Merci Suárez changes gears

Review by New York Times Review

MIDDLE-GRADE READERS live ín a WOnderful-awful, in-between time that holds both the last moments when toys seem magical and the first breathless discoveries of what deodorant and mascara wands are meant to do. By now, they know about the world's harshness, but they may not be quite ready to face it full on. These three powerful authors push the edge of comfort in their latest works - presenting the loveliness that the best childhood moments hold alongside the realities of inequity, profound loss and deep neglect. Readers (and their parents) will be all the better for it. "we think they took my Papi." The first line of Jacqueline Woodson's harbor me (Nancy Paulsen/Penguin, 176 pp., $17.99; ages io and up) jolts the reader into the news cycle through the eyes of a child. As this captivating novel moves forward we will hear, see and feel more through this lens. It's a powerful vantage point, and one that holds both the practical realities and the lyrical poignancy of 11-year-old voices in equal tension. Woodson's most recent middle-grade work, the National Book Award-winning "Brown Girl Dreaming," was a memoir. These pages belong to sixth graders in Brooklyn who, when given a space to talk, discover how sharing stories can heal. Haley Shondell McGrath introduces herself by speaking into a hand-held recorder that her uncle gives her: "I am 11 years old. My father is in prison. My mother is dead. But don't feel sorry for me." Haley is part of the class of six students who've been assigned to Ms. Laverne because they learn differently. One day in late September, Ms. Laverne leads the kids to a former art room and tells them it's theirs: "Your time. Your world. Your Room." The kids dub it the ARTT room, A Room to Talk. Conversation is halting at first, but - as happens in confined, grownup-free zones of childhood like camp and clubhouses - the room soon becomes a refuge. Classic middle school exchanges about parents insisting on audiobooks instead of video games ("So not fair! ") brush against bigger moments, and Woodson captures both the inexperience and the innate wisdom of age 11. Ashton, who is white, clashes with his good friend Amari, who is black. Both struggle to understand their place in the neighborhood (why some boys follow Ashton, the rare white kid in school, and slap his neck till it's red) and in the world (why Amari can't play with his Nerf gun in the park anymore, but Ashton can). Holly has a story too, and she says to Amari, "I don't like when you call me rich girl." And then there's Esteban, who often sits in the window. Like his missing Papi (whom we hear from in beautiful letters from a detention center), he has a poetic voice. "Before, you used to hear the word immigration, and it sounded like everything you ever believed in. It sounded like feliz cumpleaños and merry Christmas and welcome home. But now you hear it and you get scared because it sounds like a word that makes you want to disappear." There is no escape from the outside world in this book, from the political tempest swirling around us. But sometimes a closer look, a deeper understanding, a different point of view, is better than an escape - especially for kids trying to make sense of the time they were born into. Ms. Laverne tells the students to ask themselves: "If the worst thing in the world happened, would I help protect someone else?" Their promise to one another resonates even after you finish the book: "I will harbor you." IN MEG MEDINA'S MERCI SUÁREZ CHANGES GEARS (Candlewick, 368 pp., $16.99; ages 9 to 12), Merci's harbor is an extended family living in Las Casitas, which is what she calls their three pink, flattop houses that sit side by side. Medina quickly establishes their warm, congenial home life as the center of Merci's universe. But sixth grade throws the best of us off balance, and when Merci - who attends a private school on scholarship - is assigned to be the buddy of a cute new boy in town, jealousy swirls in her friend group. Meanwhile, there are troubles at home as the family's adored grandfather, Lolo, starts to forget things and act erratically. The 11-year-old's worldview shifts uncomfortably - her friends have fancy bikes and swimming pools and can "do dumb stuff" at school, but she always has to prove herself. As her Papi tells her after she gets caught breaking a rule, "The value you add to the school has to come from you, because it's not coming from our wallets." It's clear that Merci loves her family. But she also chafes at family responsibilities, especially the expectation that she'll watch her little cousins more now that Lolo is less reliable. "Find someone else... I'm not your servant!" she shouts at her aunt after a stressful day. Caught between the world of family and peers, the comfort of Las Casitas and the enticing new call of independence, Merci Suárez is a delightful heroine who, despite real challenges, never wavers in her strong sense of self or her fierce love for la familia. Readers will appreciate watching her navigate how to hold on to what matters when it feels like everything is changing. THERE IS NO HOME, harbor or even a reliable adult in sight at the opening of Kate DiCamillo's Louisiana's way home (Candlewick, 227 pp., $16.99; ages 10 and up). This companion novel to the award-winning "Raymie Nightingale" stands on its own, but follows the adventures of a character we met in the previous book, the unforgettable Louisiana Elefante, known to be the daughter of famous trapeze artists. In "Louisiana's Way Home," her cantankerous Granny ferrets Louisiana away from their Florida home in the middle of the night only to wind up on the side of the road with a major toothache. They detour to the dentist, and then end up in a Georgia motel, with now-toothless Granny alternately sleeping and groaning in pain. Louisiana, with her quick, insightful takes on everyone she meets, grabbed readers' hearts in "Raymie Nightingale," and in this book she isn't about to let go. Though her life has been filled with hardship and uncertainty - and there are more painful secrets to come - she continues to operate with a sense of wonder and practical optimism (the pages shine with it). As Granny lies immobile, Louisiana meets a boy named Burke who tells her he can get her anything she likes from the motel's vending machine. Louisiana, always hungry, finds this idea irresistible, and though the ill-tempered motel owner advises her not to listen to Burke, Louisiana knows it's already too late: "I believed him entirely. I believed everything about him." Adult readers will worry for Louisiana. She has faced so much adversity, yet she remains gentle and open. She is also strong as steel, though, and we come to know that Louisiana sees people - really sees them - and she tends to trust the right ones. A couple of times, she reminds herself, and us: "There is goodness in many hearts. In most hearts." When Burke leads her to his home, a pink house that smells of baking cakes, she finds a loving set of parents inside. Of course, they're not hers. Nothing is, really, but Louisiana is no fool. "I will have to find some way to rescue myself," she tells us, a truth we must all face along the way. MELISSA WALKER'S latest middle-grade novel is "Why Can't I Be You."

Copyright (c) The New York Times Company [August 23, 2019]

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Review by Booklist Review

*Starred Review* Merci Suárez loves painting with her Papi, playing on his soccer team, telling her Abuelo Lolo about her days at school, and taking pictures of her family when they are together. But lately Lolo has been acting different he wanders off, forgets things easily, and has even gotten angry. To add to Merci's worries, sixth grade at Seaward Pines Academy has gotten off to a rocky start. To make up her school tuition, Merci has been assigned community service as a Sunshine Buddy to new student Michael Clark, and, as the weeks go by, popular Edna Santos only gets meaner as Merci and Michael become friends. Merci isn't sure what to make of this new world where maybe like is not the same as like like, and where popular is not the same as having friends. As she navigates her way through the year, she discovers that, even though change is scary and even though it may mean things will never be the same, sometimes it is unavoidable. Medina's breathtaking coming-of-age story features a strong, deeply honest protagonist whose insights will make readers laugh, as well as dynamic secondary characters who reveal glimmers of profound depth. Medina capably gets to the heart of middle-school experiences in this engrossing story of a kid growing into herself. A must-read.--Paz, Selenia Copyright 2010 Booklist

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

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Review by Publisher's Weekly Review

In this warmly told story, Medina (Burn Baby Burn) introduces 11-year-old Merci, descendent of Cuban immigrants, who attends a Florida private school on scholarship with her whip-smart older brother. Merci doesn't feel much pressure to be anyone but herself, but her self-assuredness ("It's never too early to work on your corporate leadership skills," she declares at one point) makes her a target: rich kid Edna tries to put Merci outside the sixth grade girls' friend circle, and the clashes make school miserable ("No offense is what Edna says right before she takes a hatchet to your feelings," she reports). Merci's home life is also stressful-money is tight, her beloved grandfather is failing, and familial obligations (mostly babysitting twin cousins) mean there's no chance to try out for the school soccer team. Through all this, Medina keeps the tone light as Merci's take-charge personality helps her to succeed in this coming-of-age tale about family and the perils of sixth grade. Ages 9-12. Agent: Jennifer Rofé, Andrea Brown Literary. (Sept.) © 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-Eleven-year-old Merci Suárez is starting sixth grade and everything is changing. Not only do upper graders have to switch teachers throughout the day, but playing sports, like Merci loves to do, is seen as babyish and befriending boys is taboo. So when Merci is assigned to show new kid Michael Clark around as part of her scholarship package at Seaward Pines Academy, it's a problem. Especially when the richest, smartest, most popular girl in school, Edna, who gets to write the sixth grade's social rules and break them, too, seems to like Michael. Meanwhile, at home, Merci has to watch over her little twin cousins who live close by at Las Casitas, a row of houses belonging to Mami and Papi; Abuela and Lolo; and Tia, for free, so trying out for the school's soccer team and earning money to buy her dream bike is almost impossible. What's worse, Merci can't even talk to her beloved Lolo about all her problems like she used to as he starts acting less and less like himself. The realistic portrayal of a complex young Latina's life is one many readers will relate to as she discovers that change can be hard, but it's the ride that matters. VERDICT Pura Belpré-winning author Medina cruises into readers' hearts with this luminous middle grade novel. A winning addition to any library's shelves.-Brittany Drehobl, Morton Grove Public Library, IL © 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

Working-class Cuban American girl Mercedes Merci Surezs life in South Florida consists of spending time with her extended family and attending elite Seaward Pines Academy, where the sixth grader does community service to pay for her tuition. Now in her second year, Merci must participate in the Sunshine Buddies program, mentoring new-kid Michael Clark (a boy!) and enduring the teasing of mean girl Edna Santos. In the midst of growing up and trying to find a school-life balance, she experiences the power dynamics between her Mami and Papi; navigates her relationship with her studious brother Roli; witnesses the struggles of her ta, Inz, as she runs a bakery and raises young twins; and worries about her abuelo, Lolo, who no longer seems like himself. Medina brings depth, warmth, and heart to her characters and their voices, because she never shies away from portraying this familys flaws and includes frank conversations around difficult issues, such as Alzheimers. Medina (Yaqui Delgado Wants to Kick Your Ass, rev. 3/13; Burn Baby Burn, rev. 3/16) consistently and assuredly portrays Latinx girls and women who grapple with their insecurities while learning about themselves and their worlds, and middle-grade heroine Merci is a fine example. Accurate and natural use of Spanish words and sayings that fit each characters tone builds authenticity. Medina writes with sincerity and humor to convey the experience of growing up in a close-knit family that tends to mingle too much in everyones business while unfailingly and dedicatedly supporting and helping one another. sujei lugo (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

Merci navigates the challenges of being a scholarship kid at a posh South Florida private school and the expectations of and responsibilities to her intergenerational family.Eleven-year-old Merci Surez isn't the typical Seaward Pines Academy sixth-grader. Instead of a stately mansion, Merci lives with her parents and older brother, Roli, in one of three identical homes next to her Cuban-American extended family: Abuela and Lolo, Ta Inz, and her rambunctious little twin cousins. At school, Merci has to deal with condescending mean girl Edna Santos, who loves to brag, boss around her friends, and throw out hurtful comments that start with "No offense." Although Merci wants to earn money so that she can afford a new bike, she's stuck volunteering for Sunshine Buddies, in which current students mentor new ones. What's worse is that her assigned buddy is Michael Clark, a new tall white boy in her class. At home, Merci's beloved Lolo begins to act erratically, and it becomes clear something secret and serious is happening. Medina writes about the joys of multigenerational home life (a staple of the Latinx community) with a touching, humorous authenticity. Merci's relationship with Lolo is heartbreakingly beautiful and will particularly strike readers who can relate to the close, chaotic, and complicated bonds of live-in grandparents.Medina delivers another stellar and deeply moving story. (author's note) (Fiction. 9-13) Copyright Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.

Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.

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To think, only yesterday I was in chancletas, sipping lemonade and watching my twin cousins run through the sprinkler in the yard. Now, I'm here in Mr. Patchett's class, sweating in my polyester school blazer and waiting for this torture to be over. We're only halfway through health and PE when he adjusts his tight collar and says, "Time to go." I stand up and push in my chair, like we're always supposed to, grateful that picture day means that class ends early. At least we won't have to start reading the first chap-ter in the textbook: "I'm OK, You're OK: On Differences as We Develop." "Coming, Miss Suárez?" he asks me as he flips off the lights. That's when I realize I'm the only one still waiting for him to tell us to line up.  Everyone else has already headed out the door. This is sixth grade, so there won't be one of the PTA moms walking us down to the photographer. Last year, our escort pumped us up by gushing the  whole way about how handsome and beautiful we all looked on the first day of school, which was a stretch since a few of us had mouthfuls of braces or big gaps between our front teeth. But that's over now. Here at Seaward Pines Academy, sixth-graders don't have the same teacher all day, like Miss Miller in the fifth grade. Now we have homerooms and lockers. We switch classes. We can finally try out for sports teams. And we know how to get ourselves down to picture day just fine --     or at least the rest of my class does. I grab my new book bag and hurry out to join the others. It's a wall of heat out here. It won't be a far walk, but August in Florida is brutal, so it doesn't take long for my glasses to fog up and the curls at my temples to spring into tight coils. I try my best to stick to the shade near the building, but it's hopeless. The slate path that winds to the front of the gym cuts right across the quad, where there's not a single scrawny palm tree to shield us. It makes me wish we had one of those thatch-roof walkways that my grandfather Lolo can build out of fronds. "How do I look?" someone asks. I dry my lenses on my shirttail and glance over. We're all in the same uniform, but some of the girls got special hairdos for the occasion, I notice. A few were even flat-ironed; you can tell from the little burns on their necks. Too bad they don't have some of my curls. Not that everyone appreciates them, of course. Last year, a kid named Dillon said I look like a lion, which was fine with me, since I love those big cats. Mami is always nagging me about keeping it out of my eyes, but she doesn't know that hid-ing behind it is the best part. This morning, she slapped a school- issue headband on me. All it's done so far is give me a headache and make my glasses sit crooked. "Hey," I say. "It's a broiler out here. I know a shortcut." The girls stop in a glob and look at me. The path I'm pointing to is clearly marked with a sign. MAINTENANCE CREWS ONLY.  NO STUDENTS BEYOND THIS POINT. No one in this crowd is much for breaking rules, but sweat is already beading above their glossed lips, so maybe they'll be sensible. They're looking to one another, but mostly to Edna Santos. "Come on, Edna," I say, deciding to go straight to the top. "It's faster, and we're melting out here." She frowns at me, considering the options. She may be a teacher's pet, but I've seen Edna bend a rule or two.  Making faces outside our classroom if she's on a bathroom pass.  Changing an answer for a friend when we're self-checking a quiz. How much worse can this be? I take a step closer. Is she taller than me now? I pull back my shoulders just in case. She looks older somehow than she did in June, when we were in the same class.  Maybe it's the blush on her cheeks or the mascara that's making little raccoon circles under her eyes? I try not to stare and just go for the big guns. "You want to look sweaty in your picture?" I say.  Cha- ching. In no time, I'm leading the pack of us along the gravel path. We cross the maintenance parking lot, dodging debris. Back here is where Seaward hides the riding mow-ers and all the other untidy equipment they need to make the campus look like the brochures. Papi and I parked here last summer when we did some painting as a trade for our book fees. I don't tell anyone that, though, because Mami says it's "a private matter." But mostly, I keep quiet because I'm trying to erase the memory.  Seaward's gym is ginormous, so it took us three whole days to paint it. Plus, our school colors are fire- engine red and gray. You know what happens when you stare at bright red too long? You start to see green balls in front of your eyes every time you look away. Hmpf. Try doing detail work in that blinded condition. For all that, the school should give me and my brother, Roli, a whole library, not just a few measly text-books. Papi had other ideas, of course. "Do a good job in here," he insisted, "so they know we're serious people." I hate when he says that. Do people think we're clowns? It's like we've always got to prove something.       Anyway, we make it to the gym in half the time. The back door is propped open, the way I knew it would be. The head custodian keeps a milk crate jammed in the door frame so he can read his paper in peace when no one's looking. "This way," I say, using my take-charge voice. I've been trying to perfect it, since it's never too early to work on your corporate leadership skills, according to the manual Papi got in the mail from the chamber of commerce, along with the what- to- do- in- a-hurricane guidelines. So far, it's working. I walk us along back rooms and even past the boys' locker room, which smells like bleach and dirty socks. When we reach a set of double doors, I pull them open proudly. I've saved us all from that awful trudge through the heat. "Ta-  da," I say.     Unfortunately, as soon as we step inside, it's obvious that I've landed us all in hostile territory. Excerpted from Merci Suárez Changes Gears by Meg Medina 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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