Elizabeth Wein’s Code Name Verity was among the best of last year’s young adult fiction, and this audio version does it justice. Here is the intimate story of two young women — unlikely best friends — in WWII: one is a British spy in a Nazi prison; the other is a pilot. One has a chance; the other is doomed. But which is which? Wein’s intricately plotted thriller receives a fine audio treatment, one that heightens the book’s considerable emotion and suspense. The contrast between the refined aristocratic accents of one of the women and the working-class accents of the other, through the use of two different narrators, Morven Christie and Lucy Gaskell, helps listeners follow the book’s intricate (but ultimately oh-so-rewarding) plot. (Bolinda Audio/Brilliance Audio, 14–17 years)

In another thriller, Michael Grant and Katherine Applegate’s futuristic sci-fi Eve & Adam, two genetically modified teens come together to fight the growing amorality of the biotech firm their parents founded years ago. Chapters alternate between the perspectives of Evening, daughter of the powerful and feared mogul Terra Spiker, and Solo, an orphan living at Spiker Biotech. Narrators Jenna Lamia and Holter Graham respectively read these parts, with Graham also taking on the role of Adam, Eve’s “perfect man,” whom she creates believing that her genetic engineering is only a computer simulation. The narrators handle all the intrigue, action, and philosophical issues raised as the teens take on the evil scientists and reshape a love triangle into a square. (Macmillan Audio, 14–17 years)

Sarah Drew excels in her narration of Pandemonium, the second book in Lauren Oliver’s dystopian trilogy, set in a society where love is a (surgically) preventable disease and those infected are exiled, imprisoned, or worse. Pandemonium opens where the first book, Delirium, left off, in the days immediately following Lena’s escape into the Wilds; the narrative then shifts back and forth between this early period and a present-day that sees her joining the Resistance in New York. Spoken chapter headers differentiate each shift in time and help immensely with listeners’ comprehension. Lena’s narrative crackles with passion and urgency, perfectly befitting a protagonist who realizes early on that if she wants to be a lover, she’ll have to be a fighter, too. (Listening Library, 14–17 years)

Garth Nix’s sci-fi coming-of-age adventure A Confusion of Princes balances highly inventive world-building with a true understanding of the adolescent male mindset. Khemri, raised as a Prince of the Empire, has a rude awakening when he realizes that in order to become Emperor he must enter a brutal and perilous contest with a host of other equally overconfident and entitled Princes. Then he realizes that if he wins the contest, he must sacrifice his humanity. Narrator Michael Goldstrom imbues Khemri with just the right combination of hubris, heart, and naiveté as he survives the treacherous attacks of other Princes, fights off pirates, engages in space battles, falls in love, and ultimately outwits the Empire. Cinematic, action-packed, and quite profound, A Confusion of Princes is a movie waiting to happen, but until then, this well-produced audio version will keep listeners engaged until the final, surprising twist. (Listening Library, 14–17 years)

From the May 2013 issue of Notes from the Horn Book.

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The White Bicycle (published in November 2012 by Canada’s Red Deer Press) is the final book in Beverley Brenna’s trilogy centered on Taylor Simon, a teenager from Saskatchewan with Asperger’s syndrome. Here she’s nineteen and in the south of France, babysitting for a boy with cerebral palsy, forming some unlikely friendships, coping with her controlling mother, and working toward independence. Taylor — her voice, her personality — has a lot in common with Christopher in Mark Haddon’s Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time and Ted in Siobhan Dowd’s London Eye Mystery: distinctive, honest, unemotional yet deeply moving, and even (inadvertently) funny.

But note that Taylor is a female character with Asperger’s — and that alone would probably be enough to take note of this book. There aren’t that many. And yet this book is much less about living with Asperger’s and much more about living, period. It’s a coming-of-age novel, not an Asperger’s novel; it’s a novel about Taylor, not a novel about a girl with Asperger’s. (I trust I’ve hammered home that point thoroughly enough.)

Take nineteen-year-old Taylor’s friendship with ninety-five-year-old Adelaide. Taylor has Asperger’s; Adelaide has dementia. Yet their friendship is true, rewarding for them both, and, for the reader, poignant to the max. And on the admiring-the-writing side, the scenes between the two of them are as carefully and intricately choreographed as a dance.

Take Taylor’s insights into life. I’d call it wisdom, but that makes the novel seem too weighty. “I decide not to think about my trip to Cassis just now. Sometimes, it’s better to not think about things all of the time when you can think about them only some of the time and be calmer.” “It is common for very old people to die. Her daughter said that it was to be expected. But I did not expect it.”

Brenna’s ability to let readers see the world through Taylor’s eyes is extraordinary.

And Taylor herself is an extraordinary character.  I hope readers find this book. Meanwhile, I’ll be looking to read the first two books in the Wild Orchid trilogy. Thanks again, Printz committee.

Read the Horn Book’s reviews of this year’s other Printz picks here.

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Brett Helquist’s Grumpy Goat makes Sunny Acres farm an unpleasant place to live. But then he comes across a little yellow flower in a field. As he begins caring for it, the other animals discover that Goat’s nature is sweetening. The story, initially a humorous one, evolves into a tale about the power of caring for others. Luscious acrylic and oil paintings convey both the shifting moods of the animals and a gorgeous landscape. (2–4 years, Harper/HarperCollins)

In Janet Morgan Stoeke’s The Loopy Coop Hens: Letting Go, the three hen friends of Loopy Coop Farm are sitting under an apple tree, minding their own business, when apples start to rain down upon them. Who is throwing them? Could it be a fox? The brave hens decide to investigate, climbing up a ladder to the top of the tree and discovering…gravity! With a minimum of words, Stoeke manages to invest her characters with a maximum of personality and her story with energy and humor; vivid illustrations focus readers’ attention on the action. (3–5 years, Dial)

When Mama Duck takes her ducklings for a walk in Eva Moore’s Lucky Ducklings (based on a true incident), she passes easily over the grate of a storm sewer, but one by one each of the five ducklings trailing behind her fall through. Three firefighters and a bystander with a pickup truck and cable work together to rescue the ducklings. Nancy Carpenter’s realistic charcoal illustrations show the drama as it unfolds from many different perspectives, including that of the ducklings in the storm sewer. Expert use of pattern and repetition is nicely echoed in individual illustrated vignettes. A good choice for reading aloud. (3–5 years, Orchard/Scholastic)

Edward Gibbs’s innovative “I Spy” book, I Spy on the Farm, has extra-tough boards and binding, and the corners are rounded, enticing preschoolers to reach out for it and experiment. Preschoolers first glimpse a farm animal through a die-cut hole on the right along with three simple clues to its identity; turn the page, and they see the revealed animal, whole. Gibbs’s expertly rendered digital art combines scribbly, brightly colored animals with more subdued backgrounds in clean cutout shapes, providing an energetic payoff when the animal is revealed. (2–4 years, Templar/Candlewick)

From the February 2013 issue of Notes from the Horn Book.

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Building — whether with blocks or sand or sticks or boxes — is one of childhood’s most entertaining forms of play. In Dreaming Up: A Celebration of Building by Christy Hale, fifteen such play building projects are deftly rendered in mixed-media collage and paired with simple concrete poems and photos of iconic buildings. A toddler’s upside-down stack of graduated plastic rings resembles Frank Lloyd Wright’s Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum; a pillow fort mimics Frank Gehry’s Guggenheim Museum Bilbao. Lots of books show children how to play; this one suggests that “dreaming up” what to do with available materials is vital to creativity. (3–7 years, Lee & Low)

Roxie Munro’s Busy Builders profiles eight insects and one spider that make their own structures. Each is introduced by name with a close-up illustration and the question, “Where does it live?” Turn the page, and the answer is revealed, showing the creature industriously building and maintaining its home. Detailed explanations on the construction techniques and purposes of the structures are interwoven with facts about each species. Bold use of perspective will grab readers’ attentions: on one page zooming in at eye-level next to an ant or wasp; on the next page backing out to feature geometric details of their nests and hives. (5–8 years, Marshall Cavendish)

David Macaulay brings his signature brand of illustrated expository nonfiction to a younger audience in his new series of early readers. In Castle: How It Works, Macaulay (with Sheila Keenan) takes readers on a tour of a fictional castle, inviting them to envision themselves in the action. From drawbridge to outer curtain to battlement to inner ward, Castle abounds with detail and with Macaulay’s mischievous wit, as in the following advice about additional uses for a catapult: “You can also fire smelly, germy dead animals. Fire! Whoosh! Pigs away!” (5–8 years, David Macaulay Studio/Square Fish/Roaring Brook)

“Swing the ball. Swing the ball. / Thump and smash and whack. / Bring the top floors tumbling down. / Bang! CLANG! CRACK!” Demolition follows a demolition crew as it tears down an old building, sorts scraps for recycling, and hauls the debris off to make room for a new construction project: a playground. Sally Sutton’s rhythmic text captures the excitement and energy of big trucks and powerful machinery, and Brian Lovelock’s illustrations put the equipment and vehicles center stage, where young fans will want them. This is as good as it gets for truck-obsessed preschoolers. (3–7 years, Candlewick)

From the January 2013 issue of Notes from the Horn Book.

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If this sounds like the opening of one of those annual roundup letters tucked inside holiday cards, it kind of is. We’ve got a lot to celebrate at the Horn Book — much of it reflected in this issue, and beyond.

The Boston Globe–Horn Book Awards were presented in late September, on a gala Friday night event that was followed by a one-day colloquium featuring most of the honored authors and illustrators — a double whammy of a celebration. Formal acceptance speeches on Friday were expanded and deepened during Saturday’s informal panel conversations, breakout sessions, visual presentations, and art demonstrations. Our BGHB coverage here in the magazine tries to capture the energy of the weekend with a selection of excerpts from speeches, photos, and judges’ commentaries. In a break from tradition, we have not reprinted the complete texts of the winners’ acceptance speeches in the issue — but here’s where we get to the next thing the Horn Book is excited about: our online content.

You may have noticed a surge in original material published on the increasingly dynamic hbook.com, from the interactive Horn Book KidLit Election coverage on our Out of the Box blog to the remarkable articles marking Picture Book Month in November, including Crescent Dragonwagon’s moving tribute to her mother Charlotte Zolotow (“Over and Over”). This month, the website doesn’t merely support the magazine; it’s an equal partner. Want to read the BGHB winners’ acceptance speeches in full? They’re available on the site—along with video of all of the speeches. I strongly urge you to visit: you won’t want to miss, for instance, picture book award winners Mac Barnett and Jon Klassen’s very funny stories (Mac’s is about a first date gone sadly wrong, while Jon’s is about a conversation with his mother — but they both fundamentally concern the state of the picture book); or the direct line fiction winner Vaunda Micheaux Nelson draws from her great-uncle’s Harlem bookstore to her parents’ love of reading to her own career as a writer. (Illustrator Klassen also contributes our cozy magazine cover — thanks, Jon.)

The print/online link continues with the first of Kathleen T. Horning’s series of columns recognizing seventy-five years of the Caldecott Medal. In the coming 2013 Horn Book magazines, scholar-librarian Horning will examine one winning book per decade, focusing each time on a title that spotlights the developing identity of the American picture book. Her inaugural column appears in this issue, beginning with the 1930s and Thomas Handforth’s now nearly forgotten Mei Li. In print, Horning focuses on how Mei Li helped the nascent children’s book field answer the question, “What is a picture book?” Online, you will find her fascinating research into the background of author-illustrator Handforth, the China he discovered on his world travels, and the real little girl who became the inspiration for the character Mei Li. Again, you won’t want to miss it.

Finally, both in print and online we celebrate our choices for the best children’s and young adult books of 2012. There is a distinct lack on our “Fanfare” list of the generic and imitative; or, as Mal Peet put it in his acceptance speech for the BGHB–honored Life: An Exploded Diagram, the “literary equivalent of the McDonald’s Number One Combo.” No novels in which the kick-ass, snarky-witted, yet vulnerable heroine is so interchangeable she could be dropped into dozens of similar titles with nary a ripple. Nor any books in which the elaborately constructed fantasy world is really just an artifice to support the Harlequin-romance plot. (I could go on.) What you will find instead are twenty-seven individually excellent books — diverse in form and genre, character and setting, voice and intended reader — that remind us why our field is such a vibrant and rewarding one. Why we all work so hard creating, publishing, reviewing, promoting, teaching, selling, and sharing children’s books. Why we care so much — last year, this year, next year.

And that is perhaps the best reason to celebrate of all.

From the January/February issue of The Horn Book Magazine.

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Steve Sheinkin, author of the 2011 Boston Globe–Horn Book Nonfiction Award–winning The Notorious Benedict Arnold: A True Story of Adventure, Heroism, & Treachery (12–16 years, Flash Point/Roaring Brook), is fast emerging as one of the most compelling writers of narrative nonfiction for young readers today. His books, packed with action and drama, combine meticulous research with page-turning narration. Sheinkin’s latest — Bomb: The Race to Build — and Steal — the World’s Most Dangerous Weapon (12–16 years, Flash Point/Roaring Brook)— delves into Cold War history, science, politics — and spies.

1. We know of your longtime interest in Benedict Arnold — what drew you to the story of the first atomic bomb?

Steve Sheinkin: Unlike with Arnold, I wasn’t obsessed with this story for years before writing the book. What really hooked me was a Smithsonian magazine article about George Koval, a little-known Soviet spy in the Manhattan Project. I dove into Koval’s story, even getting a digital copy of his FBI file. Turns out they suspected him of spying, and investigated him in the 1950s, but he’d already slipped back behind the Iron Curtain. Fascinating stuff, though I couldn’t find out enough to make a book of it. I’d hit a dead end, but a lucky one, because the search had led me to Ted Hall and the other spy stories from Los Alamos, and that became the basis for Bomb.

2. Your approach in Bomb is unusual — you start with the micro and move to the macro. Why did you decide to look at your subject this way?

SS: A teacher in film class once told us to try shooting a scene “from specific to general,” meaning show something eye-catching first and then, gradually, pull back to let viewers know what’s going on. It’s a common technique, but the teacher’s description really helped me visualize it. I turned out not to be very good at making movies, but some of what I learned about structuring scenes and transitioning between them is applicable in my writing life. When I do school visits, kids are not shy about telling me they think history is boring — which is a total lie! That’s why I like to begin some sections with action or interesting scenes that draw them in.

3. You keep a multitude of characters and their stories up in the air, so to speak. How did you accomplish this juggling feat?

SS: That’s a good analogy. Writing this book did feel like juggling, which I can’t actually do. My secret: index cards. I realize that’s very twentieth century, but it works for me. When I know everything I want to happen in a book, I break the story into little pieces and write one piece on each card. Then I can arrange and rearrange the cards, kind of like puzzle pieces, until it all flows.

4. Bomb has been described as a “nonfiction thriller.” How do you create the feel of fiction without crossing the line into making stuff up?

SS: I was well trained in my many years in the textbook world, where I learned to obsessively back up every quote and fact. With books like Bomb, I try to track down several sources for each event, hoping to find tiny details that can help make things more compelling and visual. Sometimes you get lucky — like the scene with the Hungarian physicists Leo Szilard and Eugene Wigner searching for Einstein on Long Island. In that case, both Szilard and Wigner wrote their own versions of what happened. More often you end up wishing you knew more — I’d pay big money to listen in on one of the Los Alamos dorm room conversations between Klaus Fuchs and Richard Feynman! Either way, I put quote sources in the back of the book, but not sources for each fact — standard procedure for narrative nonfiction. If anyone wants to know where I got something, they’re more than welcome to email me.

5. How emotionally involved did you become in the story? For instance, I’m still amazed that Klaus Fuchs and Ted Hall, the two scientists who literally handed the Russians the full design of the atom bomb, got off pretty much scot-free while Robert Oppenheimer was rewarded with the destruction of his reputation.

SS: I think the Ted Hall story — the existence of this eighteen-year-old spy at Los Alamos — was the most stunning to me, and it’s one kids seem particularly intrigued by. And, yes, I did find myself becoming emotionally involved, especially with Oppenheimer. Some biographers describe him as self-destructive, and he did do some foolish things, but I agree that the U.S. government kind of screwed him over. He was such a complex, confusing character.  I think that if Shakespeare could choose to write a historical play about just one American, he’d pick Oppenheimer.

From the November 2012 issue of Notes from the Horn Book.

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Louise Erdrich’s new book, Chickadee (HarperCollins, 8–12 years), takes place in 1866, a generation after the first three books in her Birchbark House series. Omakayas is now the mother of twin eight-year-old boys, Chickadee and Makoons, but she and her extended Ojibwe family are still living in the Northern Forest and following their traditional, nomadic way of life. All this changes when Chickadee is kidnapped and the family must follow him out of the woods and onto the Great Plains. Chickadee portrays a watershed moment in Native history—at the same time, it’s also a riveting, child-centered adventure story.

1. Why did you decide to move forward a generation? And was there a conscious parallel with Laura Ingalls Wilder’s Little Town on the Prairie?

Louise Erdrich: When I began writing the books I knew I wanted to keep my heroes middle-grade-aged, and also to continue with Omakayas’s life. The way to do this was to skip forward every three books or so. That is why we see Omakayas as a mother for the first time, and become immediately involved with her twin sons. The migration across Minnesota into the Dakotas, and the warmth of family life, is something that these books have in common with the Little House series. I am happy that they are being read together, as the Native experience of early western settlement is so often missing in middle-grade history classes.

2. After he is kidnapped, Chickadee is out in the world having adventures while his twin is left behind. Will Makoons get a story of his own?

LE: The next book, a twin to Chickadee, is titled Makoons. That book is going to be very personal for me because for the first time I will be writing from the living memory of my relatives. I was fortunate enough as a child to remember my great-grandfather, The Kingfisher, who lived into his nineties and had been part of some of the last buffalo hunts along the Milk River in Montana. So what I will be describing has incredible resonance for me.

3. One of my favorite things about Chickadee is your depiction of the two kidnappers. They start out so realistically menacing and then morph into almost folkloric characters—none-too-bright, buffoonish giants. How did their portrayal evolve?

LE: How did the two brothers evolve? I couldn’t help it. Every book needs some comic relief!

4. Is the mosquito attack on the oxcart train based on an actual occurrence? How about the infestation of baby snakes where Uncle Quill is sleeping?

LE: Both incidents are based entirely on fact. The ravenous clouds of mosquitoes are described in many accounts of the Red River Oxcart Trails, and (although I am thankful never to have experienced one) by all reports the attacks were exactly as terrifying as I’ve written them. Mosquitoes and their larvae are sort of the plankton of the bird, bat, and insect world. They feed on mammals, but in turn they support blue swallows, black swifts, green dragonflies, and countless other creatures. As for the snakes, they are a very traditional and chummy creature. They have nests in places where they return every year. I have friends whose house is built on one of these snake nests, and they see snakes every single day.

5. Have you ever tasted bouyah? It sounds awful!

LE: Bouyah is described in many trappers’ journals and historical accounts as being pretty bad. I have eaten it (upscale ingredients—no hair, no mice) as a sort of meaty potato stew, and it’s very tasty! Our clumsy kidnapping brothers were unquestionably bad cooks.

From the September 2012 issue of Notes from the Horn Book.

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Hyewon Yum’s Mom, It’s My First Day of Kindergarten! turns the usual first-day-of-school anxiety story on its head. Breezy illustrations depict a confident young boy and his worried-looking mother. He’s eager to go to school (“I have my crayons and markers…I’m all set!”), but Mom is less sure. Youngsters will giggle when she asks, “Will you be okay…you’re still so little?” — the illustration shows a big, robust boy and his tiny mom, feet dangling as he pulls her behind him. Kids will get right away that the roles are reversed — and that this is mightily amusing. (Foster/Farrar, 4–6 years)

Zog, star of Julia Donaldson’s A Gold Star for Zog, may be in dragon school, but it feels more like the School of Hard Knocks when he crashes into a tree during flying practice. Fortunately, a girl in the field where he lands offers him a Band-Aid. As the years go by, she faithfully helps out — and finally gives him the most useful gift of all: she reveals that she’s royalty just as Zog fears he’s about to fail his capture-a-princess test. Illustrated by Axel Scheffler, a multicolored, endearingly homely cast of cartoon dragons attends class in the woodland setting, where none of the other critters seem remotely afraid of the fire-breathers in their midst. (Levine/Scholastic, 4–6 years)

In Oh No! Not Again!: (Or How I Built a Time Machine to Save History) (Or at Least My History Grade), author Mac Barnett and illustrator Dan Santat reunite with a companion to Oh No! (Or How My Science Project Destroyed the World). After missing a question on her history test, our bespectacled heroine builds a time machine that brings her back to 33,000 BCE. While she is changing history by painting caves in Belgium, two cave dudes steal the machine and do a little history-changing of their own. Bright digital illustrations with lots of graphic elements play up the considerable humor, and many light touches will allow young readers in on the joke. (Disney-Hyperion, 5–8 years)

What will the next school year be like? Who will be in my class? Will I like my new teacher? In Pearl and Wagner: Five Days Till Summer author Kate McMullan perfectly captures such common insecurities when Pearl gets a glimpse of her future teacher, Ms. Bean, and imagines the worst. (Fortunately, her fears turn out to be unfounded.) R. W. Alley’s engaging illustrations capture the myriad expressions on all the characters’ faces, and McMullan’s text begins to bridge that territory between easy readers and chapter books. (Penguin, 5–8 years)

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In Erin E. Moulton’s Tracing Stars, what begins as a typical last day of school for fifth-grader Indie Lee Chickory ends with a high-speed chase through her sleepy coastal town and the disappearance into the sea of her best friend (and pet), a rare golden lobster named The Lobster Monty Cola. Indie enlists the help of oddball new kid Owen, and the two hatch a plan to trap Monty. Moulton’s sensitivity to her characters’ emotions extends this quiet tale’s mood and setting. (8–11 years)

Sixth grade is almost over, and Charlie’s parents haven’t revealed the family’s summer plans yet. What great adventure is in store? Money is tight this year, so in Marie-Louise Gay and David Homel’s Summer in the City (the sequel to Travels with My Family and On the Road Again!), Charlie and his little brother Max will have a “stay-cation” in their hometown of Montreal. The summer begins relatively tamely—walking dogs, camping out in the backyard—but it quickly and humorously escalates. Energy and enthusiasm abound, and Gay’s black-and-white illustrations add visual appeal. (8–11 years)

Sara Pennypacker, acclaimed for her Clementine novels for younger readers, moves into middle-grade territory with Summer of the Gypsy Moths. Stella is living temporarily with her great-aunt Louise on Cape Cod (her mother has taken off—again); so is foster kid Angel. When Louise dies suddenly, the authorities-averse girls decide to hide the death—which means tons of subterfuge. The girls keep it up long enough to figure out what constitutes a home, and a family. Stella and Angel can be both irritating and endearing, and readers will cheer them on to the satisfying ending. (8–11 years)

In Three Times Lucky, Sheila Turnage places her unconventional characters—the inhabitants of Tupelo Landing, North Carolina—within a strong, well-plotted summertime story. Mo LoBeau, twelve, washed up during a hurricane when she was just a baby and was informally adopted by the Colonel and Miss Lana; now the three happily run the town’s popular café. Then a stranger comes to town, investigating a murder, and the book becomes a dandy mystery. Humor sweetens the mix; Mo’s colloquial narration will pull readers in, and the sustained tension will keep them engrossed. (8–11 years)

From the July 2012 issue of Notes from the Horn Book. For bibliographic information please click here.

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So when the audiobook of Maureen Johnson’s The Name of the Star (Brilliance Audio, 2011) arrived in the office, I squeed (or rather I would have squeed if I were a squeeing kind of person, or if I even used the word squee). The Name of the Star was a book I read and loved and gave to teens and talked up all last year.  If you haven’t read it, it’s an inventive, original, constantly surprising novel in which the narrator, 17-year-old Rory, arrives from Louisiana to attend boarding school in London, where someone is re-creating the Jack the Ripper murders, and only she is able to see the killer. It’s got suspense, humor, paranormal appeal, depth of characterization, and romance. (Bucking the tired but apparently inexhaustible paranormal trend, the object of Rory’s affections here is not the ghost but a fellow, human student. Thank you, Ms. Johnson.)

As a bona fide addict, I know that there are a few possible scenarios when listening to a book I’ve loved in print. One, the production will be so superior that it will surpass the print version: the narrator is so skilled, or so perfectly matched to the material, that I will forevermore associate that voice with that book. Two, the production will be competent enough that it neither enhances nor detracts from the print book. Three—and I really hate it when this happens—the production of a terrific book will be flawed, to the degree that I have to stop listening lest it ruin the print version for me.

Here’s the fatal flaw in the Brilliance Audio version of Name of the Star: narrator Nicola Barber gives Rory a straightforward, uninflected accent when she’s reading Rory’s first-person narration, but she gives Rory a heavy Southern drawl whenever Rory has actual dialogue. In both cases it’s supposed to be Rory talking, but she has two very different voices.

How does this happen? Does the narrator make this decision spontaneously? Does the producer or director decide? Is there a chain of command where people sign off on such a ludicrous idea? If so, how would they justify it? “Rory’s from Louisiana, so she has to have a Southern accent, but we can’t have her narrating the whole book that way, so we’ll just have her drawl in the dialogue”? I don’t know. I do know that I just hate it when I’m recommending a terrific book to a parent or a child, and I have to actively warn them away from the audiobook version.  This is not something that sits well with an addict such as myself. It feels like a betrayal. But it feels like an equal betrayal on the part of the audiobook producers to release such a misguided production of such a good book.

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