money. He was the smallest kid on the court. But that didn't matter. He was fast and smart and flashy, with a game as big as his smile. A lot of kids his age could shoot and handle and blow past you if you gave them an opening. But it was what he could do with the ball that set him apart, Wes knew, from other kids their age, not just in their town, Annapolis, but maybe northern Virginia, too, and from all the slick ballers in Washington, D.C. Even though Dinero was only twelve, you could look him up on YouTube and see for yourself. Now the first pass Dinero threw his way, very first one, had hit Wes flush in the side of the face. Wes knew it was nobody's fault but his own. "When you don't pay attention," his dad had always told him, "what you generally do is pay." Dinero Rey had basically told him the same thing before they started the drill. Be ready if you're open, he'd said. "I might not be looking at you," Dinero said. "But you better be looking at me." Then he'd given him a quick high five and that smile. "We're gonna do big things, you and me," Dinero said. "Just you watch." Then Wes hadn't been watching, and the ball caught him right next to his ear, bouncing off his hard head and out of bounds. The drill came to a stop in that moment, even though the ball kept rolling. Wes could feel the heat of where the ball caught him, could almost feel the impression of the ball, on a night when he was no different from everybody else on the court at the new Annapolis Rec Center, and wanted to make the best possible impression, on his teammates, on his coach, everybody. With his pale skin, Wes knew his face had to be getting red, and not just because of the ball hitting him, but the humiliation he was feeling. Dinero got to him first. "Sorry, dude," he said. "I thought for sure you were looking." He grinned, which only made Wes feel worse. "My fault," Wes said. "You okay?" The grin was still there. "Yes." No! Wes thought. Anybody who'd ever seen Wes play, who'd seen the magic in his own game, always talked about what a great head for basketball he had. Only he wasn't supposed to use it like this. Not on the first day of practice with the rest of the Annapolis Hawks, an elite team of seventh-graders in a year that would be playing in a new elite league. The other seventh-graders, the ones who hadn't made the Hawks, would play in the same travel league in which they'd played last season. But the Hawks, they were moving on. And moving up. There were other stars from last year's teams. But the two biggest were Dinero and Wes: the point guard and small forward who played big. The two guys who were going to do big things together. What had he been thinking about while the ball was busy finding his face? His dad. But mostly how he needed this team as much as he'd ever needed anything in his life. Excerpted from No Slam Dunk by Mike Lupica 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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