Billy Miller Makes a Wish

I raced through Kevin Henkes's new book yesterday, so these are just some first impressions.

This is a subversive masterpiece. It's about ordinary life. No dragons appear. No geopolitical crises take shape. The book is about a kid awaiting third grade, living in an ordinary town, somewhere in the middle zones of the middle class.

The book seems to be a response to Beverly Cleary; Henkes, who has been compared to the great master, seems to be talking with Ramona, and Willa Jean, and Mrs. Quimby. For example, as Ramona must care for the obnoxious Willa Jean, so Billy must care for his difficult little sister, Sal. As the later Ramona books are about a third child entering the family, so this new Billy book is about a third child entering the family.

Like Cleary, Henkes mixes "inner" moments with striking scenes. Billy makes a wish for something interesting to happen, then guiltily feels he may have willed his neighbor to die. (The neighbor was 93.) Billy gets bored when adults share their sentimental thoughts about childhood; Billy wants to be an adult, and he is in a hurry.

Miscommunications occur; a house starts on fire; a series of embarrassing letters fall into the wrong hands.

Henkes notes--with wonder--changes in the evening sky....and the strangeness of seeing a bat in your basement....and the little sounds a grocery-store "mist-machine" makes, just as it switches from "off" to "on."

I don't know if people have the ability to read, right now; life is so crappy for everyone in the pandemic. But this is a brisk, hopeful, smart book--and it might take you out of the present, even as the present continues to be a pain in the ass. It's that good.

Comments

How to Host a Baby

-You have assumed responsibility for a mewling, puking ball of life, a yellow-lab pup. He will spit his half-digested kibble all over your shoes, all over your hard-cover edition of Jennifer Haigh's novel Faith . He will eat your tables, your chairs, your "I {Heart] Montessori" magnet, placed too low on the fridge. When you try to watch Bette Davis in Hush Hush Sweet Charlotte , on your TV, your dog will bark through the murder-prologue, for no apparent reason. He will whimper through Lena Dunham's Girls , such that you have to rewind several times to catch every nuance of Andrew Rannells's ad-libbing--and, still, you'll have a nagging suspicion you've missed something. Your dog will poop on the kitchen floor, in the hallway, between the tiny bars of his crate. He'll announce his wakefulness at 5 AM, 2 AM, or while you and another human are mid-coitus. All this, and you get outside, and it's: "Don't let him pee on my tulips!" When...

Joshie

When I was growing up, a class birthday involved Hostess cupcakes. Often, the cupcakes would come in a shoebox, so you could taste a leathery residue (during the party). Times change. You can't bring a treat into a public school, in 2024, because heaven knows what kind of allergies might lurk, in unseen corners, in the classroom. But Joshua's teacher will allow: a dance party, a pajama day, or a guest reader. I chose to bring a story for Joshua's birthday (observed), but I didn't think through the role that anxiety might play in this interaction. We talk, in this house, quite a bit about anxiety; one game-changer, for J, has been a daily list of activities, so that he knows exactly what to expect. He gets a look of profound satisfaction when he sees the agenda; it doesn't really matter what the specific events happen to be. It's just about knowing, "I can anticipate X, Y, and Z." Joshua struggled with his celebration. He wore his nervousness on his f...

Josh at Five

Joshie's project is "flexibility"; the goal is to see that a plan is just an idea, not a gospel, not a guarantee. This is difficult. Yesterday, we went to a restaurant--billed as "open," with unlocked doors--and the owner informed us of an "error in advertising." But Joshie couldn't accept the word "closed." He threw himself on the floor, then climbed on the furniture. I felt for the owner, until he nervously made a reference to "the glass windows." He imagined that my child might toss himself through a sealed window, like Mary Katherine Gallagher, or like Bruce Willis, in "Die Hard." Then--thank the Lord!--I was able to laugh. The thing that really has therapeutic value for Joshie is: a firetruck. If we are out in public, and he spots a parked truck, he wants to climb on each surface. He breathlessly alludes to the wheels, the door, the windows. If an actual fire station ("fire ocean," in Joshie's parla...

Liars and Saints

Search This Blog