Code name Kingfisher

Liz Kessler

Book - 2024

While helping her father empty her beloved grandmother's house, 13-year-old Liv finds an old chest that reveals Oma's involvement in the Dutch resistance during WWII and learns what it means to be brave and go above and beyond to offer someone else a life of dignity, happiness and freedom.

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Children's Room New Shelf jFICTION/Kessler Liz (NEW SHELF) Due Nov 14, 2024
Subjects
Genres
Historical fiction
Published
New York : Aladdin 2024.
Language
English
Main Author
Liz Kessler (author)
Edition
First Aladdin hardcover edition
Physical Description
329 pages ; 22 cm
Audience
Ages 8-12.
Grades 3-7.
ISBN
9781665929738
Contents unavailable.
Review by Publisher's Weekly Review

Kessler (When the World Was Ours) intertwines two poignant stories via four alternating perspectives in this well-paced novel: one of Dutch Jewish sisters Mila, 12, and Hannie, 15, posing as Christians in WWII Amsterdam, the other of contemporary British 13-year-old Liv, who's navigating friendship troubles and her relationship with her cold, secretive grandmother. A school assignment to create a family tree stumps Liv, who knows nothing about her ancestry. But after her widowed paternal grandmother, Bubbe, moves to a care facility, Liv cleans out her attic and discovers a photograph dated 1942 that might provide clues to Bubbe's guarded nature--and help with Liv's assignment. Hannie's unsent letters to her mother are interspersed throughout Liv and Mila's dual POVs, and occasional later chapters are narrated by another Jewish child in Amsterdam. Narrative parallels between Liv's efforts in standing up to bullies and Hannie's work saving Jewish children with the Dutch Resistance feel some- what unevenly weighted, but skillfully structured suspense as well as Liv's persistence in learning--and helping complete--Bubbe's story makes for a rewarding read. A historical note concludes. Most characters present as white; many are Jewish. Ages 8--12. (May)

(c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved
Review by School Library Journal Review

Gr 4--8--In the present day, middle schooler Liv is dealing with heavy friend drama, as well as moving her frail Bubbe into an elder community. In 1942 Amsterdam, similarly aged Mila and older sister Hannie are trying to maintain a semblance of normal while living under false identities during the Nazi occupation. When Liv gets a school assignment to explore her family tree, she and new friend Gabi begin probing secretive Bubbe's past. The two stories, wartime and present day, intertwine as events and artifacts from Mila's and Hannie's lives turn up in Liv's exploration of Bubbe's past. Mila, or Mimi, is Bubbe. Much of the plot is revealed through letters and narration by various characters, in addition to journal entries written by Hannie as letters to her lost mother. In helping reunite Bubbe with a friend who was with Hannie at the time she disappeared and who has her journal, Liv learns that Hannie had been a resistance worker murdered by a Nazi patrol. Reading the journal, Bubbe realizes Hannie had forgiven her for her role in mistakenly exposing several Jewish children to capture and releases a lifetime of shame and regret. In an author's note, Kessler writes that, though fictional, the novel is inspired by a tale of real-life sisters. VERDICT A narrative that is at times almost overpoweringly emotional; an intense story, gorgeously told. With World War II books perennially in demand, especially Shoah stories, this one is highly recommended for elementary and middle school libraries.--Bob Hassett

(c) Copyright Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.
Review by Horn Book Review

Thirteen-year-old Liv lives with her parents in England. When she's tasked with a family history assignment for school, she decides to investigate her ninety-two-year-old grandmother. While helping Bubbe move into an assisted living facility, Liv discovers a secret chest from her grandmother's past and learns more than she bargained for. A second story unfolds in alternating chapters: twelve-year-old Mila and her older sister, Hannie, live in Holland in 1942, but since they are Jewish and the Nazis have taken over the country, they do not live with their parents. Rather, they have assumed different identities, hiding in plain sight with a non-Jewish foster family in Amsterdam. Hannie gets drawn into the Dutch resistance with grave consequences; she is the titular Kingfisher. It's quickly revealed that Mila is, in fact, Liv's grandmother, but Kessler makes readers wait to learn the entire story, using lots of dialogue, a notably fast pace, four viewpoint characters, and several dozen short chapters to further develop suspense. An engrossing read, one that provides depth to the Dutch experience during the Holocaust beyond Anne Frank and her famous diary. Jonathan HuntMay/June 2024 p.143 (c) Copyright 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

An intertwining family history centered around two Dutch sisters during World War II. Present-day British 12-year-old Liv, who's Jewish, has never felt close to Bubbe, her paternal grandmother. Unlike Liv's grandfather, who died three years ago, Bubbe has never seemed to want to be close to her only grandchild. While cleaning out Bubbe's house after she moves to a care home, Liv finds a stash of old documents that seem to indicate that Bubbe has been hiding part of her past. Alternate chapters set in 1942 Amsterdam tell the story of 12-year-old Mila and her sister, Hannie, 15, who, because they're Jewish, are forced to leave their parents and seek safety by posing as the orphaned relatives of a non-Jewish couple, the Van de Bergs. Hannie joins the Dutch Resistance, adopting the code name Kingfisher and shuttling Jewish children to safety. She relates her activities only to her journal, leaving Mila feeling abandoned and bereft. Then, Hannie disappears. Eventually (and not entirely believably), Liv's investigations in the modern timeline enable her to piece together enough information to make a remarkable discovery that's connected to the secrets of Bubbe's history. While the minor characters are flat, the central characters are all strongly written, and the presentation of history happening to real people in real time comes vividly to life. An intriguing look at a less frequently encountered piece of history. (historical note) (Historical fiction. 8-12) Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.

Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.

Chapter One: Liv, Present Day Chapter One LIV, PRESENT DAY I'm in my bedroom, doing my homework, when the police car turns onto our road. Instinctively, I pick up my phone and type a message to Karly. I hit send and go back to the window. My phone pings a minute later. I open it and read Karly's reply. Is it the creepy guy at number fifty-four who we always thought turned hedgehogs into wigs? I smile. Karly always knows how to make me laugh. My phone pings again. Or maybe Gladys at sixty-two has finally been done for crimes against fashion. I'm about to reply when a third text pings through. Not that Miss Dressed-by-Dad knows anything about fashion. This last one is followed by a row of laughing emojis. It feels like she's reached right out of the phone and slapped me. But I tell myself not to be silly. Karly and I have been best friends forever. Since we first sat next to each other in Year Three. She's always been the one with the loud personality. I've always been happy to let her be in charge. I've never really cared what we do; as long as we do it together, it's always fun. At least, it was always fun. Not so much recently. It changed when we started Year Eight last month and were put in different sets for some of our classes. Karly got in with a new group of girls and hasn't had as much time for me lately. We still walk to school together and hang out on the weekends sometimes, and to be honest I'm happy with that. Well, I'm not happy , but there's very little I can do about it if that's what she wants. I'd never say anything to her about it in case she ended up dropping me completely. So I know her text is just a joke. She has a sharp sense of humor. And if I'm occasionally on the receiving end of it then I guess I have to put up with it. It's just how she is. The Dressed-by-Dad thing stings a bit, though. Karly's parents are divorced and she bounces between them on weekends and on the holidays. We used to have loads of sleepovers and she'd always want to have them at my house rather than hers. Mum's a regional manager for a big charity and is always out on the road. Dad's an artist. He has a studio in the garden and I suppose he's what you'd call a stay-at-home dad. Karly's always said how lucky I am to have them both, and how much fun my dad is. But she's been making fun of my clothes ever since she bumped into me and Dad out shopping. She was with one of her new friends--Sal--and I can only assume this new name has something to do with her. Anyway. I'm not going to get upset about it. I send a few laughing faces in reply, so she knows I'm cool with her teasing me. Then I put my phone down. Leaning against the wall, I look out the window again. The police car is already halfway down the road, moving slowly as if the driver is looking for the right house, checking the numbers on the gates as they pass. It slows even more before finally coming to a stop. Outside our house. I move closer to the window, keeping out of sight behind the curtain. Two police officers are helping someone get out of the back of the car. It's Bubbe. My grandmother. She's wearing a dressing gown. You've got to be kidding me. As they walk up the drive, I huddle deeper into the cover of the curtain and feel a weird kind of relief that Karly isn't here to witness this. My cheeks heat up at the thought of her seeing the disheveled old woman shuffling up our driveway in her slippers. She'd never let me forget it. The stories she'd tell her new friends. The laughter. The doorbell rings. I creep out of my bedroom and listen from the landing as Dad goes to the door. I don't hear everything, just snatches of the conversation. "... neighbor saw her outside the house..." "... seemed distressed..." "... said she'd only gone to put the milk bottles out, and the door locked behind her..." "... gave us this address. Said you've got a spare key..." I lean over the banister to hear more clearly. "I'm so sorry to have put you to this trouble," Dad is saying. "She's my mother. We'll look after her. I'll take her home shortly." "Mum," Dad says softly, after the police have gone. "Why didn't you just phone me as we'd agreed?" "I couldn't," Bubbe replies sharply. "I left my phone in the house." There's a pause, and I hold my breath in the silence. Then Dad says, "It's in your bag, Mum." "Which bag?" Bubbe snaps. "The one round your neck. The one I bought you so you'd always know where your phone was, remember?" Bubbe mumbles something under her breath. I've heard enough. I slink back into my room and hope Dad doesn't call me down and make me talk to her. It's not that I dislike Bubbe. I just have literally nothing in common with her. There's about eighty years between us so I think I can be forgiven for that. It was different when Pop was alive. Pop was my grandad. We'd go round to their house every Friday night for Shabbat dinner. Bubbe was mostly in the kitchen, cooking with Mum. Her roast chicken was mouthwateringly delicious, and she always made a chocolate cake that was the high point of my week. Bubbe always said the cake had a special ingredient. She'd never tell me what it was. "Family secret," she'd say, tapping her nose with a finger. Sometimes I think her whole life is a family secret. Even back then, she wouldn't talk about herself much. Dad says it's because she had a difficult childhood. When I ask him why it was difficult, he shrugs. "She's never talked about it," he'll say. "It's off-limits, and I respect that." All I know is that everything seems to be off-limits when it comes to Bubbe. Her cake recipes, her childhood. No wonder we've never been close. Pop was the one who greeted us with a smile that felt like he'd switched the lights on. We'd play rummy while we waited for dinner, and afterward he'd show me card tricks. He taught me how to do a few of them. He didn't mind sharing his secrets. Warm and open, that was Pop. The opposite of Bubbe. She's brittle, like a sharp frost. Especially with me. It's as if there's always been an invisible door between us, and I've never known how to open it. To be honest, I've never tried all that hard. Pop died three years ago, just before my tenth birthday. Friday night dinners were never the same. Without Pop to light the place up, everything in their house merged into a dull gray. Including Bubbe. She stopped making chocolate cakes, and then she stopped making Friday night dinners at all. It felt like she was done with us, with life. She'd had her son--my dad--pretty late in life. She and Pop were both in their forties. She used to say he was their miracle child. My mum would roll her eyes when they said that. "It'd be a miracle if he remembered our wedding anniversary one year," she'd say, and we'd all laugh. It feels weird to think of there being laughter in that house. Now there's only dim lights, hushed voices, and memories that barely feel real. We started inviting Bubbe to our place on Friday nights instead after Pop died, but after a while she stopped coming. She retreated even further behind the invisible door and locked it behind her. Then I began secondary school and, as my world grew bigger, I guess Bubbe's grew smaller. And now she's here, shuffling around our house, and all I can think is: Please take her home soon . Excerpted from Code Name Kingfisher by Liz Kessler 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.