Would you adopt this dog?

This one made me laugh out loud. William Dufris' dog characters in A Dog on his Own are pretty darn hilarious. Trust me ... he sounds like that face. Mary Jane Auch's deeply satisfying animal story (and I know I've said that I'm a pile of sentimental goo when reading these) works extremely well as an audiobook. The cover dog is K-10, six-time veteran of the animal shelter. He still thinks he's pretty charming and cute, but his days as a go-home-on-the-first-day dog are behind him. That's OK; K-10 -- so named by his mother who said he was a cut above the other dogs -- doesn't really want a forever home: humans have given him up time and time again and he is having none of them anymore. But he's got to get out before he gets the permanent thumbs down.

K-10 plots his escape from the shelter with the dog in the neighboring cage, Pearl, a sarcastic lab mix; but when the time comes for their big break, they end up dragging along Pepe (Peppy?), a typically excitable Chihuahua. Pearl soon goes her own way, and then K-10 sees that Pepe makes it back to his owner (none too bright, Pepe ran away by mistake). On his own, as the title says, K-10 gets caught up with the town's truly bad dogs -- Doberman Adolf and Rottweiler Rotter. Pearl rescues him and loosens up enough to tell her own story. She believes in happy endings, and it's her friendship that helps K-10 believe in them too.

Dufris has an enjoyable time here. His high, squeaky voice hits just the right notes of doggy enthusiasm and cockiness as K-10 tells his story. He skillfully creates a number of the other character dogs as well: Pearl has a seen-it-all ennui to her voice, Pepe is eager and hyperactive without the icky stereotypically Mexican accent, Adolf is a deep-voiced German who sounds like he came from a World War II movie, and Rotter is a mobster straight from The Sopranos. When the animal shelter brings out its box of puppies, Dufris produces five or six yippy bits of dialog that are truly doggy. (That's when I first laughed.) All his voices are consistent throughout this brief novel. He practically could have done the whole thing without the "s/he saids."

As is always the case with Full Cast Audio productions, the music here is an intrinsic part of the audiobook. It's fresh and appropriate. This is new imprint from Full Cast, called One Voice. I think this must be its first publication, and it makes a fine addition to the catalog.

Lab rat

I don't know how long it takes to publish a book (and I once worked in publishing). I'm wondering 'cause did the concept of The Maze Runner arise before The Hunger Games was published, or is the former sending the latter some flattery? It does bear a bit of a resemblance plot-wise, but alas -- for me -- it wasn't the same reading experience at all.

In James Dashner's novel, Thomas wakes up in a place he's never seen before, with no recollection of anything from his previous life. He soon learns that he is in the Glade -- the center of a huge enclosed Maze. He is the latest arrival in a group of about 50 teenaged boys. Every month for two years, one boy has arrived the same way Thomas has -- asleep and with no memories. The Gladers have systematically designed their society -- there's a respected, hierarchal power structure; and they grow their own food, build the structures they need, and try to completely map the Maze. Unfortunately, the Maze changes every night; so far, they've been unsuccessful in solving it. A Glader doesn't want to be caught out in the Maze at night: it is patrolled by deadly technologically enhanced creatures the boys have dubbed Grievers.

Thomas has a nagging feeling that he knows more about the Glade and the Maze than he should, but he can't put his finger on it and doesn't share these feelings with the other boys. The Gladers, however, are quick to realize that he is somehow different. The day after Thomas's appearance, the alarm sounds indicating that the box in which each new boy has appeared is bringing a new arrival. This arrival is way too soon. And when the Gladers open the box, not only is it 29 days early, but the arrival is a girl. She briefly emerges from her coma to announce: "Everything is going to change." She's carrying a note as well: "She's the last one. Ever." It seems the Gladers are finally going to learn why they've been held captive, but they are likely to die trying to find out.

Sounds relatively exciting, yes? Well, it just didn't do it for me. I thought the story moved very slowly; there are many lengthy descriptions of the setting/situation with Thomas frequently noting how familiar/unfamiliar it all seemed. This approach just deadens the suspense for me. Yeah, yeah ... of course it feels familiar, now could we just get to the part where it's explained for us? There is also a great deal of telling on Thomas's behalf: I heard a lot of what he was feeling, but the story itself rarely showed me.

The narration seems infected with a sense of slog as well (although it could, of course, just be me having a bad day). While Mark Deakins emotes when the dialog calls for it, he mostly reads with a calm steadiness that does not create a sense of mounting anxiety or excitement. He has a difficult job -- providing voices for a bunch of boys who are all the same age and seem to have very few ethnic or cultural differences. A few main characters speak with unique voices, but these (southern, Irish, and something different -- but not identifiable -- for a character described as Asian) all seem exaggerations -- used not as a way to understand a character, but simply to differentiate one from the other.

Deakins' mature reading voice, though, changes this story pretty radically. While listening, I kept needing to remind myself that this was a book about boys. They act (which is the novel itself, of course) and sound like adults in this audiobook. If I'm thinking they are adults, then the whole concept of an adult power structure forcing its children into a life-or-death situation loses its impact. It's no longer about youth in a horrific situation, it's just another novel about the horrors adults inflict on one another [yawn]. Not the same at all.

Maybe this is a better eye read (I have only read, not listened to, the Suzanne Collins' novels). I'm intrigued (just enough) by Dashner's resolution to maybe (maybe!) read its sequel.

Part-y!

Literature does enjoy its loveable nerds, probably more than we do in life. Oggie Cooder is a particularly clueless capital-L loser 4th grader, but he's definitely an appealing hero. Oggie Cooder, Party Animal is the second story Sarah Weeks has penned about him. Oggie is the only child of organic, hippie parents who own a resale store (To Good to be Threw), and they support his idiosyncrasies. Oggie's closet is supplied by the store and he doesn't really care whether things "go together," he makes a "prrrrip" sound with his tongue when he's excited, he crochets his own shoelaces, and he "charves." That's chewing processed cheese into shapes -- usually the shapes of states.

Mostly, his classmates ignore him, which probably saddens Oggie, except that he seems largely oblivious. He does have one friend, Amy, the quiet girl with braces. The person who seems most bothered by Oggie is his neighbor, Donnica Perfecto, the 4th grade's queen bee (she has two acolytes who finish her words, a la LO - ser). Unbeknownst to him, Oggie defeated Donnica's plans for stardom in the first book. In Party Animal, she has been forced to invite Oggie to her birthday pool party and she is not happy. So, she creates a list of 100 things that Oggie cannot do at her party and insists that he memorize it before she'll let him in the door. With the help of Amy, Oggie does memorize the list (think mnemonics), but Donnica still comes up with a way to keep him away. Oggie's gentle nature prevails, and the book ends with Donnica in his debt (although she doesn't see it that way).

William Dufris narrates this book. As he did when he read Homer P. Figg, Dufris adopts a high, squeaky narrator voice that sounds like it's painful to produce, but is completely fine on the ears. (Well, I wouldn't want to listen to hours and hours of it.) As is appropriate for the voice of Bob the Builder, Dufris captures Oggie's awkwardness and naïveté with that high-pitched voice. He conveys Oggie's exciteability with a fast-paced delivery. And, he does a pretty good job of "prrrrip-ing." He's able to move from character to character, so I particularly enjoyed his alpha side coming out via Donnica. That girl means business.

This is a good middle elementary school story. There's enough humor and grossology to satisfy most readers and listeners, and the world is always aligned correctly by the end, but without a message informing you of the fact. I always wonder though, will an alpha girl recognize herself and be kinder to the geeky kids once she reads this book? Likely not, that 4th grade mean girl is probably reading Twilight.

Hot dog!

I learned a new piece of teen vocabulary yesterday during a school visit. The subject of gay parents arose (this was a censorship presentation, so you probably know what book we were talking about), that segued into gay people in general; when one of the teen girls said that gay men were "fire." I adopted my I-am-so-clueless demeanor and asked her to explain what she meant ... basically, gay men are hot.

This is my intro into the fact that I really don't understand the meaning of the word "weenie" either, as used by David Lubar in The Curse of the Campfire Weenies and Other Warped and Creepy Tales. Does it mean an easily frightened person, or someone who's fearful of camping (that would make me a campfire weenie)? That makes sense -- the book is a collection of scary stories, or ones with a macabre twist at the end that are good fodder for dark nights with only the fire for comfort. But then Lubar goes on to confuse me, because he's written several other "weenie" books: red-hot pepper, road and lawn. I know I'm overthinking this ...

There are over 30 stories in this collection and some are quite witty and clever. I particularly enjoyed "Predators" (online vampires), "Throwaways" (a kid whose father tosses him in the trash), "Inquire Within" (a witch hunt with a twist), "The Chipper" (think Fargo for kids), and "The Unforgiving Tree" (Shel Silverstein is a-rolling). They don't take very long to read/listen to, which -- after the first couple stories -- requires listening concentration so you don't miss the twist.

There is a lengthy author's afterword, where Lubar provides the inspiration behind each of his stories. He says he wrote "The Unforgiving Tree" partly because people either love or hate that book. I can admit this now; back in the late 1970s when the first of my high school friends got married, I gave it as a wedding gift. I knew so much about marriage when I was 19 ...

The audiobook is narrated by Paul Michael Garcia; like many of the Blackstone Audio narrators, he's an actor with the Oregon Shakespeare Festival, so I may have seen him on stage. He reads the stories with plenty of atmosphere and his character voices are good. I particularly enjoyed his technique when a story featured a female protagonist. Instead of simply reading in a higher register, Garcia changed the inflection of his voice making it sound not necessarily "feminine," but different. He also had the chance to create some evil-spirit-type voices in a few of the stories, and he's very good at this.

But like the just-previous post on another collection of short stories, listening to them all in a bunch isn't the best way to appreciate them. I listened to Lubar's afterword twice to help me recollect which of the stories I most enjoyed; frankly, with 35 of them, they had really become fairly indistinguishable in my head. It would have been helpful to have each story's track number printed on the compact disc itself for easy retrieval if I had wanted to listen to one or two of them again. I was much less inclined to try to figure out which disc a story had appeared on, and then figure out which track of that disc was the story's beginning.

I think the eventual monotony of the tales may have also been helped by another narrator, perhaps a woman for the "girl" stories. And, finally, while I'm complaining; I'm begging for a bit more of a pause between stories. Most of these tales had a clever twist at the very end, a twist I was often still pondering as the next story began. Just give me one more moment to process; this way I don't have to hit pause or go back to the beginning once the next story is announced.

I really appreciated the exposure to these stories, as they are another arrow in the quiver when you are faced with a scary stories fan who's read through your Alvin Schwartz section. I suspect that they work better in print, though.

Tiddly pom!

I don't know about you, but I always take a gander at the "professional" reviews of a book I've just finished reading to see if my opinion jibes with that of the reviewers. Well, the only review I could find of Return to the Hundred Acre Wood is from Publishers' Weekly (more of a bookseller's resource than a librarian's ... I think?). Is this a conspiracy of librarians? If we don't review it, it will go away? Trust me, this book is nothing to get your knickers in a twist over. It is extremely minor Pooh. In the Pooh oeuvre, I'd much rather put a stake in the heart of Disney's Pooh than a poor imitation (the sincerest form of flattery) of Messrs. Milne and Shepard.

Return to the Hundred Acre Wood: In Which Winnie-the-Pooh Enjoys Further Adventures with Christopher Robin and his Friends is by David Benedictus (who appears to be hiding his affiliation with this book on his website). A brief introduction -- which is mysteriously called an Exposition -- provides a poetic explanation for the lengthy pause (80 years) it took to bring Christopher Robin back from school. Ten short stories follow that are somewhat amusing and sentimental and true to Milne's characters. The adventures are no longer about childish things, but about schoolboy things -- like spelling bees, a thesaurus and cricket. (I liked the cricket one especially [I listened to it twice] because the explanation of how to play was extra simple, and I think I finally understand how to play that utterly foreign sport.) There's a new character, Lottie the Otter. Some wit and hilarity is present, but Pooh's poetry (or hums) weren't particularly inspired and the whole thing just falls a little flat.

So, can anyone save this? Calling the great Jim Dale! Dale is such a sensitive reader, he transmits a book's range of emotions so sincerely that he can pretty much read anything. Scroll down a bit on this Amazon page to see the video of Dale reading the Exposition.

Thankfully, Dale brings his vast array of character voices to these slight stories and breathes some much needed life into shy Pooh and squeaky Piglet and dignified Owl and rambunctious Tigger (who has a fairly low profile here) and officious Lottie, as well as all the Friends and Relations (who I don't remember at all, so I guess I need to go back to the originals). He sings Pooh's hums (singing where appropriate is always a plus to me). I think Dale really does a good job here -- the characters are so familiar to most of us (in Disney form or original); and he gives each one the exact right voice (I quibble with his Pooh, who sounds like he's medicated), practically the voice you had in your head when these were first read aloud to you (except that was your mom or dad ... but you get my point).

There's a nice little bit of music that segues in at the end of each story. And although the stories come to a natural conclusion, I appreciate the signal to take a moment and digest the last bits before getting ready for the next episode. I wonder if this should be listened to in a more episodic way, the way you might experience one story every night at bedtime. I listened almost straight through the whole three hours and, well, they began to blend together. Is this the spelling bee story or the school story? They probably become fairly indistinguishable in print as well.

I was trolling through our catalog for audio versions of the original -- for pleasure listening after January (hooray!). We have a massive eight-hour collection of both Poohs and Milne's poetry books which I think only the most dedicated would listen all the way through. More fun, though ... one lone cassette copy of Winnie-the Pooh read by Charles Kuralt. I can hear it.

Recently, the publisher of the book and audiobook, Penguin, donated some money to the New York Public Library for a spiffy display case backdrop (more of Dale reading) for Christopher Milne's original animals. Hmmm ... how did they get to New York? Practice, practice, practice.

There is a house in New Orleans

I've never read a Secrets of Droon title, but by virtue of the sheer quantity of them I was prepared to treat the author with scorn. Then I read and listened to the beautiful and thoughtful Firegirl and I had to rethink that scorn. But now that I've listened to two installments of Tony Abbott's latest series, The Haunting of Derek Stone, I think perhaps I should limit myself to Abbott's hardcover books. This is not my cup of tea. Well, at least I got to start at the beginning.

In City of the Dead, 14-year-old Derek Stone is traveling by train with his father and older brother, when the bridge that their train is rumbling over collapses into the Bordelon Gap. Derek survives, but the bodies of his father and brother -- along with those of several other victims -- are not found. Derek returns, griefstricken, to his family's house in New Orleans. Then ... great news! Ronny, Derek's older brother has been found alive! It doesn't take Derek long to figure out, though, that something is very, very wrong with Ronny.

Derek figures out that Ronny is really Virgil. And Virgil was a passenger on a train that experienced the exact same accident in the exact same place 70 years earlier. Only Virgil's wasn't a passenger train, it was a convict train. And when someone dies in the same place in the same way (and there's a rift in time of some kind that I didn't quite understand), then the older dead entity can take over the body of the more recently dead. This is called "translating," and I think they are different than zombies. Virgil was a guard on that convict train, but the rest of the undead hanging out at the bottom of the ravine are murderers and now that they've got bodies again, they are on the rampage. Virgil is escaping from them, and he's come to Derek for help.

What those convicts want from Virgil (revenge?) and Derek isn't completely clear -- I don't think it's clear to Derek either, actually. I might go so far as to say that it isn't clear to the author, but that would be sheer speculation. Regardless, they're chasing him, and in the second book, Bayou Dogs, they are chasing him some more. They are chasing him to the place of his nightmares, the place Derek almost drowned -- the Bayou Malpierre.

This series is probably pretty good material for reluctant reader who appreciate a good chase and plenty of gore. They're relatively short (that was a blessing for me) too. But listening to them was six hours I'll never get back.

The usually reliable Nick Podehl (heard most recently here) is the reader and here we simply have the case of a bad match between narrator and material. Podehl adopts a heavy N'Awlins accent and it's clear he's not comfortable using it. It seems to restrict him from the natural phrasing and delightful character development that he's shown in previous audiobooks. He's concentrating so hard on sustaining the accent that he can't do anything else. It's a bit of a dud.

Interestingly, Podehl's accent immediately brought an African American character to my mind. Once I got into the story I realized that Derek -- who is the narrator -- is white, although other characters in the book are black. But why does Derek have to be described that closely that I know he's white? In a book like this, it would be so easy to just leave it up to the reader/listener to inhabit the story however s/he saw it. Worth thinking about ...

Another gripe: How can you set a book in New Orleans and not mention Hurricane Katrina? Not even in passing? It just doesn't seem right.

Barking spiders!

What the heck is steampunk, anyway? With the exception of Philip Reeve's lighthearted Larklight series, I don't think I've ever read in this genre before. Well, I think I'll read somemore, 'cause I just finished Scott Westerfeld's wonderful Leviathan. Evidently, steampunk favors the Victorians, but Westerfeld has advanced the setting to July 1914, when Europe is on the brink of The Great War, also known as World War I. In the world of Leviathan, the simmering conflict that blows up into full-fledged war is between Clankers -- whose war machinery is, well, machinery -- and Darwinists -- whose weapons are biologically based, made possible by Charles Darwin's theory of evolution. Clankers are Germany and its supporters, and the Darwinists are the English and its allies.

Leviathan first introduces us to Prince Aleksander, only child of the heir to the throne of the Austro-Hungarian empire, who is orphaned when his parents are assassinated in Sarajevo in late June 1914. It's likely that his father was killed because he had expressed support for Darwinist philosophies. Loyal retainers spirit Alek away in the middle of the night, using a walking tank-like machine called a Stormwalker to make their escape to an all-but-abandoned castle in neutral Switzerland.

While Alek is making his escape, we are introduced to Deryn Sharp, who is completing tests in order to become a midshipman in the British Air Service. With the help of her brother, Deryn has disguised herself as a boy, Dylan Sharp. When her training exercise aboard a flying squid goes awry, she makes an emergency landing on the Leviathan -- a flying whale-based creature. Taken on as a midshipman, she's off on a secret mission to Constantinople to deliver some mysterious eggs tended by one Mrs. Barlow. Unfortunately, the Leviathan is attacked by some Clanker airplanes and is forced to land on a glacier nearby to Alek's isolated castle. Our two heroes meet up and their adventure together begins.

The print version of Leviathan includes lots of illustrations by Keith Thompson; you can get a sneak peak at them here as well (the video book trailer is pretty fun, too). I didn't feel the lack of illustrations while listening, and had some slightly different conceptions of the various elements. (I was definitely thinking Imperial Walker for Alek's Stormwalker.) Still, I think when all the holds have been filled at my library, I'll take a look at the book for myself.

So, what about the audiobook? It's just terrific. It's narrated by Alan Cumming, of whom I am most fond (although this is the first audiobook I've ever heard him read). He's like an evil pixie. He understands that this novel is all about the action, so he reads briskly and with genuine excitement as the plot moves forward.

At the same time, he's also a great creator of vocal characters. He reads Deryn with a lively Scots burr and Alek with a quiet Germanic precision. When Alek begins to speak to Deryn in English, his accent changes very subtly. There are a raft of other characters that all come to life with Cumming's careful reading, including Alek's somewhat frightening mentor, Count Volger and the formidable Mrs. Barlow -- one of those English people completely confident that they should be in charge of everything. I was engaged every minute of listening to this.

Scott Westerfeld reads his afterward and this is informative; he's not a professional narrator, but his reading is clear and interesting. He explains what parts of his alternative world really happened (in our world ... did I need to say that?) and what parts he made up.

The book opens and concludes with stirring, adventurous music that is so appropriate that I wanted to hear more of it. (I don't think that very often.)

Leviathan will make an excellent family car trip audiobook. While Deryn and Alek are 15, there is absolutely no hanky-panky going on. I won't spoil it, but suffice it to say that romantic feelings are briefly considered. The language is fine as well ... "barking spiders" is Deryn's favorite swear word. There is a little bit of potty humor as the Darwinist vessels are basically fueled by gas.

Bad thing: These adventures of Deryn and Alek are just the beginning. It'll be a year before Behemoth comes out! [Barking spiders!]

It's never too early ... well, actually it is

It's been a while since I've listened to Jim Dale read an audiobook, so the small taste via The Spirit of Christmas was a minor treat. This is a picture-book-length poem by Nancy Tillman (from Portland!) that is given the full audiobook treatment: the aforementioned Mr. Dale, MBE; Clement C. Moore, a handful of Christmas carols from a children's choir, and ... a keepsake ornament. I'm a big fan of Christmas music, but this would not be among my favorite albums. (This is my favorite Christmas album.)

Jim Dale reads Tillman's poem, then he reads Tillman's poem with page-turn bells, and then he reads "A Visit from St. Nicholas" (otherwise known as "The Night Before Christmas"). The carols make up the rest of the CD. It's below-average Dale, but he doesn't have a lot to work with. Tillman's poem is a sentimental compilation of the goodies that are part of this holiday, but we are reminded that it really has no meaning without love. OK, OK ... call me Scrooge (and Dickens is Tillman's predecessor in connecting love and Christmas). Dale reads with the commitment that tells me he believes the message. The second poem is a little livelier, since he gets to throw out a few more character voices. But it's all over too soon.

The singing leaves a great deal to be desired. The recording is poor (like someone stuck a microphone in the back of the church and the choir started singing), so it's difficult to tell if the singing is any good. They mostly sound in tune and the high notes are reached without screeching (always good). The diction wasn't so great; there were verses where I couldn't understand the words at all.

The reading with the page-turn signals -- which are silvery, festive bell tones -- was extremely odd, since the audiobook does not come with a book. It seems kind of cheesy to make you buy the book separately. And, as for the keepsake ornament ... I guess if you are a fan of Tillman's artwork (I have no opinion either way, since I have never cracked one of her books), it might be nice to have. But the words cardboard and keepsake don't really go together in my mind ...

Left behind

Love, Aubrey is my second grief-stricken-mother-abandons-surviving-daughter novel I've listened to this year (Everything is Fine being the first one.) Even though they are quite different, two is more than enough, thank you. Unlike Mazzy, Aubrey's mother has physically (as well as emotionally) disappeared, but the hurt and the way the two girls do everything they can to sustain an appearance of normality are quite similar. In this novel by Suzanne LaFleur, however, the adults wise up a little sooner. Aubrey's grandmother shows up and removes Aubrey from her home in Virginia to come live with her in Vermont. It is there that almost-12-year-old Aubrey begins to recover from her losses.

An air of profound sadness and grief permeates this novel, understandably. Aubrey feels the losses in her life physically and is slow to confide her feelings to anyone. She finds she is able to write letters about her life first to her younger sister's imaginary friend, then to her dead father and sister, and finally to the mother who abandoned her. I found extremely touching the way an incident in her present would cause her to flash back to a happier moment of her past. (Although I had no trouble identifying the time shifts while listening, I wonder if there is a visual indication in the print version.) While sad, it is also hopeful, as once in Vermont, Aubrey is surrounded by caring adults -- and a new best friend -- so a reader can have confidence that things will get a little better for her.

A narrator named Becca Battoe reads Love, Aubrey. I've never heard her before, but she has a husky, slightly childish voice that works very well for Aubrey, who tells us her story. Aubrey's grief is palpable in Battoe's well-paced and sensitive interpretation. Unable to share her feelings with anyone else, Aubrey is slowly confiding in us. I wonder if we listeners feel Aubrey's grief that much more intensely because we are listening.

As a listener, though, it is hard to sustain this connection; I attribute this to the narrator, who creates a number of characters who were vocally offputting for one reason or another. We hear more than once that Aubrey has a slightly Southern accent, yet it rarely shows up in her voice. Even though it's mentioned in the novel, it would be completely fine if she doesn't have one in the audiobook. But to have one that comes and goes is one of those things that gets you thinking about the accent and not about the book.

Other instances where this narrator's choices pull you out of the audiobook: In flashbacks, Aubrey's sister Savannah has a very twangy Southern accent (why does she have one and Aubrey doesn't?). Aubrey's Gram is introduced to us with a mysterious accent (northern New England?) that vanishes pretty early on in the story (what was it in the first place and why did it go away?) There are several adult males who sound like Battoe was uncomfortable voicing their dialog, they speak in a low register with generic gruffness. The school's guidance counselor, Amy, is someone Aubrey is initially suspicious of, but becomes close to over time. Yet the counselor's voicing is so stiff and formal that I have no sense that she is a warm, caring person, one that Aubrey eventually trusts to share her losses.

These concerns don't make this a poor audiobook, just not an outstanding one. I liked Battoe's voice plenty; I hope there's another opportunity for me to listen to her read.

Seasonal affective order

I was a fairly new youth librarian (actually I don't think I was even a librarian) when I read and loved the first Grandma Dowdel stories (A Long Way from Chicago and A Year Down Yonder) by Richard Peck. What a lovely surprise to find that she kept going for another 25 years, and hardly mellowed at all. In A Season of Gifts, Grandma no longer has any relatives bunking with her (although a great grandson makes a late appearance); instead she's living next door to 12-year-old Bob Barnhart, newly arrived PK (preacher's kid). Bob is expecting trouble, and he gets it (in typically wacky Peck fashion). Fortunately, Mrs. Dowdel effects a rescue and a tentative friendship begins. Her generous spirit and cranky exterior get Bob and his family -- along with many other residents of that small, southern Illinois town-- through the year 1958-59 with some lessons learned and a great deal of fun.

Like its predecessors, the events of the year are told in an episodic fashion that (to me) means that this book is crying to be read out loud. A chapter a day in the classroom would provide a delightful diversion in the weeks between Thanksgiving and the winter break. Not being a teacher, I wonder if playing the CD for the 15 minutes or so of each chapter has the same effect on students that the teacher reading aloud has. This way, teacher can doodle or stare out the window or sit with her eyes closed as well. Well, the audiobook is now available at your library!

The stories are a nostalgic look back from Bob, which means that an adult voice is completely appropriate. Ron McLarty, who reads the first Granda Dowdel book as well as a whole raft of other audiobooks including The Great Brain, is just terrific. He's pretty matter-of-fact, almost deadpan, in his reading, there's very little sentiment in these sentimental stories; but I definitely hear in his voice that of grandpa telling his grandkids some crazy stories from his childhood. His low-key interpretation gives you -- the listener -- the chance to react to the events of the story itself, rather than the way it's being told.

McLarty delivers some characters that are fun to listen to -- several old ladies in particular: crusty Mrs. Dowdel, loopy Mrs. Wilcox, decrepit Aunt Madge Burdick, and the formidable Miss Flora Shellabarger. There's a lot a manly man can do to humorously portray old women (see Monty Python) and McLarty lets his feminine side loose. But he also creates a pastoral, yet authoritative voice for Bob's father. And I really liked that when Bob is speaking in these episodes, he's got a not-quite-broken boy's voice. Then McLarty uses his adult voice to tell us the past tense stories themselves.

The opening and closing music sounds like the intro to an Elvis tune (without actually being an Elvis song ... pesky copyright!) which sets exactly the right mood. I wanted to hear more music in this audiobook: Bob mentions many hymns and Christmas carols (in public domain?) that it would have been nice to hear sung rather than read. There is -- of course -- the possibility that Mr. McLarty is not a singer.

Oh, and I learned that I've been mispronouncing Grandma's name. It's DOW-del (I read it as dow-DELL). What a relief to know at last!