THIS DARK ENDEAVOR: THE APPRENTICESHIP OF VICTOR FRANKENSTEIN (YA)

by Kenneth Oppel

Simon and Schuster, 2011

A Book Review by Bigfoot

Huge green monster.

What does that phrase bring to mind?

Fair enough. The Incredible Hulk is huge and green, but not what I was going for. Try again.

Seriously? The frozen vegetable spokesman? He’s a giant, not a monster. Give it another shot.

You’re right, Penny C. Monster is a huge green monster. But I wasn’t thinking of her either.

Let’s back up. What if I added a few more details about the huge green monster:

• neck bolts

• broad shoulders

• more stitches than a homemade quilt

• the top of his head could double as an end table

Ringing any bells?

Finally. Yes. FRANKENSTEIN. Was that so hard?

Thanks to countless popular culture references to FRANKENSTEIN, even those of us who haven’t read the 1818 classic novel by Mary Shelley have an idea of who Frankenstein is. And no, he isn’t the huge green monster with neck bolts, stitches, and a noggin you could use as an ironing board. Victor Frankenstein is the guy who creates the huge green monster. And he doesn’t do it because he needs a place to set his coffee mug. At least I assume that’s not what motivates him to reanimate the stitched-together bits and pieces of corpses. Like I said, I never read Mary Shelley’s book. For all I know, the real Frankenstein’s monster isn’t even green. Everything I know about FRANKENSTEIN I learned from cartoons, Boris Karloff, store-bought Halloween costumes, and bizarre novelty breakfast cereals.

Until now.

Kenneth Oppel’s THIS DARK ENDEAVOR is about Victor Frankenstein’s early years. It’s kind of like an origin story minus the radioactive spiders. Or, okay, gamma rays. What is it with your fixation on the Hulk today?

The book is told from Victor’s point of view. He’s sixteen. He and his twin brother Konrad grew up with their distant cousin, Elizabeth. She was like a sister to them, until they all hit puberty. Now the brothers both have a thing for her. Victor feels like he’s in competition with Konrad for Elizabeth, but he still loves his brother and is devastated when Konrad becomes deathly ill. Victor is willing to do anything it takes to help Konrad get well, even dabble in alchemy against his father’s orders.

And boy, his dad sure isn’t happy about Victor’s new interest in alchemy. But what else is an ambitious teenager desperate to save his brother to do when he finds, in his own home, a book containing instructions for making the Elixir of Life, a concoction that’s supposed to make a person pretty much immortal? Well, for one, find somebody who can decipher the secret code concealing the Elixir of Life’s ingredients. Polidori, a disgraced alchemist, cracks the code and sends Victor, Elizabeth, and their timid friend Henry to collect what’s needed.

What’s needed happens to be three things that are hard to come by. “Hard” meaning they could die trying. They have to climb a vulture-infested tree on a moonless night, go spelunking (look it up), and for the final ingredient Victor must—wait, I’m getting dangerously close to pulling a Penny and revealing too much. Just trust me when I say this book is full of adventure, suspense, and twists.

Do you know what makes suspenseful adventures extra satisfying to read? Great characters. This book is full of them. I like Victor most of all. His human failings make him a sympathetic guy. By the end of this book, you’ll understand the reasons his older self reanimates the stitched-together bits and pieces of corpses.

Hint: It isn’t because he needs a place to set his coffee mug.

Three Minutes with a Crazed Gardener

Normanday #5: A Picture is Worth at Least Three Minutes of Words

Several writers, including the first non-tortoise-old participant, sent me what they wrote about the missing unicorn. Before we get to those entries, I want to have a little chat with those of you who aren’t writing along with the rest of us.

Why aren’t you? Are you shy about sharing what you write? I get it. Heck, I’m a turtle. I’ve been known to hide in my shell now and then. But you should write anyway. You don’t have to send me what you write. Just do the prompts on your own for the fun of it. Or send me what you write under a secret identity, a.k.a pseudonym, a.k.a. pen name, a.k.a. peanut butter and jelly sandwich. (One of those “a.k.a.”s is a pseudonym for pseudonym. See how it works?)

I’m guessing some of you think you’re not good writers. But you are. Don’t argue with an unbelievably handsome genius with minty fresh breath. Everybody can write creatively. Everybody.

Here’s a pointer to help you get started. Ready?

Don’t think. Just write.

Got it? Now obey your half-invisible turtle overlord and write for three minutes about this photograph.

What’s the deal with this guy?

Email what you wrote to woof at bright dot net by the end of this Saturday (put “Norman is Never Wrong” in the subject line). I’ll post three of my favorite entries next Monday. Include your first name (or, even better, use a pen name) and age (unless you’re tortoise-old). If you’re a published writer, include a biography to be posted with your entry.

Here are the entries from last week when I asked you to write for three minutes about the time you…

…were asked to unicorn-sit while your friend was out of town. The unicorn really didn’t like you and the first chance he got, he bolted. You looked everywhere for him. Just when you started to think how you’d tell your friend his beloved unicorn was gone forever, you spotted the unicorn…

Kelly Bingham

www.kellybinghamonline.com

author of SHARK GIRL and Z IS FOR MOOSE (coming out in March 2012)

You spotted the unicorn…

…sailing by, in the backseat of a taxi. He was eating cotton candy and wearing a green foam hat in the shape of the Statue of Liberty. He gave me a leer as he flew past.

“Stop!” I cried, running after the cab. Hey, this is just like a scene in a movie, I thought to myself. Then I stopped, because there was no way I could catch the cab on foot. But I didn't need to. The cab hit a red light only a few yards away. I ran up to the cab. I wrenched open the door. “What are you doing?” I asked.

“Having fun?” the unicorn said.

“Get in or get out,” the cab driver said, impatiently. I jumped in and closed the door. Everything smelled like salami. The cab roared ahead. The unicorn moved over, making a show of being irritated. “Look, I don't mean to be rude,” he said, “but you’re boring. You’re no fun. And I don’t want to be with you.”

“Did you say you didn’t mean to be rude?” I asked. “Because I don’t see how any of what you just said is—”

“Okay, okay.” The unicorn said. He handed me his disposable camera and cotton candy. He rummaged in a backpack. “I only meant, your idea of ‘fun’ is to watch nature shows on TV and boil vegetables and wander around gardens.”

“You’re a unicorn,” I said, confused. I couldn’t help but take a nibble of the cotton candy. “I thought you’d like that stuff.”

“I like FUN,” the unicorn said. “I’m a magical creature, not a senior citizen. If you and I are going to get along, you need to show me a good time.”

I looked at his souvenir hat. “Did you go see the Statue of Liberty?” I asked.

“Yep. And I was just heading to the top of Rockefeller Center.”

“I love Rockefeller Center. They have ice skating there, you know.”

“Seriously?” He stared at me with those deep purple eyes. “I love ice skating.”

I settled back into the sticky, smelly seat of the cab. I ate more cotton candy as I reassessed this whole unicorn thing. Maybe he wasn’t as fragile as I thought. Maybe I needed to loosen up a bit. Maybe—

“By the way, I don’t have any cab fare,” the unicorn whispered, waving around an empty wallet. He stuck it back in the bag. “How about when we get there, I just brandish my horn at the driver and then run off when he panics. You game?”

“Um, I have some cash,” I said, as the cab slowed for our stop. Magical or not, I was not going to participate in anything illegal.

The unicorn looked disappointed. “See? Boring. You. Like this.” And he pressed two hooves side by side.

I bit my lip as the cab driver parked the car. He turned towards us. “Thirty dollars,” he said.

And right then and there, I made a snap decision. No more boiled vegetables. No more nature shows. I curled my fingers around the door handle.

“RUN!”

Wil, age 10

You spotted the unicorn…

I said, “hi.” When the unicorn spotted me, he sprang and started to run, but I jumped in front of him and said, “Stop! I am not going to hurt you.” I put on his collar and took the unicorn back to the house. One hour later, my friend came back home and asked if the unicorn was any trouble. I said, “No.”

Schae D. Lane

You spotted the unicorn…

…back at home, sitting on the couch with hoofs on the coffee table, watching his favorite TV show, “Big Horns” on Animal Planet and munching in a feed bag of warmed up toasty oats. He jumped up on all fours when he noticed I was standing there. I was angry and it must have shown because this unicorn had a frightened look in his eyes. Not only had I just spent hours searching for the one-horned wonder, while he probably galloped around the house once, came back inside and sat his rump down, eyes glued to the TV, I was fighting a cold and had a pounding headache, too. I looked around the living room. What a mess! Toasty oats were everywhere and a hint of burnt oats lingered in the air. “Go to your stall!” I growled as I pointed to the hallway. Dejected, the unicorn did as I commanded, dropping the feed bag with a thud and causing the last remaining oats to spill out onto the floor. With head hung low, he trotted to his room. “Teenagers!” I barked as I threw my paws up in frustration and started to hunt for the vacuum.

I like the twist at the end of the last one. The narrator has paws. Funny, whenever I’m reading, I always assume the narrator is a turtle.

Thanks again to this weeks’ writers for sharing. To the rest of you, come out of your shells and give it a try.

Three Minutes with a Missing Unicorn

Normanday #4: One Good Point

Write for three minutes about the time you…

…were asked to unicorn-sit while your friend was out of town. The unicorn really didn’t like you and the first chance he got, he bolted. You looked everywhere for him. Just when you thought you’d have to tell your friend his beloved unicorn was gone forever, you spotted the unicorn…

Email what you wrote to woof at bright dot net by the end of this Saturday (put “Norman is a Genius” in the subject line). I’ll post three of my favorite entries next Monday. Include your first name (or, even better, use a pen name) and age (unless you’re tortoise-old). If you’re a published writer, include a biography to be posted with your entry.

Here are the entries from last week when I asked you to write for three minutes about…

…something that happened to you on a playground…

Chris

It happened on a playground…

I remember the day very vividly; it was cold and had just snowed. All the kids were out running on the playground after lunch. The teachers were probably happy for the break from the loudness. I was excited because I always played football during recess. Today would be no different, only more exciting with the new snow, it was always fun to slide around and try to maintain your traction. The game started out as usual, my friend threw me a bomb perfectly wobbling and I made a diving catch in the snow. Then I was “two-hand” tapped for the tackle. The rules at our school allowed for football, as long as it was two hand touch. The ball popped out from my grasp and someone on the other team started running as if I had fumbled. My anger got a hold of me, I was already down, I bolted slipping in the snow and laid a hard tackle on the ball carrier. The ball bounced out again, this time I picked it up. Immediately, someone screamed, “Get him!” I had no other choice but to run with the football dodging tacklers as if I was Earl Campbell. I ran through the blacktop of the playground as swarms of kids chased me, our game had expanded greatly beyond just those playing football. I was now running out of panic, it felt like hundreds of kids chasing me. I could not keep it up and tripped and fell on the cold hard pavement. A pile of kids jumped on top of me in shear joy, they had caught their prey. I couldn’t breathe, I was smothered. I knew they didn’t want me, but needed the ball to continue the play. I panicked, I couldn’t get the ball out, it was smashed between the ground and me. It eventually came out and the herd quickly chased after. I was free, this close from what I felt was sure death. Just then the bell rang, time to run back in. My friends and I made it first to the door, only to be greeted by an older man with a limp as he walked. He grabbed my shoulder firmly, close to the point of hurting, but not quite. A fear filled my head worse than the suffocation I had felt moments earlier. It was our principal and we were about to get it. The “it” was unknown, and that is what made it so scary. This was in the day when your principal wasn’t your buddy, or lacked the power to truly discipline you. What would our punishment be? We were slowly escorted to the office, a place I had only heard of. We were given our punishment…not a spanking. Something almost as bad. We were told we would have to stay in for recess for a month.

Bigfoot

It happened on a playground…

The slide on the playground at Sasquatch Elementary was tall. Too tall. The other kids liked it. They’d stand in line the whole recess period for a three-second ride that would shoot them off so hard and fast they’d land on their butts a foot away from the base. Even the kid who broke both his arms when he fell off the top of the ladder was back in line the day after his casts came off. I’d stand in line, too, pretending I wanted a turn. But I didn’t. I’d give cuts in line. Everybody thought I was being nice. When it was my turn to climb the ladder, I’d cock my head like I’d just heard somebody calling for me. “You go ahead,” I’d say to whoever was next in line. Then I’d jog toward the school, like maybe a teacher was waiting at the door for me. One day my cover was blown. A classmate started telling everybody I was scared to go down the slide. I don’t know how he knew. By the end of recess I had a new nickname: Bigfear. The next day I rushed out to the slide. I wasn’t trying to be first in line. I didn’t want anybody to see me make a cold chicken soup puddle at the bottom of the slide. I didn’t stand in line. There was no point in pretending any more. I watched from the edge of the playground. The first one down the slide and into the soup was also the last. After that, everybody spent recess on the swings.

Lenny the Levitating Puppy

It happened on a playground…

I was watching a bunch of kids play on a playground. They were playing with a big bouncy red ball. It made a funny sound like it was hollow. They were throwing it at each other, and I thought that was mean, but they were laughing so I guess they were having fun. One kid threw the ball so hard that it bounced right over the fence and landed right next to me. It kept bouncing, first high up bounces and then smaller bounces and then it just rolled a little bit. All the kids ran to the fence and were shouting at me to give them the ball. But I pretended not to hear them because I wanted to play with the ball myself.

Three Minutes on a Playground

Normanday #3: Playtime

It can be true or you can make it up, as long as you write for three minutes about…

…something that happened to you on a playground.

Email what you wrote to woof at bright dot net by the end of this Saturday (put “Norman has Minty Fresh Breath” in the subject line). I’ll post three of my favorite entries next Monday. Include your first name (or, even better, use a pen name) and age (unless you’re tortoise-old). If you’re a published writer, include a biography to be posted with your entry.

Here are the entries from last week when I asked you to write for three minutes about the time you…

…and your friend went to the movies. Instead of the popcorn you paid for, the woman at the concession stand gave you a box. “Whatever you do,” she said, “don’t open it.” But you did, because how could you not? Telling you not to was pretty much a dare. When you opened the box…

Cranberly

When you opened the box…

Out jumped a half-invisible turtle. I let out a startled noise. I say noise because it wasn’t a yell…more of a “ohmmhhhaaaaa.”

“Oh, thank goodness,” said the turtle. “I have been in that box for almost an hour.”

“What…um…who…how…” I had no idea where to start asking my questions. I wanted to know how a half-invisible turtle was talking and moving. I wanted to know who he was. (He sounded like a ‘he’). And I wanted to know how he got in the box and why I had the box.

“I’m sorry to startle you. My friend, Beverly, dared me to get in this box. She said I couldn’t fit,” he explained. “My name is Norman. Where am I? And who are you?”

“You are at the movie theater, um…with me. My name is Sophia.”

“Well, I have clearly proved Beverly wrong. I could fit in the box after all. Although, I am beginning to wonder if that was her original intention? You see, we were having a heated discussion. I insisted she list her very favorite books and she said she couldn’t narrow it down to just one and she really detested questions that start with ‘what is your favorite.’ I quite insisted. And then we came upon this box. By the way, what is your favorite book?”

“Are you sure you can really fit in this box?” I asked.

Kelly Bingham

www.kellybinghamonline.com

author of SHARK GIRL and Z IS FOR MOOSE (coming out in March 2012)

When you opened the box…

There was a big note inside that read, “I TOLD YOU NOT TO OPEN THE BOX!” When you turned around, the concession stand woman was glaring at you. “Congratulations,” she said. “You win the prize for being the most nosey.”

Next thing you know, a surly teen employee steps forward and slaps a giant plastic nose onto your face, over your own nose. The nose has black plastic glasses attached, and a black moustache. “Enjoy,” he mutters.

“You have to wear this for the next 48 hours,” the concession stand lady explains, still annoyed. “Then you have to trick someone else into wearing it.” She finally smiles. “Thanks for relieving me of my turn.” Then she skips out the door, tossing her employee hat aside.

Your friend looks amazed. “Wow. I don’t think that lady even works here.”

You give your friend a look. “You THINK?” The plastic nose is warm, and it’s getting moist from condensation. Already you feel panicky. 48 hours in this thing? You start looking around the lobby, assessing the staring crowd. Maybe you could trick one of them. Maybe you could find a way to cut your turn short. Maybe…

Your friend nudges you. “Come on. Let’s go watch the movie.”

You shuffle after your friend, sizing him up in new way. He IS rather gullible. Maybe he’d make a good patsy for the nose. Sliding into your seat, you begin to cook up a plan to trick him into being nosey. Your mind reels with possibilities. It won’t be fun, but you can do it, right? Because wearing this nose is the pits.

But the worst part? The worst part is when you realize that the moustache is so big, it covers your mouth, and this makes it impossible to eat popcorn. Next time someone tells me not to look, you think, I WON’T.

Then again, who are you kidding. You probably would.

Interesting how those last two both had a prank theme. Nice. Except I’m not loving how that Cranberly writer made me out to be the dupe.

There’s one more. Bigfoot put a little nightmare twist in his.

BIGFOOT

When you opened the box…

I’m about to open the box, but my friend grabs my arm and pulls me to the theater.

“Hurry up or we’ll miss the previews. I hate missing the previews. If we miss the previews…”

He goes on and on about the importance of seeing the previews until we sit down. He even talks about the importance of previews through the first preview. I tune him out but I have to admit the preview looks pretty great. So I watch it and I forget about the box I’m holding. And then the movie starts and it’s pretty exciting at first but eventually it gets boring because I don’t believe for a second that the lady is really going to survive a jump out of a hot air balloon flying over the Grand Canyon. And that’s when I remember the box. Don’t open it she said. But I sure am bored, so I open it. And I find myself in a hot air balloon over the Grand Canyon. The woman from the movie is there.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “But there’s only one parachute.”

Then she jumps over the edge.

Have fun with this week’s prompt. All I ask is that you don’t throw me off the top of a slide.

Briar’s Journal (November 21 to December 13, 2011)

Dream Entry*

February 20, 2005

My friends and I have gathered for Thanksgiving dinner. I’ve been seated at the kid’s table with three beagle puppies. Through the frosted dining room window I see Norman and a duck in the front yard. They’ve built a table out of snow and are serving snow turkey, snow cranberry sauce, and snow pie to an Abominable Snowman.

“Let’s eat,” Bigfoot says.

Penny leaves the room and returns with the Thanksgiving Day turkey. She directs him to sit at the head of the table. He picks up a gleaming serving spoon and dips everybody a heaping bowl of pistachio ice cream. After we’ve eaten our ice cream and our side orders of fries, the Thanksgiving Day turkey asks us each to tell what we’re thankful for. When it’s my turn, I can’t speak because my mouth is full of mashed potatoes.

The books BIGFOOT is thankful for:

THE FUTURE OF US by Jay Asher and Carolyn Mackler

[YOUNG ADULT]

Razorbill-Penguin

November 21, 2011

WALT DISNEY’S DONALD DUCK: LOST IN THE ANDES

(THE COMPLETE CARL BARKS DISNEY LIBRARY) by Carl Barks

[COMIC]

Fantagraphics

December 5, 2011

WINTER TOWN by Stephen Emond

[YOUNG ADULT]

Little, Brown-Hachette

December 5, 2011

MUSH!: SLED DOGS WITH ISSUES by Glenn Eichler,

illustrated by Joe Infurnari

[YOUNG ADULT—GRAPHIC NOVEL]

First Second-Roaring Brook

December 6, 2011

SAME DIFFERENCE by Derek Kirk Kim

[YOUNG ADULT—GRAPHIC NOVEL]

First Second-Roaring Brook

December 6, 2011

THE PROBABILITY OF MIRACLES by Wendy Wunder

[YOUNG ADULT]

Razorbill-Penguin

December 8, 2011

The books MORZANT is thankful for:

HENRY’S HEART: A BOY, HIS HEART,

AND A NEW BEST FRIEND by Charise Mericle Harper

[PICTURE BOOK]

Henry Holt

November 22, 2011

The books PENNY is thankful for:

LEGEND by Marie Lu

[YOUNG ADULT—FIRST IN THE LEGEND TRILOGY]

Putnam-Penguin

November 29, 2011

MELODY BURNING by Whitley Strieber

[YOUNG ADULT]

Henry Holt

December 6, 2011

SHATTERED SOULS by Mary Lindsey

[YOUNG ADULT]

Philomel-Penguin

December 8, 2011

The books BEVERLY is thankful for:

FIX ME by Rune Michaels

[YOUNG ADULT]

Atheneum-Simon & Schuster

December 6, 2011

SOMETHING TO HOLD by Katherine Schlick Noe

[MIDDLE GRADE]

Clarion-Houghton Mifflin

December 6, 2011

The book OLIVER is thankful for:

SNOWY VALENTINE by David Petersen

[PICTURE BOOK]

HarperCollins

November 22, 2011

The books LENNY is thankful for:

THE QUESTION by Scott J. Langteau,

illustrated by Lidat Truong

[PICTURE BOOK]

Shake the Moon Books

December 1, 2011

THE PRINCE’S NEW PET by Brian Anderson

[PICTURE BOOK]

Roaring Brook

December 6, 2011

The books VIOLET is thankful for:

HUGS FROM PEARL by Paul Schmid

[PICTURE BOOK]

HarperCollins

November 22, 2011

THE PRINCESS OF BORSCHT by Leda Schubert,

illustrated by Bonnie Christensen

[PICTURE BOOK]

Roaring Brook

November 22, 2011

THE BEST KIND OF KISS by Margaret Allum,

illustrated by Jonathan Bentley

[PICTURE BOOK]

Walker

December 6, 2011

ROSIE SPROUT’S TIME TO SHINE by Allison Wortche,

illustrated by Patrice Barton

[PICTURE BOOK]

Knopf-Random House

December 13, 2011

* The dream entries from Briar’s journal contain premonitions of books that will be published in the future. Briar’s dream self foresees the books’ summaries and knows which will likely appeal to each of her friends. Briar always wakes up before she can see whether her friends will enjoy the books.