The Cover-Up

When you’re a kid, there comes that time when you’ve covered up something that you thought could have dire consequences, only to discover that it would have saved so much time and energy if you’d just told the truth. Nearly 12-year-old Stella makes this discovery the hard way (is there any other way?) in Summer of the Gypsy Moths by Sara Pennypacker.

By the end of chapter two, Stella’s great-aunt Louise has died. Stella comes home from school to find Louise dead in front of the television set. Stella and Angel, the other girl Louise has taken in, decide they’d better hide the fact or risk becoming wards of the state. Their plan to dig a hole in the backyard for Louise’s body, and to say that the woman broke her ankle works even better and for longer than they want it to. Much of the book’s humor stems from their nearly 12-year-old thinking and how they pull off assuming Louise’s duties managing the summer rental cottages next door. Self-reliance and resourcefulness are their greatest assets and also their Achilles’ heel.

Both girls have had to grow up more quickly than most their age—Stella because of her mother’s frequent disappearances, and Angel because her parents both passed away. So their matter-of-fact handling of Louise’s death comes across credibly, and the comic moments increase as they get more deeply invested in their cover-up. They also come to appreciate each other’s strengths: Angel’s a better liar (which helps them carry off their masquerade), and Stella is a better cleaner (which helps convince owner George Nickerson that Louise is still following through on her duties).

All the while, Sara Pennypacker envelops us in the warmth of the Cape Cod sun, the smell of the sea, and the rhythms of the renters coming and going. The humor and authentic dialogue contribute to a great read-aloud experience, but Pennypacker also gently raises questions of when is it okay to tackle things on your own, and when is it time to ask for help? Is it ever okay to lie? What is a true friend? Pennypacker never makes the children seem at risk—what the children fear could happen is far worse than what does happen. At the same time, the author creates living, breathing girls whom we care about and whose fates matter to us. Each lives with sadness, but the girls don’t dwell on that. They forge ahead, often with humor and a determination to solve whatever challenge lies ahead.

Strong Mothers

The mother in Little Bear’s Little Boat by Eve Bunting, illustrated by Nancy Carpenter serves as a model of how to instill confidence in her cub. We see Little Bear out in his boat for hours at a time. His mother “calls him in for bed” and he ties up his boat for the night. We see that he’s responsible, and that his mother knows he’s responsible. So she gives him a lot of freedoms. Yet we also sense that she’s always near.

A few pages later, when she sees that Little Bear has outgrown his boat, she affirms his perceptions and offers her knowledge at just the right time: “It is a little bear’s destiny to grow and grow till he is a big bear. It is a little boat’s destiny to stay the same size.” We see the sadness in the cub’s eyes and the comforting hug of his mother. We know that Little Bear listens because he repeats the same words a bit later, when he carries out his course of action.

With Mother’s Day approaching, I’ve been thinking a good deal about the mothers I admire in children’s literature. This book is a small gem. Unlike Peter’s Chair (a book I adore, don't get me wrong), in which Peter is (understandably) upset that his little sister gets his crib and beloved chair, and is still coming to terms with the fact that he must part with the things that no longer serve him, Little Bear sees for himself that he’s outgrown his beloved boat, and he decides what to do about it. His mother validates his feelings and gives him words to describe this rite of passage. But she also gives Little Bear room to take in his new place in the world and decide what he wants to do about it.