I feel a little sorry for books published in 2020 or 2021. The opportunities for publicity and recognition and even borrowing from libraries was, well, restricted, as were all things by the Big C. Dayna Lorentz’s middle grade novel about a boy and a coyote is worth a look, even when most reviewers have moved on to the new books of 2022.

Wayward Creatures is about two wayward creatures: twelve year old Gabe and a coyote named Rill. Gabe is entering seventh grade with a family distracted by economic problems and friends who spend all their time on competitive soccer and have no time for him. Gabe, trying desperately to impress his erstwhile friends, does something very stupid and destructive and ends up having to pay the consequences.

Rill, a somewhat anthropomorphized coyote, does something stupid, too. She leaves her pack–father mother, younger sisters and brothers–because she doesn’t feel appreciated. Gabe’s life and Rill’s intersect when Gabe is cleaning up the forest as a part of the restorative justice process. The book is steeped in the ideas of restorative justice, and there’s an author’s note at the end that explains what that is and how it works. Nevertheless, the ideas of animal control and habitat preservation and anger management and restorative justice, while they are a major part of the novel, never get in the way of the story, but rather become a natural part of the tale of one boy and one coyote.

I tend to still think that coyotes are mostly pests, but I’m at least willing now to give them the benefit of the doubt. And I think the ideas of restorative justice, which I first encountered in the writings of Chuck Colson, are certainly a much-needed tool that can be used to improve our criminal justice system and should be more widely implemented. That said, this book is a good story, not propaganda, and I did like the Gabe parts better than I liked the Rill the coyote parts of the book. My attitude towards coyotes may have worked itself up to tolerance: if they don’t bother me, I’ll try not to bother them.

In Honor of Broken Things by Paul Acampora.

A Song Called Home by Sara Zarr.

Both of these recently published middle grade realistic fiction books, set in the present day, are about children dealing with broken families and tragic circumstances and about forming new friendships in difficult times. In the book In Honor of Broken Things, Oscar, Ellie, and Noah become “accidental” friends when they end up in the same eighth grade pottery class together in the middle of the school year. Noah, a near genius, has been homeschooled all his life, but since his mom is no longer a dependable teacher, he’s ready for a change–public school. Ellie and her single mom just moved to the small Pennsylvania coal town of West Beacon from Philadelphia, and Ellie can’t get used to living in such a small place. Oscar is returning to school after a family tragedy, his sister’s death, and he’s expected to carry the school football team to victory in spite of his grief and confusion and loss.

A couple of unnecessarily didactic moments were intrusive enough to take me out of the story momentarily in In Honor of Broken Things. ( Apparently, the word “lunatic” is now considered “unkind, hurtful, and meaningless”, and therefore inappropriate even if applied to oneself. And not all Hispanic cultures and countries celebrate the same holidays (duh), so saying that Dia de los Muertos represents Spanish-speaking culture is grounds for an apology since the holiday isn’t really celebrated in the Dominican Republic.) But overall the story was readable and relatable. The author uses the technique of switching point of view from one chapter to the next, so we get to see the events of the story from three different points of view. I didn’t think the voices of the three main characters were different enough for me to distinguish, and I often had to look back to the beginning of the chapter to figure out who was speaking in this particular chapter. Nevertheless, I liked the metaphor of the delicate and sometimes broken and repaired pottery as it resembles relationships and friendships and even life itself. We are all a little broken, and we do need to help each other pick up the pieces when we fall and try again.

A Song Called Home was more problematic. I’ve read several of Sara Zarr’s young adult novels, and although I enjoyed some better than others, I thought overall that she was a pretty good writer. I believe that A Song Called Home is Ms. Zarr’s first middle grade novel, and it just didn’t work–for several reasons. Lou/Louisa/Belle/Lulu/Lu/El (yes, she goes through that many names, maybe a few more) is the main character in this book about a family dealing with change. Lou’s mom is getting remarried to Steve, and Lou and her older sister Casey are not happy. The family is moving from the city to Steve’s house in the suburbs, and Lou’s alcoholic dad who left them two years ago is also not happy about the new marriage, the move, and all the other changes that ensue.

I get it that all of the names are a picture of Lou trying to figure out who she is and who she is in relation to all of the people in her life. I just thought it was excessive. And there was a lot of crying, and talking about crying, and thinking about not crying, and almost crying, and hidden tears, and open tears—almost every other page someone is crying or trying not to cry. Again, I get it. They’re a family who has learned, especially Lou, to hide their emotions, to tread carefully, because of living with an explosive and unpredictable alcoholic dad. But really, edit it down a bit.

I thought it was lovely to read a book about a family that goes to church and prays. Lou spends time trying to figure out how to pray for her dad and how to understand her faith, and those parts of the book are natural and well written, obviously by someone who is familiar with evangelical Christian culture and thought. But suddenly about halfway through the book, a minor character, one of Lou’s new classmates, shows up with “their” own pronouns, “they” and “them”. And Lou is asked to choose her pronouns when she starts out in a new fifth grade classroom. Really? Do ten and eleven year olds have to choose genders and pronouns now? Is this a California thing? (The story takes place in and near San Francisco.)

I almost put the book down when the gender pronoun-choosing began, but I decided to finish. And the story does end well. But sneaking gender confusion propaganda into a middle grade fiction book is not O.K. And it all felt way too preachy and mostly sad to me. Lou says her favorite books are “sad books” (example: Where the Red Fern Grows). But there’s a difference between sad books and books that are preaching about how it’s OK to be sad. I prefer the former.