It is October 11th, and FIRST is doing a special tour to 'Say Goodbye to Hollywood Nobody'.
MY REVIEW:
This book was bittersweet for me. I loved it as much if not more than the other books in this series, but I have that nagging feeling that this is the end of the line for these characters and its like saying good-bye to a bunch of friends. This is one YA series that you should read no matter what age you are - it is not inappropriate for the younger crowd (my daughter Sarah - 12) and yet it is truly enjoyable for the mid crowd (me - 33) and the older crowd (my mother-in-law - 63). They are a good investment :-) Just as this book came in and I breezed through it and then my mother-in-law did likewise, Sarah started the first book. She couldn't hardly put it down and went immediately into the second book "Finding Hollywood Nobody". I expect her to be diving into "Romancing Hollywood Nobody" anytime now and I know she's thrilled that I have this last one so she won't have to wait to find out how everything ends. Basically my review comes down to this - I'm not sure I've read another series that I can so highly recommend to any age group - I totally love it!
Today's feature author is:
and her book:
NavPress Publishing Group (September 15, 2008)
Lisa Samson is the author of twenty books, including the Christy Award-winning Songbird. Apples of Gold was her first novel for teensThese days, she's working on Quaker Summer, volunteering at Kentucky Refugee Ministries, raising children and trying to be supportive of a husband in seminary. (Trying . . . some days she's downright awful. It's a good thing he's such a fabulous cook!) She can tell you one thing, it's never dull around there.
Other Novels by Lisa:
Hollywood Nobody, Finding Hollywood Nobody, Romancing Hollywood Nobody, Straight Up, Club Sandwich, Songbird, Tiger Lillie, The Church Ladies, Women's Intuition: A Novel, Songbird, The Living End
Visit her at her website.
Product Details
List Price: $12.99
Paperback: 192 pages
Publisher: NavPress Publishing Group (September 15, 2008)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 1600062229
ISBN-13: 978-1600062223
AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:
Monday, July 11, 6:30 a.m.
I awaken to a tap on my shoulder and open my eye. My right eye. See, these days it could be one of four people: Charley, Dad, Grampie, or Grammie.
ìíMorning, dear!î
Grammie.
Oh well, might as well go for broke. I open the other eye.
ìDid you sleep well?î
I shake my head and reach for my cat glasses. ìNope. I kept dreaming about Charley in Scotland.î We sent her off with her new beau, the amazing Anthony Harris, two days ago. ìI imagined a road full of sheep chasing her down.î
ìThat would be silly. They would have to know she hates lamb chops.î Grammie sits on my bed. Yes, my bed. In their fabulous house. In my own wonderful room, complete with reproductions of the Barcelona chair and a platform bed of gleaming sanded mahogany. I burrow further into my white down comforter. I sweat like a pig at night, but I donít care. A real bed, a bona fide comforter, and four pillows. Feather pillows deep enough to sink the Titanic in.
She pats my shoulder, her bangled wrists emitting the music of wooden jewelry. ìUp and at íem, Scotty. Your dad wants to be on the road by seven thirty.î
ìI need a shower.î
ìHop to it then.î
Several minutes later, I revel in the glories of a real shower. Not the crazy little stall we have in the TrailMama, which Dad gassed up last night for our trip to Maine. Our trip to find Babette, my mother. Is she dead or alive? Thatís what weíre going to find out.
Itís complicated.
The warm water slides over me from the top of my head on down, and Iíve found the coolest shampoo. It smells like limeade. I kid you not. Itís the greatest stuff ever.
Over breakfast, Grampie sits down with us and goes over the map to make certain Dad knows the best route. My father sits patiently, nodding as words like turnpike, bypass, and scenic route roll like a convoy out of Grampieís mouth.
Poor Grampie. Dad is just the best at navigation and knows everything about getting from point A to point B, but I think Grampie wants to be a part of it. He hinted at us all going in the Beaver Marquis, their Luxury-with-a-capital-L RV, but Dad pretended not to get it.
Later, Dad said to me, ìItís got to be just us, Scotty. I love my mother and father, but some things just arenít complete-family affairs.î
ìI know. I think youíre right. And if itís bad . . .î
He nods. ìIíd just as soon they not be there while we fall apart.î
Right.
So then, I hop up into our RV, affectionately known as the TrailMama, Dadís black pickup already hitched behind. (Charleyís kitchen trailer is sitting on a lot in storage at a nearby RV dealership, and good riddance. Iím hoping Charley never needs to use that thing again.) ìWant me to drive?î
He laughs.
Yep. I still donít have my license.
Man. But itís been such a great month or so at the beach. So, okay, I donít tan much really, but I do have a nice peachy glow.
Iíll take it.
And Grampie grilled a lot, and Grammie helped me sew a couple of vintage-looking skirts, and Iíve learned the basics of my harp.
I jump into the passengerís seat, buckle in, and look over at my dad. ìYou really ready for this?î My heart speeds up. This is the final leg of a very long journey, and whatís at the end of the path will determine the rest of our lives.
He looks into my eyes. ìAre you?î
ìI donít know,î I whisper. ìBut we donít really have a choice, do we?î
ìI can go alone.î
I shake my head. ìNo, Dad. Whatever we do, whatever happens from here on out, we do it together.î
ìDeal.î
I awaken to a tap on my shoulder and open my eye. My right eye. See, these days it could be one of four people: Charley, Dad, Grampie, or Grammie.
ìíMorning, dear!î
Grammie.
Oh well, might as well go for broke. I open the other eye.
ìDid you sleep well?î
I shake my head and reach for my cat glasses. ìNope. I kept dreaming about Charley in Scotland.î We sent her off with her new beau, the amazing Anthony Harris, two days ago. ìI imagined a road full of sheep chasing her down.î
ìThat would be silly. They would have to know she hates lamb chops.î Grammie sits on my bed. Yes, my bed. In their fabulous house. In my own wonderful room, complete with reproductions of the Barcelona chair and a platform bed of gleaming sanded mahogany. I burrow further into my white down comforter. I sweat like a pig at night, but I donít care. A real bed, a bona fide comforter, and four pillows. Feather pillows deep enough to sink the Titanic in.
She pats my shoulder, her bangled wrists emitting the music of wooden jewelry. ìUp and at íem, Scotty. Your dad wants to be on the road by seven thirty.î
ìI need a shower.î
ìHop to it then.î
Several minutes later, I revel in the glories of a real shower. Not the crazy little stall we have in the TrailMama, which Dad gassed up last night for our trip to Maine. Our trip to find Babette, my mother. Is she dead or alive? Thatís what weíre going to find out.
Itís complicated.
The warm water slides over me from the top of my head on down, and Iíve found the coolest shampoo. It smells like limeade. I kid you not. Itís the greatest stuff ever.
Over breakfast, Grampie sits down with us and goes over the map to make certain Dad knows the best route. My father sits patiently, nodding as words like turnpike, bypass, and scenic route roll like a convoy out of Grampieís mouth.
Poor Grampie. Dad is just the best at navigation and knows everything about getting from point A to point B, but I think Grampie wants to be a part of it. He hinted at us all going in the Beaver Marquis, their Luxury-with-a-capital-L RV, but Dad pretended not to get it.
Later, Dad said to me, ìItís got to be just us, Scotty. I love my mother and father, but some things just arenít complete-family affairs.î
ìI know. I think youíre right. And if itís bad . . .î
He nods. ìIíd just as soon they not be there while we fall apart.î
Right.
So then, I hop up into our RV, affectionately known as the TrailMama, Dadís black pickup already hitched behind. (Charleyís kitchen trailer is sitting on a lot in storage at a nearby RV dealership, and good riddance. Iím hoping Charley never needs to use that thing again.) ìWant me to drive?î
He laughs.
Yep. I still donít have my license.
Man. But itís been such a great month or so at the beach. So, okay, I donít tan much really, but I do have a nice peachy glow.
Iíll take it.
And Grampie grilled a lot, and Grammie helped me sew a couple of vintage-looking skirts, and Iíve learned the basics of my harp.
I jump into the passengerís seat, buckle in, and look over at my dad. ìYou really ready for this?î My heart speeds up. This is the final leg of a very long journey, and whatís at the end of the path will determine the rest of our lives.
He looks into my eyes. ìAre you?î
ìI donít know,î I whisper. ìBut we donít really have a choice, do we?î
ìI can go alone.î
I shake my head. ìNo, Dad. Whatever we do, whatever happens from here on out, we do it together.î
ìDeal.î
No comments:
Post a Comment