Zilpha Keatley Snyder
1927–

American novelist and author of young adult novels, picture books, and children's poetry.

The following entry presents an overview of Snyder's career through 2005. For further information on her life and works, see CLR, Volume 31.

INTRODUCTION

The author of over forty books for children and young adults, Snyder has, over the course of her long career, created a series of three-dimensional young adult protagonists which are respectful and true depictions that reflect the lives and interests of her readers. Often utilizing mystery and gothic archetypes, Snyder's characters are regularly introduced in a state of turmoil born of traditional teen concerns, such as sibling rivalry, an abiding sense of under-appreciation, or new familial situations resulting from death, divorce, or remarriage. Her texts attempt to create sympathetic presentations of both character and issue, ultimately offering relatively happy conclusions wherein her primary characters have matured into a greater understanding and appreciation for their universe. Further, in depicting children that are often outcasts, she regularly gifts them with an understanding cadre of close friends and allies who emerge into a community that is both a comfort to readers and realistic in its understanding of juvenile societal interactions. Despite her regular use of realism as a thematic principle, she also incorporates aspects of mysticism and otherworldly elements meant to create suspense and contrast the real with the unreal. Snyder has been a three-time honoree for the Newbery Honor Book Award for her young adult novels, The Egypt Game (1967), The Headless Cupid (1971), and The Witches of Worm (1972), and has been short-listed for dozens of state awards for best children's book throughout her career.

BIOGRAPHICAL INFORMATION

Snyder was born on May 11, 1927, in Lemoore, California, to William Solon and Dessa Jepson Keatley. Her father owned a small horse farm in Wyoming, and Snyder later recounted her father's hardscrabble childhood in her novels Gib Rides Home (1998) and Gib and the Gray Ghost (2000). During the Great Depression, Snyder's hometown of Lemoore was overrun by waves of displaced people from the Dust Bowl drought, a locale she utilized as the setting for Cat Running (1994). After high school, Snyder attended Whittier College, a small liberal arts school in Southern California. She met her future husband, Larry Snyder, at an area hotel where they both worked, and they were married in 1950. After her college graduation in 1948, Snyder became a teacher for nine years and worked for three years as a master teacher for the University of California at Berkeley. Her husband's work as both a college music teacher and an Air Force officer during the Korean War necessitated several moves—fifteen in all, covering stints in Texas, New York, Washington, Alaska, and California. Together, the couple had three children, Susan, Douglas, and their foster son, Ben, who was born in China. While teaching, Snyder began to compose a children's book because, in her words, "nine years of teaching in the upper elementary grades had given me a deep appreciation of the gifts and graces that are specific to individuals with ten or eleven years of experience as human beings. It is, I think, a magical time—when so much has been learned, but not yet enough to entirely extinguish the magical reach and freedom of early childhood." Her first submission to her first publisher, Atheneum, caught the attention of editor Jean Karl, who expressed interest in publishing the story, but with the caveat that Snyder rewrite the story almost completely. After three rewrites, Season of Ponies (1964) was released. Snyder continued publishing over the next four decades, writing primarily for a young adult audience, although she has also published four picture books as well as an adult novel, Heirs of Darkness (1978). Today, Snyder lives with her husband in the San Francisco area.

MAJOR WORKS

Thematically, Snyder's canon of juvenile novels often features recurring plots and settings, principally those showcasing children under duress. Her protagonists are routinely introduced at a low point in their lives, born from a difficult situation such as adjusting to a new home (as in The Egypt Game) or negotiating difficult family issues (as in The Headless Cupid). Her young adult novels are also frequently evocative of gothic literature, utilizing creepy old mansions—as in The Ghosts of Rathburn Park (2002)—the possibility of paranormal creatures—a thematic element that reappears in such works as The Headless Cupid, The Trespassers (1995), and Spyhole Secrets (2001)—and the presence of magic, as in Black and Blue Magic (1966) and The Unseen (2004). Snyder employs these literary devices to usher in the maturation of her protagonists in unexpected ways. Kay E. Vandergrift has described the prototypical Snyder protagonists as "very real and believable young people who just happen to have a touch of magic. The real essence of child-life in her novels is in their creative lives, in the mysteries of that which is not quite known—or even knowable. This life of the imagination, played out slightly off center stage, helps characters cope with the concerns of everyday existence." Critics have often recognized Snyder's skill for creating believable and three-dimensional portrayals of her teenaged characters, with Mary M. Burns noting in her review of Cat Running: "Zilpha Keatley Snyder has the felicitous gift for writing a page-turner with depth of characterization and insight into social concerns … The narrative is always consistent with Cat's point of view; the author's ability to suggest the multi-dimensionality of secondary characters without slowing the pace of her story is truly remarkable."

Snyder's best known works are her young adult novels that have been recognized by the Newbery committee. The Egypt Game features a multi-cultural group of California children who play at being Egyptians in highly ritualized practices. The story is set during the 1960s and features eleven-year-old April Hall, who is forced to live with her grandmother while her actress mother travels the country. Stranded in a foreign environment with a sense of abandonment, April eventually forms a new family of neighborhood children from a wide cross-section of American backgrounds. Of this unique clique, Vandergrift has noted, "there is no special note taken of the fact, the players are a mixed group racially and ethnically which was at the time of publication (1967) still somewhat rare in American books for children. Readers already know and care about April, Melanie, and Elizabeth as people before necessarily realizing that they are respectively Caucasian, black, and Chinese." The Egypt Game also highlights Snyder's ability to realistically recreate the sorts of societies children innately form. Hazel K. Davis and James E. Davis have argued that, "Snyder develops a theme of unconditional friendship in the novel, demonstrating the unique ability of children to form communities that compensate for a lack of family structure and affection." In The Headless Cupid, Snyder introduces readers to the Stanleys, an unconventional merged family born of the marriage of two single parents. David and his three siblings are introduced to their new stepsister, Amanda, who is bitter about the disruption of her parents' marriage. Amanda is a relatively unpleasant child who dabbles in mysticism and séances as a means of dealing with her resentment and pain, eventually trying to draw the younger Stanley children into her plans. According to Snyder, her goal was to "show, in a rather lighthearted way, not only how reprehensible Amanda's actions were but also how ridiculous." While The Headless Cupid has been faced with several censorship challenges since its initial publication, due largely to its inclusion of supernatural elements, the novel is nonetheless a piercing portrait of a child in denial and pain that is, in the words of critic Susan Koosmann, "sensitive to the sociological and psychological issues facing adolescents. The book introduces emotions surrounding the death of a parent, divorce, remarriage, and the problems facing blended families. It also shows how David and Amanda cope psychologically with these issues." As in The Egypt Game, there are surprising aspects of darkness evident in The Headless Cupid, a thematic setting present in many of Snyder's books, perhaps most prominently in The Witches of Worm, which displays elements of witchcraft and possession; The Birds of Summer (1983), where drug dealers threaten the lives of Summer, her sister, and their irresponsible mother; and The Unseen, where seeming otherworldly spirits threaten the well-being of the protagonist Xandra. While all of Snyder's characters emerge from their dangers physically unscathed, they are all nonetheless changed and matured as a result of having faced such adversity.

CRITICAL RECEPTION

Snyder has won consistent acclaim for her young adult novels, and the longevity of her career has contributed to her reputation as a respected figure in children's literature. While her earlier novels remain her most critically popular, Snyder has nevertheless remained a popular writer for children. Kay E. Vandergrift has argued that the strongest aspect of Snyder's prose "is her sensitivity to, respect for, and appreciation of children. She seems attuned to the process of growing up, a process in which the imaginative young people Snyder writes about move freely between the everyday world adults know and the fanciful worlds children create to nourish the growth of their own minds and spirits." Similarly, Elizabeth A. Belden and Judith M. Beckman have applauded how Libby on Wednesday (1990) "concentrates on the development of precocious, spirited characters rather than on plot. Middle schoolers seeking their own identities will recognize the roles these talented teens assume to blunt the pain of the real emotions they keep hidden inside." However, while Snyder has won almost universal praise for her characterizations, several reviewers have asserted that her strong protagonists are too often offset by her unfocused plots. GraceAnne A. DeCandido has lamented that The Runaways (1999) offers "too many strands in this occasionally overwrought story, which paradoxically moves rather sluggishly: child abuse, a professional couple who can't quite get the knack of child raising, a wicked landlord whose son is the local bully." Likewise, Janice M. Del Negro has noted that, in The Ghosts of Rathburn Park, "Snyder can't seem to settle on a primary plot … Overall, the novel's pace suffers from the lack of focus, but eerie settings and promising characters will keep pages turning, and the occasional bit of melodrama spices up the action."

PRINCIPAL WORKS

Children's Works

Season of Ponies [illustrations by Alton Raible] (young adult novel) 1964

The Velvet Room [illustrations by Alton Raible] (young adult novel) 1965

Black and Blue Magic [illustrations by Gene Holtan] (young adult novel) 1966

The Egypt Game [illustrations by Alton Raible] (young adult novel) 1967

Eyes in the Fishbowl [illustrations by Alton Raible] (young adult novel) 1968

Today Is Saturday [photographs by John Arms] (children's poetry) 1969

The Changeling [illustrations by Alton Raible] (young adult novel) 1970

The Headless Cupid [illustrations by Alton Raible] (young adult novel) 1971

The Witches of Worm [illustrations by Alton Raible] (young adult novel) 1972

The Princess and the Giants [illustrations by Beatrice Darwin] (young adult novel) 1973

The Truth about Stone Hollow [illustrations by Alton Raible] (young adult novel) 1974; published in the United Kingdom as The Ghosts of Stone Hollow, 1978

*Below the Root [illustrations by Alton Raible] (young adult novel) 1975

*And All Between [illustrations by Alton Raible] (young adult novel) 1976

*Until the Celebration [illustrations by Alton Raible] (young adult novel) 1977

The Famous Stanley Kidnapping Case [illustrations by Alton Raible] (young adult novel) 1979

A Fabulous Creature [illustrations by Alton Raible] (young adult novel) (young adult novel) 1981

Come On, Patsy [illustrations by Margot Zemach] (picture book) 1982

The Birds of Summer (young adult novel) 1983

Blair's Nightmare (young adult novel) 1984

The Changing Maze [illustrations by Charles Mikolaycak] (picture book) 1985

And Condors Danced (young adult novel) 1987

Squeak Saves the Day and Other Tooley Tales [illustrations by Leslie Morrill] (young adult novel) 1988

Janie's Private Eyes (young adult novel) 1989

Libby on Wednesday (young adult novel) 1990

Song of the Gargoyle (young adult novel) 1991

Fool's Gold (young adult novel) 1993

Cat Running (young adult novel) 1994

†The Box and the Bone (young adult novel) 1995

†The Diamond War (young adult novel) 1995

†Ghost Invasion (young adult novel) 1995

†Secret Weapons (young adult novel) 1995

The Trespassers (young adult novel) 1995

The Gypsy Game (young adult novel) 1997

Gib Rides Home (young adult novel) 1998

The Runaways (young adult novel) 1999

Gib and the Gray Ghost (young adult novel) 2000

Spyhole Secrets (young adult novel) 2001

The Ghosts of Rathburn Park (young adult novel) 2002

The Unseen (young adult novel) 2004

The Magic Nation Thing (young adult novel) 2005

Adult Works

Heirs of Darkness (novel) 1978

*Part of Snyder's "Green Sky" trilogy.

†Part of Snyder's "Castle Court Kids" series.

AUTHOR COMMENTARY

Zilpha Keatley Snyder (essay date July 1993)

SOURCE: Snyder, Zilpha Keatley. "To Be a 'Storyteller.'" Writer 106, no. 7 (July 1993): 12-14.

[In the following essay, Snyder discusses how she became a writer and her philosophies about storytelling and writing for children.]

In the years since I began writing books for young people, I have occasionally been referred to by critics and even by friends as a "storyteller." Sometimes as a "natural" or even an "accomplished" storyteller. But even when such an appellation is obviously meant to be complimentary I have found that my reaction is slightly ambiguous.

For me, the sobriquet "storyteller" invokes some particularly poignant and powerful memories, memories of childhood habits and idiosyncrasies that in fact are, I believe, closely related to my present approach to writing fiction for young people. Therefore I thought it might be appropriate to begin a discussion of my writing techniques with a few words about how I happened to have earned, at a rather early age, the not always complimentary title of "storyteller."

As a child, growing up in a rather narrow and, limited environment, I learned early on to entertain myself by "making stuff up." I made up games, wildly imaginative scenarios based on everything I had ever heard or read, but winging on past learned facts and data into the realms of sheer illusion. And I also told stories—and soon learned that telling stories can get you in trouble.

I got in trouble when, for instance, in the midst of giving oral book reports, I threw in some really exciting events that the original author might very well have included if he/she had happened to think of them. And I got in even more serious trouble when I succumbed, in the course of describing some interesting occurrence to my parents, to my chronic urge to make any story really worth telling. Even among young friends, who could be quite accepting of my urge to embellish at Halloween when I was esteemed as a concocter of really scary ghost stories, I was at times put down as a "storyteller." And so I was forced long ago to confess to a certain lack of truthfulness as one of my major sins, in spite of the fact that I seldom told lies, which to my way of thinking, is something quite different.

And how does this confession relate to the techniques that I have developed over the years in the course of writing twenty-eight books for children and young adults? It relates, I think, in the following ways.

I still begin a story by indulging in what has always been for me a form of self-entertainment. I look for a character or characters and a beginning situation that cries out to be explored and embellished—or "embroidered," as my mother used to say reprovingly. This beginning situation must be something that connects directly to my long-established urge to find excitement, mystery, and high emotion in the midst of even the most prosaic circumstances. And over the years I have found that if such an element is lacking, I should not look for other reasons to continue work on that particular story idea.

For me at least a theme to develop, a problem to explore, or a message to be delivered, doesn't do it. I know because I've tried.

I have started books with a particular message in mind, only to find that my plot mires down and my characters refuse to come to life.

This is not to say that my stories contain no references to problems that have been of concern to me, or causes I would like to promote. I just find it better to start with the joy and excitement of letting my imagination run wild—and let the messages take care of themselves—because they can and will. Messages are, I think, unavoidable. Anything a writer cares or feels deeply about will inevitably find its way into what he or she writes. However, I have found that it is better, when I start out on a new literary journey, to let messages climb into the back seat on their own, rather than to invite them to take the wheel.

So what happens then, after the initial excitement of discovering a sufficiently intriguing combination of characters and setting? Then, of course, comes the hard work—careful methodical plotting, planning and developing. Hard and demanding work, but always buoyed up and carried along by that storytellers' excitement over a situation that simply begs to be "embroidered."

For me, this hard work begins by preparing a loose-leaf notebook, taking out the scribbled and doodled-over pages collected during my previous writing endeavor, and adding new, invitingly pristine paper after each of the section dividers. The first section must have blank, unlined paper, because it is there that I will draw maps and/or floor plans.

This urge to draw maps or floor plans may be unique. At least I haven't met any other writers who seem to follow such a strange procedure. I draw town plots when a small town or village is the setting for a new story, clarifying for myself the location of the protagonist's home in relation to other pertinent sites—such as the location of his or her school, best friend's home, sites of important happenings, etc. Then there are the floor plans of a house, if a house is important to the story, particularly a "big old" house, as has been the case in several of my books. Or, as in a recent book, a castle. Drawing that floor plan after studying several castles during the course of a European trip was a particularly intriguing effort.

I don't know what this "map complex" means, except that I know I do have a strong visual sense, and it is important to me to have a vivid mental image of the place I'm writing about. Place or person.

And so—on to persons. The next divider in my notebook is labeled "Character Sketches." In this section I start a number of pages with the names of my main characters and begin to jot down what I know about them, not only their general appearance but their strengths and weaknesses, joys and sorrows, loves and hates, family relationships. Everything, down to minor personality quirks. I don't try to finish these descriptions before I begin to write the story. I simply begin with initial impressions, and leave lots of room to add or change information as we get better acquainted.

After the pages for central characters there follow a few pages for minor characters—simply the names I have chosen for them and a sentence or two about their relationship to the story. Such a listing comes in handy when, for instance, you are nearing the end of a book and the occasion requires you to mention a minor character perhaps a teacher, a mailman, or bus driver and you find that you have forgotten what you'd named him. Without this list, you'll be endlessly flipping pages, or scrolling through chapters, looking for an elusive name.

USUALLY after a few days or weeks of daydreaming, map drawing, and character sketching, I begin the actual writing—a preliminary stab at the first chapter or two to get a handle on the tone, style, and feel of the story. But then I pause to work on the all-important next section of my notebook: PLOT.

On the PLOT pages I do what I sometimes describe as "writing the book report before the book is written." I know there are some fine authors who, after getting to know their characters and beginning situation, simply start to write and "just see what happens." I also know it doesn't work for me. It's fun, I'll admit, but it just doesn't work. The usual result is that my characters immediately get themselves into predicaments that I can't get them out of in any logical manner.

Also, I really can't understand how one can do the necessary foreshadowing of events, if one is unaware what these events will be.

So as I slowly and carefully (because this is one of the most demanding and crucial steps in the whole process) write the one or two pages of my PLOT section, I clarify in my own mind the barebones storyline that I will be following. Of course I don't, at this point, know everything that is going to happen in the story. Totally unexpected events—surprising and sometimes wonderfully exciting—are certain to occur as the story progresses. But what I must know is the major problem or mystery to be solved—and in particular, the final climax of the story and its resolution. Then, the story can zig and zag as new characters come on scene, or minor events occur, without causing the story to wander off into uncharted wastelands—as long as the writer always keeps one eye on the resolution that is the final goal.

Having completed the PLOT section I move on to the CHAPTER OUTLINES, which will be done one at a time as I begin each new chapter.

Each CHAPTER OUTLINE consists of one page divided into two columns, one of which is titled Action and the other Exposition. On the left-hand side, as I begin each new chapter, I jot down a few notes about the on-scene events that need to happen in the next few pages. And on the righthand side, I remind myself of information that needs to be presented to the reader—all the background material, descriptions, character development, etc., that should be included in the chapter. I find this brief outline helps me remember to weave expository material into dialogue and action continually, rather than dropping it in occasionally in huge clumps.

The next section of my notebook is labeled REWRITE, and it consists of brief notes that I make as the writing progresses to remind myself that I should, perhaps, "look for a good place to foreshadow Grub's reaction to Robinson's death," for instance. Or perhaps, "go over Chapter Nine to see if some cutting would pick up the pace."

Such notes are usually made when 1) someone in my writer's support group (seven writers who have been meeting twice a month for over twelve years) points out a flaw; 2) after hearing from my editor who has just read the manuscript; 3) 1 suddenly discover, all by myself, that what I've written is less than perfect.

And that's about it except for one final section labeled RESEARCH, which is self-explanatory. I may refer to this section relatively little when I'm writing a book like Libby on Wednesday, a contemporary story set in California, but when I wrote Song of the Gargoyle, which has a medieval setting, the research section was almost book length.

So there it is, my own personal "Notebook Method," which has evolved slowly over the years since, at the age of eight, I resolved to be a writer after it dawned on me that there were people in this world who, instead of being scolded for being a "storyteller," actually could make a career of it.

Zilpha Keatley Snyder (essay date 2002)

SOURCE: Snyder, Zilpha Keatley. "In Defense of Cupid." In Censored Books II: Critical Viewpoints, 1985-2000, edited by Nicholas J. Karolides, pp. 220-24. Lanham, Md.: Scarecrow Press, Inc., 2002.

[In the following essay, Snyder defends her young adult novel The Headless Cupid against several criticisms levelled against the book by critics and censors who find the work inappropriate for young audiences.]

On receiving a request from Professor Karolides asking for a defense of my book The Headless Cupid, my initial reaction was not entirely one of surprise. I have been aware for some time that at least three of my books have frequently been the subject of serious censorship efforts, most frequently and virulently The Headless Cupid. But what did surprise and gratify me was the grand company my Cupid has been keeping. How could I not feel honored to see my small, wooden, headless offspring listed along with the likes of Tom Sawyer, Julie of the Wolves, Gilly Hopkins, and many other widely famed and justly praised creative progeny of so many gifted writers. But putting surprise and gratification aside, and moving on to my attempt to explain and vindicate my story, I believe a brief summary of the plot line might be in order.

The Headless Cupid story is seen through the eyes of eleven-year-old David Stanley, the well-meaning and long-suffering older brother of three rather idiosyncratic siblings. David's mother is dead and his father has recently remarried a woman with a twelve-year-old daughter. With David the reader begins to witness his recently acquired stepsister's attempts to use her interest in the occult to get even with the world. Amanda is angry for a number of reasons. For one thing, she is in that early adolescent age group that often displays a certain amount of ambient outrage. More specifically she blames her mother for her parents' divorce and for her mother's remarriage into a family with four annoying younger children. So she decides to torment her mother and stepfather by recruiting her younger stepsiblings into her occult activities, an effort at which she is wildly unsuccessful. Her seance, particularly, is a fiasco. Blair keeps falling asleep, Esther won't stop talking, and Jamie, as always, tries to take over. As Amanda tries to reincarnate the poltergeist that once, according to rumor, haunted their old house in the country, David, the artless and ingenuous protagonist, is at first intrigued by her claims of supernatural powers. But gradually, aided by the instincts of his supersensitive and insightful four-year-old brother, he becomes aware of Amanda's real agenda, as does the careful reader. In the end she is exposed and gets her comeuppance—and loses all interest in the occult. In the subsequent Stanley family stories Amanda is still not the greatest older sister in the world, but she does slowly make some progress toward sibling appreciation.

This might be the place for a few words about the inspirational kickoff for this particular story. When the book was written in the early 1970s there was great public interest in every kind of mystical and/or metapsychical enterprise. Every branch of the media was full of references to such things as astrology, exorcism, poltergeists, telepathy, palmistry, crystal gazing, witchcraft, et cetera. During this time it was brought to my attention that some young people were obviously using their interest in such phenomena mainly as a means to disturb and annoy society in general and, very often, their parents in particular.

So what should I have to say about this situation, as a writer of books for young people? A diatribe against the terrible danger of supernaturalism probably might only serve to make such interests more intriguing. What I tried to do in Cupid was to show, in a rather lighthearted way, not only how reprehensible Amanda's actions were but also how ridiculous.

The story has never been criticized for violence, offensive language, or sexual content; implications which, had they been made, could easily have been disproved. But according to its attackers it is guilty of advocating and encouraging supernatural practices. This accusation is understandable in a way since such things as poltergeists, familiar spirits, and seances are indeed alluded to. But the fear that supernatural interests are encouraged and advocated should be allayed by a thorough and careful reading.

A quote from a letter from a young Stanley family fan seems to show that young readers are well able to get the message that Amanda (the would-be witch) is not the hero of the story. The quote: "Would you please write some more Stanley family stories because they are my favorites. And if you do, will you please have David give Amanda a good crack on the head."

So the '70s, with its emphasis on anything and everything mystical, supernatural, spiritual, or simply far-out, did play a part in motivating me to write the story. But times do change, and now again the temper of the times is significant, in that the attempts to censor Cupid do seem to attest to the greatly increased fear of the supernatural that seems to have arisen during the last decade. It wasn't until at least fifteen years after the 1972 publication date of The Headless Cupid that I first became aware of any attacks on the book. It was about this time that librarians began to inform me that my book apparently had been placed on the list compiled by a group of people who object to any mention of certain subjects in books for children, textbooks as well as trade. This list, which was sent to like-thinking groups all over the country, not only opposed any reference to the supernatural but also any mention or celebration of Halloween. Among their other prohibitions were also such obvious evils as feminism, gun control, evolution, yoga, meditation, one-worldism, vegetarianism, and secular humanism (which apparently is defined as any attempt to encourage ethical behavior without reference to "God's word").

Some of the attacks on my books were personal and even frightening. One of the first occurred when I was being driven to a school in Texas, where I was to give the first of several talks to large groups of children, and was informed that there had been an attempt to get me uninvited and that quite likely a group of protesters would be present at my speech. They were, in fact, but apart from suspicious frowns and avid note taking they remained in the background.

A little later, in Southern California, I was not so fortunate. At the end of a panel on book censorship, a young woman appeared on the stage, grabbed my hand, and put a book of matches in it. Shaking her finger in my face she announced that the matches were a gift and that I was going to repent and burn all of my books. Afterward, recalling her glowing eyes and fiery rhetoric, I felt fortunate that she hadn't attempted to set fire to me.

Other critiques are mainly puzzling. Only recently, in their May/June 2000 edition, Horn Book published an article by Kimbra Wilder Gish defending the religious right's opposition to any mention of the occult in books for children, in which Ms. Gish stated that in The Headless Cupid one child threatens another with occult powers. I was so puzzled by this accusation that I reread Cupid from cover to cover, something that I hadn't done for many years, and was unable to discover what Ms. Gish was referring to. The good news is, I really enjoyed the read. I was pleased to find that, in spite of its advanced age, the story holds up pretty well.

And so it goes. Some of the accusations are almost funny. Like the self-appointed critic who asserted that the book teaches "how to relate to a familiar spirit." In the story Amanda does, indeed, have a caged crow that she proclaims to be her familiar spirit. However, the crow obviously doesn't agree. All Amanda ever reaps from her rites and rituals are a lot of pecks and scratches.

The seance has been another bone of contention. There are, it seems, a certain number of people who were terribly offended by the portrayal of a seance attended by children. These people seem to think it quite likely that such an enterprise actually might call up evil spirits or even the devil himself—even a seance run by a fake, and very frustrated, medium and participated in by a rather unruly bunch of attendees.

Perhaps I should admit, at this point, that when my sisters and I were close to the age of the Stanley kids, we had a brief spell of playing seance in a spooky and spiderwebby attic. However, the game didn't last long due to an aversion to spiders and to the apparent disinterest of the ghostly participants we were anticipating. We also played with a Ouija board for a while until arguments, over who was and who wasn't surreptitiously pushing the pointer, put a damper on the proceedings. I can recall a number of confrontations along the lines of "You did too" and "I did not" but no ghostly encounters, other than pretend ones. And our mother, the offspring of many generations of Quakers and a devoted Christian, never seemed worried about our mystical game playing. She had, she said, tried the Ouija board herself as a child and seemed to see it, as we did, as imaginative game playing.

As for the supposition that children might conjure up evil spirits while playing imaginative games, spirits that might encourage immoral and/or antisocial behavior, I feel that such fears are ill-founded. If, for instance, it should happen that a child playing with an Ouija board is inspired to act in an immoral manner, I feel quite certain that the place to look for the underlying motivation is in the realities, the real, everyday needs and fears, of that child's existence. That is what I meant when I had Mrs. Fortune, in The Witches of Worm, say that, "We all invite our own demons and we must exorcize our own."

A word about imaginative game playing in general, a theme that occurs in many of my books. I am firmly convinced that such game playing is one of the best ways for children to stretch their imaginations—right up there with reading and a thousand times better than watching TV. And should we encourage our children to develop their imagination? In my opinion a well-developed imagination is necessary not only for any kind of artistic endeavor, but also in many other career areas. Imaginative approaches to problem solving are necessary not only for a successful professional life, but also in the area of personal relationships. And wouldn't it be wonderful if we could develop political leaders who could "imagine" a new and more successful approach to such problems as poverty and war!

But the pendulum continues to swing, and among the changes that passing time has brought are the increasing numerous attack on Cupid. That The Headless Cupid has not always been seen as a dangerous book is evidenced by the fact that it was a 1972 Newbery Honor Book and soon afterward America's contribution to the Hans Christian Andersen International Honors List. It received the Christopher Medal given by the Catholic Educators of America, was a Junior Literary Guild choice, was on the American Library Association's list of Notable Books, and in 1974 it won the William Allen White award given by the state of Kansas. It has been published in eleven languages.

I would like to think that in the future, if parents, teachers, and librarians read the Cupid story thoroughly, it will once again be accepted for what I meant it to be—a funny, slightly scary exposé of a mixed-up kid's completely unsuccessful attempt to use the "supernatural" to get even with the world.

Works Cited

Gish, Kimbra Wilder. "Hunting Down Harry Potter: An Exploration of Religious Concerns about Children's Literature." Horn Book Magazine, May/June 2000. Vol. 76, Issue 3, 262-271.

Snyder, Zilpha Keatley. The Headless Cupid. New York: Thomas Y. Crowell, 1973.

GENERAL COMMENTARY

Kay E. Vandergrift (essay date 1989)

SOURCE: Vandergrift, Kay E. "Zilpha Keatley Snyder." In Twentieth-Century Children's Writers, Third Edition, edited by Tracy Chevalier, pp. 903-05. Chicago, Ill.: St. James Press, 1989.

[In the following essay, Vandergrift offers a critical biographical overview of Snyder's writing career, commenting that, "[t]he most outstanding characteristic of Zilpha Keatley Snyder's work is her sensitivity to, respect for, and appreciation of children."]

Zilpha Keatley Snyder comments:

I am a fiction writer with a decided list towards the fantastical. Like most writers I write for the joy of it, to exorcise old ghosts, and because I can't seem to stop, but I am also aware of a very personal motivation. I write as a legitimate means of indulging in an apparently inborn vice—the tendency to make things up. I write for middle-aged children (9-14) because they are magical people.

The most outstanding characteristic of Zilpha Keatley Snyder's work is her sensitivity to, respect for, and appreciation of children. She seems to be attuned to the process of growing up, a process in which the imaginative young people Snyder writes about move freely between the everyday world adults know and the fanciful worlds children create to nourish the growth of their own minds and spirits. Although many of her characters read fantasy, they do not enter into someone else's fantasy world; they create their own worlds, often in groups through role playing or creative play. Sometimes an individual character, such as Robin in The Velvet Room, will enter into a very private world which walls her off from the harsh realities of the world outside; but even then that world is used not just to hide but to gather strength, to learn to be more or different or better than one has been before. Snyder capitalizes on the creative acts of the child without demeaning them. In addition, her novels possess a distinct charm and energy that carry readers into a story with the help of detailed descriptions and familiar characteristics.

The Stanley children are the main characters in four of Snyder's books, and each child in the family is notable for specific gifts and talents. Readers are introduced to the family in The Headless Cupid and Amanda immediately captures interest with her bizarre costume and her crow which she says is her "Familiar." Although Amanda is a stepsister to the Stanley children, she develops a strong and growing relationship with the younger half-siblings. The author respects young readers enough to have her characters, in this case the Stanley children, both accept and participate in Amanda's role playing while seeing through it as the means their stepsister uses to cope with her parents' divorce and her mother's remarriage. Even Amanda seems to be aware of what she is doing. In The Famous Stanley Kidnapping Case, it is Amanda's boastful tongue that causes the trouble but the united effort of all the children rescues them when they are captured by Red Mask and his gang. Snyder draws upon Blair's wild imagination to develop the story of Blair's Nightmare in which he seeks to bend the family's "no pets" rule but almost causes a tragedy in the process. In Janie's Private Eyes, the latest of the Stanley family novels, neighborhood pets are suddenly missing. A Vietnamese family is blamed; and Janie, with the aid of her family and Thuy and Huy Tran, seeks to solve this mystery and find the missing dogs with the aid of her newly formed detective agency.

Another group of books is Snyder's Greensky trilogy—Below the Root, And All Between, and Until the Celebration. Together these works create a richly detailed fanciful world beneath the cities above ground. Those that live in Greensky are often tempted to eat the wissenberries which make them drowsy, but here too the classic battles between good and evil are fought.

The Egypt Game is probably one of this author's most popular novels, and certainly one of her best. The Egypt game is an elaborate game played in a secret "temple" and filled with ritualistic gestures. Through his observations of the game, an old professor takes a new interest in life and ultimately saves the children from unexpected danger. Although there is no special note taken of the fact, the players are a mixed group racially and ethnically which was at the time of publication (1967) still somewhat rare in American books for children. Readers already know and care about April, Melanie, and Elizabeth as people before necessarily realizing that they are respectively caucasian, black, and Chinese.

Snyder has said that The Witches of Worm grew from her reading of historical accounts of the Salem witch trials and from observations of the strange personality of a kitten in the family. In this story Jessica brings home a skinny, ugly-looking kitten called Worm, although she never liked cats. Soon she begins doing mean things she would never do on her own, and realizes that Worm is really a witch's cat who has cast a spell on her. One of the strengths of this story is the fine line that divides the imagination of this lonely child who has been deserted by her father from the world of the supernatural.

Many of the young girls in Snyder's stories are lonely, either actually deserted by parents or left to their own devices for other reasons. Pamela in Season of Ponies, Snyder's first book, is unhappy because her father left her at Oak Farm with two stern old aunts for the summer. With the aid of an amulet her father gave her, however, Pamela meets a strange young man who appears out of the mist surrounded by horses and playing his flute. The Changeling is told in retrospect by a high school sophomore who reflects on the effect Ivy Carson, the eccentric dancer daughter of a large, troublesome family, had on Martha's own blossoming from a very shy young girl to an aspiring actress. Summer McIntyre of The Birds of Summer has no father and her mother doesn't seem to be able to take responsibility for herself let alone her two daughters, so 16-year-old Summer has to be responsible for the three of them. In this book it is as much the mother as the daughter who seems to be walking the fine line between reality and fantasy in the process of growing up. Summer does imagine a caring father and writes letters to him which she keeps in a box, but basically she is a very level-headed young woman dealing with serious problems created by the mother who should have been caring for her.

Carly in And Condors Danced feels that she is invisible most of the time. Her mother is ill and her father for the most part stern and indifferent, so she escapes to the mountains or to her Aunt Mehitabel's where she is freer to indulge her imagination. But reality intrudes on her spirited imaginative adventures and she has to cope with many real-life tragedies in this story set on a California ranch at the turn of the century. Robin of The Velvet Room separates herself from pressing family problems by "wandering off," both literally and figuratively. The velvet room of the title is the library of a deserted old house where Robin goes to read and dream about another life.

Black and Blue Magic, Eyes in the Fishbowl, and A Fabulous Creature all have young male protagonists. Harry Houdini Marco is almost 12 when he helps an old man on a city bus and is rewarded with magical wings. This is one of Snyder's funniest novels when the magic of the wings is juxtaposed with the problems of everyday life of a rather clumsy child, resulting in the "black and blue" of the title. Dion in Eyes in the Fishbowl gets involved in strange, perhaps supernatural events in a large, realistically described department store. In A Fabulous Creature James Fielding's "Don Juan Project," a plan to make him irresistible to girls, has to be carried out at an isolated resort where his parents take him for the summer.

Squeak Saves the Day and Other Tooley Tales is a collection of seven stories for younger readers featuring the Tooley family, very small creatures who live in a miniature world threatened by humans whom they call Stompers. These are short, very humorous stories of pure fantasy unlike most of Snyder's books for older children which exist in that fragile and magical space between reality and fantasy.

In most of her books, Snyder's characters are very real and believable young people who just happen to have a touch of magic. The real essence of child-life in her novels is in their creative lives, in the mysteries of that which is not quite known—or even knowable. This life of the imagination, played out slightly off center stage, helps characters cope effectively with the concerns of everyday existence.

TITLE COMMENTARY

BLACK AND BLUE MAGIC (1966)

Books for Children, 1965-1966 (review date 1966)

SOURCE: Review of Black and Blue Magic, by Zilpha Keatley Snyder, illustrated by Gene Holtan. In Books for Children, 1965-1966, pp. 91-2. Chicago, Ill.: American Library Association, 1966.

[Black and Blue Magic is] an intriguing and amusing story of eleven-year-old Harry Houdini Marco's remarkable summer. Unhappy about his awkwardness and the prospects of a lonely, dull vacation, Harry is delighted when strange Mr. Mazzeeck gives him a magic lotion which grows wings and enables him to fly. His secret nightly flights over the bay and city of San Francisco not only bring Harry joy and adventure but also help to make dreams come true for him and his mother. Perceptive characterization and a sympathetic depiction of the problems and pressures of daily living are skillfully blended with the magic of fantasy. Grades 4-6.

THE EGYPT GAME (1967)

Hazel K. Davis and James E. Davis (essay date 1989)

SOURCE: Davis, Hazel K., and James E. Davis. "The Egypt Game." In Beacham's Guide to Literature for Young Adults, Volume 1, edited by Kirk H. Beetz and Suzanne Niemeyer, pp. 384-90. Washington, D.C.: Beacham Publishing, 1989.

[In the following essay, Davis and Davis offer a critical reading of Snyder's The Egypt Game, arguing that the text is indicative of the unique community-forming and non-prejudicial abilities of children.]

About the Author

Zilpha Keatley Snyder, born on May 11, 1927, in Lemoore, California, has spent most of her life in her native state. Growing up before the age of television, traveling infrequently, and seeing few movies led her to depend on books for excitement. A nearby library provided an inexhaustible supply of magic, adventure, and excitement. She decided at the age of eight to become a professional writer, but many years passed before the publication of her first book, Season of Ponies.

Before her success as a writer, Snyder attended college, married, had children, and taught school for nine years. She says students she had taught in Berkeley, California, served as models for the six main characters in The Egypt Game. Snyder also bases her characters and plotlines on her own experiences, family, friends, pets, interests, and travels.

Three of her novels—The Egypt Game, The Headless Cupid, and The Witches of Worm —have been runners-up for the Newbery Medal. The Changeling and The Headless Cupid have been awarded the Christopher Medal in recognition of exceptional quality.

Overview

The Egypt Game is a story about a group of diverse, imaginative children playing a game about Egypt. Like most of Snyder's books, however, the novel's simple title belies its complex subject matter; The Egypt Game focuses on the experiences of its precocious female protagonist, April, as she encounters loneliness, prejudice, friendship, and murder. Sent to live with her dead father's mother in California, April learns to adjust to her new environment, make friends, and care for her grandmother.

April and her friends who play the Egypt Game share a camaraderie that ignores differences in race, culture, and age. Although the members include whites, blacks, and Asians spanning from ages four through eleven, all are held together by their fascination with Egypt and their extremely active imaginations. But when real danger threatens the children, the adult characters reveal their prejudiced views and eventually learn from the children not to make assumptions about an outsider just because the person seems different. Overall, The Egypt Game is an excellent study in the growth of love and the acceptance of others.

Setting

The book is set in California in the mid-1960s on Orchard Avenue in a large university town. The area around Orchard Avenue is residential, consisting of apartment houses, modest homes, and small shops. The people of the area represent a wide variety of ethnic groups, and many of them work or study at the university.

April Hall has come to live with Caroline, her father's mother. Her father died in the Korean War when she was very young, and her mother, a singer and would-be actress, is currently on tour. Caroline lives in the Casa Rosada, a Spanish-style apartment house built in the 1920s, where the apartments are large but relatively inexpensive. Caroline works in the library at the university and has moved to the Casa Rosada so she will have room for April.

Among several small shops near the Casa Rosada, the A-Z shop sells antiques, curios, and used merchandise. This shop and its strange owner figure prominently in the novel. On her first day at the apartment April walks to the 5&10 store to buy fake eyelashes. On the way back, she stops at the A-Z, investigates the shop, and talks to the owner, who seems quite uninterested in April and her questions.

Most of the activity in the novel takes place in the boarded up storage yard behind the A-Z shop. When April and her friend Melanie find a movable board in the fence, they enter the storage yard and discover the land of Egypt.

Themes and Characters

Snyder develops a theme of unconditional friendship in the novel, demonstrating the unique ability of children to form communities that compensate for a lack of family structure and affection. Although April tries to hide her longing for the father she never knew, her hurt at her mother's neglect, and her insecurity in her new surroundings, she finds an extended family through the friendships of the Egypt group. Melanie Ross, a black eleven-year-old, accepts her friendship despite April's bragging, lying, strange manner of dress, and eccentric behavior. They soon become as close as sisters. April accepts Melanie's four-year-old brother, Marshall, as one of the gang on equal terms. The girls add a newcomer of Chinese descent, nine-year-old Elizabeth Chung, to their gang almost from the minute they meet her, and they even accept two eleven-year-old boys, Ken Alvillar and Toby Kamataj into the Egypt Game. April and Toby vie for the leadership of the group, but each is able to make concessions to the other. Because the children are willing to compromise and listen to different points of view, few conflicts arise among members of the group.

The Egypt group, however, cannot completely substitute for a family, and Snyder addresses the need for children to have some type of familial stability. Dumped on her grandmother while her mother is on the road, April glamorizes her mother's activities, looks, and behavior to try to comfort herself but is angered by her mother's absence. April has had a rather difficult life up to this point, and lacks a sense of belonging. She has been in and out of dozens of schools, has never had playmates her own age, and has depended on her imagination to make life more tolerable. April's relationship with her grandmother moves from one of defiance and antagonism to one of love, acceptance, and a recognition of her own need for stability.

Another theme concerns people's willingness to think the worst about someone who is different, mysterious, and private. Not only do the adults suspect that the Professor has murdered a child in the neighborhood, but the children also fear him. April visits and talks to the Professor before becoming aware of the neighborhood attitudes. When a second child is murdered, only April speaks up for the Professor.

April's loyalty to the Professor also stems from the fact that she, Melanie, and Marshall develop the Egypt Game using odds and ends they find in the Professor's storage yard. Unlike many adults, the children value the different and the foreign. They research Egypt, invent their own hieroglyphic alphabet, and act out rituals for the good goddess Isis and the evil god Set.

The murders contrast with the children's simple fantasy game of good versus evil and put an end to the Egypt Game for awhile. The killer remains at large, but gradually things return to normal until April is attacked in the storage yard. The Professor saves April, and the killer is soon apprehended. The neighborhood adults try to make up for their behavior toward the Professor, who in turn becomes a friendly, helpful neighbor to them.

Because the land of Egypt has been a place where the children share privacy and secrecy with best friends, April and Melanie realize that the presence of adults and violence has spoiled their enchanted land. Although they know they can't go back to Egypt again, the novel ends with April saying "Melanie … what do you know about gypsies?" The children begin a new game with enthusiasm, demonstrating their resilience and optimism.

Snyder's underlying theme addresses the nature of childhood in urban contemporary America. The Egypt Game seems to represent the creativity and hopefulness of childhood, as opposed to the unpredictably violent and suspicious world of adults. April, who has experienced emotional violence in the loss of her father and the callousness of her starstruck mother, seems to demand her right to childhood, using the Egypt Game as a way of rejecting the pain that the adult world thrusts upon her. In Egypt she creates a world where she does not have to feel abandoned or hurt. Yet as the murders and the attack on April show, children cannot be protected or isolated from the often painful world around them. Snyder's point is ultimately hopeful; she shows that April's imagination, her love of learning, and her close relationship with her grandmother and friends will enable her to survive—and to enjoy—growing up.

Literary Qualities

The structure of The Egypt Game reflects Snyder's thematic emphasis on the encroachment of the adult world upon childhood. The book begins with what seems to be the opening sentence of a fairy-tale, "Not long ago …" Yet in the tradition of Hans Christian Andersen, the fairy-tale opening has dark overtones and quickly becomes an introduction to a strange man who spies on the little girls playing in his yard and who has aroused the fear and distrust of his neighbors. Hence, although the novel is seemingly about children, for children, the adult world imposes its viewpoint from the beginning of the story, in keeping with Snyder's theme. The first chapter focuses exclusively on the perceptions and opinions of adults, from the Professor to the neighbors. The reader's first glimpse of childhood in the story comes from the eyes of the mysterious, unnamed Professor. Only after Snyder establishes this hovering, unnerving adult presence, does she present the child characters, beginning with April.

Snyder also employs symbolism to explore her theme. By naming April after the stormy month of spring, she emphasizes April's tempestuous upbringing and forceful personality; the name also highlights April's disguised vulnerability, suggesting the beauty and new growth of springtime. Snyder symbolically situates the Egypt Game in the storage yard of a shop owned by a Professor and significantly named the A-Z shop. In the same way that young children begin their formal use of language at the basic level of the alphabet, so do April and her friends learn a new language of friendship, creativity, and survival through the game they play at the A-Z property.

Even Marshall's stuffed octopus, Security, plays an obviously symbolic role in the novel. In making Security a multi-tentacled octopus rather than a soft blanket or a cuddly teddy bear, Snyder replaces the conventional sign of childhood security with a more ominous figure, one that illustrates her notion that children in contemporary urban society cannot be completely protected from the complex world around them. Even the imaginary land of Egypt, the haven the children create for themselves, is not secure from danger, and Security can do nothing for four-year-old Marshall when he witnesses the attack on April in Egypt.

Snyder's ultimate view is realistic, not bleak, and the initially threatening Professor comes to represent true security. He watches over the children, saves April from the murderer, and encourages a new feeling of community in the neighborhood. At the end of the novel, April is not safe from all pain and fear, or ready to live happily ever after, but Snyder shows that she has the security of a home and a group of people who love her as a result of her experience with the Egypt Game. Like Marshall—who leaves Security in his room at the novel's end, showing that he can face the world by himself—April learns to accept the stability that her newfound friends supply.

Social Sensitivity

Set in an urban university community in California, The Egypt Game features ethnically diverse characters. While neither age nor race seem to enter the children's minds, the adults maintain some prejudices about anyone who seems "different." Snyder clearly espouses the children's attitude when they turn out to be right about the innocence of the Professor. Indeed, the adults learn from the children and take measures to make amends with the Professor, whom they unjustly accuse of murder.

Parents and teachers might want to reinforce with younger readers the risks of being too trusting of adults, particularly strangers, but the inclusion of the murders in the plot makes this point as well. Snyder uses the murders to bring an element of realism to her depiction of urban childhood in the 1960s and uses the violence to make a thematic point. The narrative gives no details about the murders, and the reader never meets the victims, lessening the emotional impact of the incident.

EYES IN THE FISHBOWL (1968)

Books for Children, 1967-1968 (review date 1968)

SOURCE: Review of Eyes in the Fishbowl, by Zilpha Keatley Snyder, illustrated by Alton Raible. In Books for Children, 1967-1968, pp. 802-03. Chicago, Ill.: American Library Association, 1968.

To fourteen-year-old Dion James, irritated by the clutter and insecurity of life with his charming, talented, but improvident father, the sumptuous Alcott-Simpson department store has been a symbol of elegance and order since childhood [in Eyes in the Fishbowl ]. Intrigued by the rumors of strange events going on in the store, Dion becomes personally involved when he meets the lovely, exotic Sara who, along with invisible child companions she refers to only as "the others," appears to be living in Alcott-Simpson's. Although the puzzling blend of the real and supernatural may be confusing to some young readers, the first-person narrative is an unusual contemporary story enriched with subtle but discerning commentary on human values. Grades 6-9.

TODAY IS SATURDAY (1969)

Books for Children, 1968-1969 (review date 1970)

SOURCE: Review of Today Is Saturday, by Zilpha Keatley Snyder, photographs by John Arms. In Books for Children, 1968-1969, p. 374. Chicago, Ill.: American Library Association, 1970.

A joyous and distinctive volume of original poetry, [Today Is Saturday is] stimulating to the eye as well as to the heart and mind. Fresh, vivid poetic interpretation of the spontaneous thoughts, feelings, and activities of children are complemented by marvelously apt photographs. For the imaginative child and worthy of promotion with all children. Grades 4-6.

THE HEADLESS CUPID (1971)

Susan Koosmann (essay date 2002)

SOURCE: Koosmann, Susan. "The Headless Cupid, by Zilpha Keatley Snyder." In Censored Books II: Critical Viewpoints, 1985-2000, edited by Nicholas J. Karolides, pp. 213-19. Lanham, Md.: Scarecrow Press, Inc., 2002.

[In the following essay, Koosmann refutes the critical assertion that Snyder's The Headless Cupid is focused on the occult, asserting that the book can be more accurately described as a sensitive portrayal of youthful emotions and blended families.]

There is something eerie occurring in the Stanley family's new home that becomes apparent shortly after twelve-year-old Amanda arrives dressed in a strange costume and talking about spirits and spells. It is Amanda who discovers the legend of the old house and the mysterious ghost that was said to haunt it in 1896 when it was known as the Westerly house. Unexplained events occurred then. Rocks fell from above, objects moved, and things were broken. Particularly disconcerting was the missing head of one of the ornamental cupids that lined the main stairway. Someone—or something—had severed it from the statue. The head had never been replaced nor found. Shortly after this incident, the Westerly daughters, twelve-year-old Mabel and fourteen-year-old Harriet, were sent away to boarding school. They returned to live in the house as adults, remaining there until their deaths, after which the house was sold to the Stanleys. Now these strange events are beginning to reoccur. Rocks and debris fall from nowhere, there are loud noises at night, and objects break with no apparent reason. The parents, who are unaware of the legend, are mystified by these events, but when the children begin to act strangely, they become concerned. Is the house haunted? Did the family make a mistake moving there? These are some of the questions that a wait the reader of Zilpha Keatley Snyder's novel The Headless Cupid, a delightful blend of mystery and suspense spiced with supernatural suggestion.

Although the book has received several awards, there are some who challenge its appropriateness for adolescent readers based on its references to the occult. Analysis of The Headless Cupid reveals that plot references to the occult are subordinate to the stronger messages conveyed through the characters, themes, and values presented in the book.

David Stanley is the eleven-year-old protagonist of The Headless Cupid. The story is told from his viewpoint. When the book opens he is contemplating the arrival of his new stepsister, Amanda. He has concerns, one of which is what it will be like having an older "sister" in the house. Since his mother's recent illness and death, it has been just himself, his father, and three siblings: six-year-old, talkative Janie and the four-year-old twins, Esther and Blair. His father's remarriage has brought expected changes. Molly, his stepmother, seems to fit in well with the active, young brood, and the move to the larger, older home was necessary to accommodate the special needs of a blended family. It is Molly's daughter, Amanda, however, who causes the greater concern. David has met her only once before, but he has a premonition that things will be dramatically different after she arrives. This is what David sees when Amanda steps out of the car upon arriving at the Stanley house:

As soon as David got a look at her, he leaned forward, quickly…. "Wow!" He said under his breath…. For the first second or two he'd actually thought there were a bunch of springs and wires coming out of Amanda's head, but then he realized it was only her hair. It seemed to be braided in dozens of long tight braids and some of them were looped around and fastened back to her head. The rest of her was almost covered by a huge bright colored shawl with a shaggy fringe, except for down below her knees, where something black with a crooked hem was hanging … her mouth moved now and then into what looked like an upside-down smile…. The spot in the middle of her forehead … seemed to be shaped like a triangle, and when she moved, it caught and reflected the light like a tiny mirror.

(8)

Amanda's presence makes a profound impact on David, the Stanley family, and the reader of this novel. Her physical appearance, her menagerie consisting of a snake, a lizard, and an ill-tempered crow, coupled with her mysterious and moody personality, intrigue the Stanley children. By claiming to be an expert in occult matters, she piques the children's interest in the spirit world. When she discovers an old newspaper article that details the legend of Westerly house and its proclaimed ghost, Amanda insists that they keep this information—and the plan to contact the ghost—secret from their parents so as not to frighten them. David is uncomfortable keeping secrets, especially when Amanda's required initiation tests prohibit the children from behaving normally around their parents. Rules such as not using silverware, speaking no more than four words at a time, and carrying around live reptiles for a day are acts that seem destined for detection.

David is beginning to have a theory about the situation "which didn't have anything to do with the supernatural" (69). He is becoming suspicious of Amanda's intent. This is fueled by the fact that her interest in the occult is a recent event, she is afraid of the animals in her room, and she seems to be making things up as she goes along. After a disappointing and clumsy seance, David decides the Stanleys do not have much talent for "the kind of magic Amanda was trying to do" (121). Shortly after the seance, the rocks and other unexplained phenomena occur. David becomes more suspicious and eventually discovers that Amanda has been the ghost all along! This information presents him with a dilemma. Should he tell his parents? What will happen to Amanda when they find out? After all, the Westerly girls had been sent away. While David feels empathy for Amanda, he also feels a responsibility to inform his parents.

The Headless Cupid is not a book about the occult. Other than references to a few vocabulary words, such as poltergeist, familiar, and seance, readers will not learn much about occult practices. Activities dealing with this subject are fabricated, and they are revealed as such by the end of the book. This is a novel with a simple plot about complex ideas. It is about family relationships, being accepted, and finding your role in the family. Adolescent readers will learn several valuable lessons by observing the characters in this book: They will learn the importance of being themselves when faced with new situations, to admit mistakes, and to accept responsibility for their actions. They will also learn problem-solving techniques and to look beyond the surface appearance of situations to deeper meanings.

There are three distinct worlds in this book, that of the children, the adults, and the adolescents. The children's world is characterized by make-believe, story telling, games, and magic. Garrulous Janie, shy Esther, and sensitive Blair are memorable characters, delightfully drawn. Open and honest, they add personality, warmth, and humor to the plot. The following conversation is an example of the author's style and tone when dealing with the subject of seances:

"We're being initiated into the supernatural," [David] looked at Amanda for confirmation.

Amanda nodded. "Into the world of the occult," she said.

"Into magic!" Janie said.

"Oooooh!" Esther said in a now-I-get-it tone of voice, "Dibs on the first rabbit."

(62)

This conversation shows three different interpretations of the situation from David's supernatural to Amanda's occult and Janie's magic, but it is Esther's comment that gets the laugh and gives the serious event a less threatening tone.

For the most part, the adults in the story are observant, logical, and practical. Mr. Golanski, the electrician who relates the legend of the headless cupid and the ghost to Amanda and David, notices that Amanda appears to know "too much" about these things. David's father asks him for a rational explanation of why the children are behaving so strangely, and Molly's friend, Ingrid, refuses to believe that ghosts are responsible for the rocks and debris in the house. She believes these are real-world events, and Amanda and David know something about them.

Snyder is sensitive to the sociological and psychological issues facing adolescents. The book introduces emotions surrounding the death of a parent, divorce, remarriage, and the problems facing blended families. It also shows how David and Amanda cope psychologically with these issues.

David is still mourning his mother's death when the book opens. As the oldest, he becomes the caretaker to his younger brother and sisters. He reads to them, guides them, and watches over them when their father is at work. David is the responsible child forced into an adult role. There is no mention of friends his age, and since it is still summer, he has not had an opportunity to make new friends at school. He is probably lonely and curious about having another person his age in the house. He is inquisitive about Amanda's involvement with the spiritual world. There is a brief suggestion that he might be thinking about his mother; however, it is his nature to be skeptical, and circumstances have forced him to be practical, so he is not going to judge the situation on appearances alone. He does, however, question Amanda's unusual behavior.

Amanda is angry. She states that she hates her mother. It is due to her mother's choices that she has to move into these strange surroundings with those annoying children. She states she wants to live with her father because he gives her everything she asks for, but when David tells her that her father could make provisions for her to live with him if he wanted to, Amanda explodes. He has probably verbalized her fear of being left out. Amanda is a rebellious child who exploits her mother's fear of reptiles and concerns about her daughter's involvement in the supernatural to get back at her. In the process she is making herself and others unhappy.

Adolescent readers will relate to issues David and Amanda's characters raise about responsibility, rebellion, identity, and family roles. At the beginning of the book Amanda is self-centered, critical, and unsympathetic toward the children. She gets them to weed the garden by playing a slave and master game, but she tells David she does this to practice having power over others. Later, she brags that she and a friend put a spell on one of their teachers to get revenge. She also insists that Esther kill her reptile as part of a ritual, but Esther saves the creature through a thoughtful solution. Perceptive readers might question Amanda's leadership at this point. Is she believable? Is she trustworthy? The children follow her to a certain point, usually finding an acceptable way around her most outlandish requests, and Amanda accepts their alternatives without argument. David suspects a conflict between what she claims to know and what she actually knows early on when Amanda takes him herb hunting. David notices that the exotic plants she is gathering are really anise and Queen Anne's Lace! (49). Whether Amanda is to be believed or not, her initial actions show that she comes into the family demonstrating a disregard for others' feelings.

Another illustration of her callousness toward the children is when she tests their mind-reading ability by having them turn their backs and guess if she is holding a black or red playing card. According to Amanda, most people guess the correct card about fifty percent of the time, and a person correctly guessing fourteen or fifteen cards out of twenty is considered psychic. Amanda claims to have guessed fourteen cards correctly when she did the test. David scores eleven correct guesses, and Janie talks her way up to thirteen, but Esther is crushed when she end up with ten for her score. When she asks Amanda if she has done a good job, Amanda curtly replies, "You did just ordinary. Nothing special" (57). Downcast, Esther goes to David, who reassures her. David then notices that Amanda has not asked Blair to play. When he reminds her that Blair should take a turn, she questions how Blair can do it if he doesn't even talk. She gives in, and Blair takes his position in the chair opposite Amanda. She pulls a card out, looks at it, and asks:

"Well, what is it?" she said at last. "Is it red or black?"

"It's valentines," Blair said in a very soft voice. "It's lots of little valentines."

Amanda threw the cards down. "See," she said to David, "what did I tell you. He just doesn't get it?"

(57)

When David looks at the card, he notices that it is the nine of hearts, but the game is over before Blair knows whether he answered correctly. David and the reader now realize that it is Amanda who does not get it, or she does not want to be upstaged. Amanda's insensitivity and sour mood are in contrast to David's supportive attitude and Blair's gentle manner. At this point, Amanda's bossy behavior does not garner much sympathy for her character.

Snyder does not leave Amanda in this static position too long. Her characters model the process by which people can change and grow. The reader gets a glimpse of a different Amanda at the end of the seance scene when the children discover that Janie has offered her mother's ring to the spirit world. David is upset, and Janie is heartbroken when she realizes the ring is gone forever. David insists that they need the ring back. At first Amanda is unsympathetic and stalwart, but seeing David's concern and Janie's remorse, she begins to soften. "Well … well," she says. Her hesitation gives readers a split-second view of the empathetic person behind the mask. Before Amanda gives in, however, Blair emerges from Amanda's room with the missing ring.

Amanda has begun to warm up. There are further changes in her personality when she begins to participate with the younger children. At first she competes for their attention by challenging David's story-reading ability. When she discovers the children like her dramatic approach, she begins to see a positive role for herself in the family. The children like her. Perhaps they aren't so bad after all!

Another event that promotes change is when Amanda becomes frightened by the noisy, unexplained appearance of the cupid's head. She had no control over this event and cowers behind David. In an honest exchange with David, she confesses that she was responsible for the other phenomena, using theatrics and scare tactics to frighten the family so they would want to move out. David has known this for a while, but he does not gloat, nor does he show anger. He listens and asks questions about how she created the ghostly activities and, more important, why she did it. At this point he is modeling problem-solving behavior. He does not solve her problems for her, however. Amanda takes responsibility for her actions by having private discussions with Molly and her stepfather, which takes the burden for telling off David. For the first time, the Stanleys get to see the real Amanda.

By observing Amanda's behavior, readers learn that it is better to face new, uncomfortable situations by being yourself. Being yourself does not mean having to do everything by yourself. The children demonstrate how even the younger members of the family contribute to creative problem solving. Janie's resourcefulness solves several problems during the Stanley's trial with Amanda's tests, causing David to comment that "every once in awhile Janie used her brains for something besides making a fool of herself" (102). Blair also solves problems. In addition to finding their mother's "lost" ring, he uses kindness to befriend and tame the unruly crow. He also discovers the location of the cupid's head. Even younger readers will see that the Stanley family works together to find solutions to challenging problems.

Not all questions have black-and-white answers at the end of the novel, however. Blair's character is a case in point. If anyone has a sixth sense in this story, it is Blair. He stands apart from the others, frequently ignored, ghostlike, slipping in and out of the plot, but always contributing to it in positive ways. He is perhaps much like his deceased mother, whom David describes as an "unusual person … beautiful and gentle and uncertain, and full of strange ideas about things that never happen to ordinary people" (30). She believed in ghosts, talked to animals, and had premonitions. David also notes to the reader that she believed in good omens like rainbows and church bells. Unlike Amanda, Blair has no pretenses, but he does confide to David that he knows Amanda kicks the crow when she is angry and that a ghost girl told him where to find the cupid's head. He also tells David the ghost girl is happy for the cupid to have its head returned. David believes Blair, and he is curious to know more, but unlike his discussion with Amanda, he realizes that "there was no use asking Blair what he was thinking—and besides, with Blair, thinking didn't seem to have a lot to do with understanding, anyway" (201). Perhaps Snyder uses Blair's character to show readers that although there are shams in the world, there are also some things that are not easily explained. Like many good mystery writers, Snyder leaves openings for contemplation suggesting that we need to be critical thinkers, but we also need to save room for the gray areas in life.

Zilpha Keatley Snyder has written a mystery with a message for young adolescents. The Headless Cupid is a story about attachment and reattachment; it is about finding your identity and self-worth. The book has received many recognitions and honors including being selected as the U.S. contribution for the international Hans Christian Andersen Honors List, voted the William Allen White Award by schoolchildren in Kansas, Christopher Medals by The Catholic Educators of America, and Newbery Honors. This delightfully written novel is readable and understandable. It deserves to be made accessible for readers of all ages.

Work Cited

Snyder, Zilpha Keatley. The Headless Cupid. New York: Atheneum, 1971.

BELOW THE ROOT (1975)

W. David LeNoir (review date March 1994)

SOURCE: LeNoir, W. David. Review of Below the Root, by Zilpha Keatley Snyder. English Journal 83, no. 3 (March 1994): 93.

The Kindar inhabit the trees of Green-sky, reveling in the bright sunlight and soaring through the light gravity [in Below the Root ]. Their utopia is threatened only by the mysterious, monstrous Pash-shan, who inhabit the ground below a magical root structure. Young Raamo and two other recent initiates into the governing/religious order of Green-sky challenge what they have been taught and discover the truth—a common ancestry of refugees from wartorn Earth. The characters are richly drawn, and the story is engaging and well crafted. Even an unwary reader might easily make significant connections with our own society's fears and prejudices.

THE BIRDS OF SUMMER (1983)

James E. Davis and Hazel K. Davis (essay date 1989)

SOURCE: Davis, James E., and Hazel K. Davis. "The Birds of Summer." In Beacham's Guide to Literature for Young Adults, Volume 1, edited by Kirk H. Beetz and Suzanne Niemeyer, pp. 114-18. Washington, D.C.: Beacham Publishing, 1989.

[In the following essay, Davis and Davis present a critic assessment of Snyder's The Birds of Summer, describing the work as an absorbing look at familial relationships.]

About the Author

Zilpha Keatley Snyder, born on May 11, 1927, in Lemoore, California, has spent most of her life in her native state. Growing up before the age of television, traveling infrequently, and watching few movies, the young Snyder depended on books for entertainment. A nearby library provided an inexhaustible supply of magic, adventure, and excitement. Snyder decided at the age of eight to become a writer, but many years passed before the publication of her first book, Season of Ponies.

Before her success as a writer, Snyder attended college, married, had children, and taught school in Berkeley, California, for nine years. Her former students have inspired many of Snyder's characters and plots, as have her own experiences, family, friends, pets, interests, and travels.

Three of her novels—The Egypt Game, The Headless Cupid, and The Witches of Worm —have been named Newbery Honor Books. The Changeling and The Headless Cupid have earned the Christopher Medal in recognition of exceptional quality.

Overview

The Birds of Summer describes a family environment unfamiliar to many young adults. Summer, the daughter of an ex-hippie, lives in a trailer in the woods. Her free-spirited mother allows her more liberties than most fifteen-year-olds receive, and Summer faces few restrictions.

But Summer's lifestyle also demands adult responsibilities. She raises her younger sister and works to keep the family together, compensating for her mother's childishness and irresponsibility. These extraordinary responsibilities, combined with her lack of a father, leave Summer feeling very lonely as she confronts the onset of puberty and an increasing awareness of her sexuality.

In addition to following Summer's growth as a character, the novel provides a fast-paced plot. Summer's mother accidentally becomes involved with drug dealers, endangering herself and her family. Summer and her friend Nicky assume the responsibility for solving this dilemma.

Summer's upbringing differs vastly from that of most teenagers, but her more typical concerns make her easy to relate to. The book explores many conflicts relevant to young adults: maturity, responsibility, parent-adolescent relationships, friendship, sexuality, and loneliness. Snyder presents these issues with understanding and sophistication.

Setting

Set in the 1980s, the novel tells the story of Summer McIntyre, who lives with her mother, Oriole, and her seven-year-old sister, Sparrow, in Alvarro, California. Oriole harbors romantic visions of getting back to nature and living the simple life, but she depends upon welfare to raise her family. The McIntyres live in a wooded area in a trailer that they rent from their friends and neighbors, the Fishers. The Fishers own some greenhouses in which they grow strawberries and tomatoes to sell in town. Oriole occasionally works for the Fishers but spends most of her time with whatever man she happens to be dating at the time; consequently, she devotes little attention to her children.

The California setting provides a crucial element to the story: the "laid back" atmosphere lets Oriole feel safe in allowing her children to roam freely. She believes they will survive, adapt, and grow up to be a part of the nonconformist community. But when a drifter enters their lives, their unquestioning trust and acceptance of him lead to their involvement with a drug gang.

Themes and Characters

Fifteen-year-old Summer learns a great deal about life as she confronts the problems of impending adulthood. She has trouble understanding her nonconformist mother and misses her absentee father, to whom she frequently writes letters. Having nowhere to send these letters, Summer simply collects them. Her male companion Nicky no longer enjoys their childhood games and now desires her sexually.

Oriole will never be ready for motherhood. Summer and Sparrow have different fathers, neither of whom has maintained contact with the family, and men continue to come in and out of Oriole's life frequently. Nevertheless, she dedicates all of her time to whomever she happens to love at the moment. During the course of the novel her misplaced loyalties fall upon a drug dealer, and the Fishers and Oriole begin to grow marijuana in the greenhouses. In the end, Oriole realizes that her lack of responsibility has cost her a closeness with her children that can never be recaptured.

Sparrow shares many of her mother's carefree qualities, seeing the good in things and rarely questioning the bad. This naiveté increases the need for Summer to watch out for Sparrow as well as for her mother. Sparrow demonstrates her active imagination when she creates an imaginary friend to replace Marina Fisher, who suddenly disappears from her life. Her search for Marina, who she feels certain still lives at home, leads to the climactic shootout at the Fishers' house.

The Fishers have been Oriole's friends since the 1960s when they lived together in a commune. Nicky Fisher, their son, wants to explore his new sexual awareness with Summer, but the two young adults decide not to rush into a physical relationship and instead concentrate on ridding their families of the intruding drug dealers.

Confused by the increasingly complex issues surrounding her, Summer finds both relief and further complications in her relationships with her wealthy employers, the Olivers, and her English teacher, Mr. Pardell.

Both the Olivers and the Pardells understand Summer's problems and offer to help. The Olivers plan to move to Connecticut, and offer to take Summer with them as their housekeeper. This offers Summer an opportunity to escape her troubles, but also demands that she make an important decision to leave her family and responsibilities. Mr. Pardell reads one of her letters to her father after she accidentally turns it in to him. He probably learns more about Summer from her writing than she knows about herself. Wishing to help, he hires Summer to clean his house while his wife is in the hospital. Both the Olivers and the Pardells act as counselors for Summer, offering adult perspectives that her mother lacks.

Many themes pervade this novel. Summer's unorthodox mother provides an unusual look at the parent-child relationship. The book also examines how single-parent families affect adolescents. Summer and Nicky come to terms with their heightened sexuality, and they also confront the drug dealers, who represent one of today's major societal problems.

A subtler theme centers on the positive and negative aspects of imagination. Summer never knew her father, yet she has created an image of him and actually communicates with this image through the letters she writes. Similarly, Sparrow recreates her lost friend Marina. The different effects of these imaginative indulgences illustrate both the helpful and the detrimental aspects of emotional compensation.

Literary Qualities

Snyder presents important and sensitive themes in the context of a suspenseful story. Most readers will find themselves intrigued by the turns of the plot and stimulated by the challenges the McIntyres present to standard images of the family unit.

The characters' names symbolize their personalities. While Oriole and Sparrow possess free spirits, Summer offers light, growth, and hope to a family lacking responsible parental guidance. Summer's letter to Mr. Pardell at the end of the novel is a symbol of hope, demonstrating that she has begun to replace her intense longing for her father with more beneficial relationships.

Aside from the suspenseful conflict with the drug dealers, secondary confrontations add interest. Early in the book, Snyder introduces several conflicts that are not resolved until the end. For example, Summer devises a way to bring Sparrow along when she moves to Connecticut with the Olivers. This foreshadows Summer's arrangements for Sparrow's welfare, but the plan is not actually revealed until the end of the novel. Snyder's well-developed plot, believable characters, and flowing, descriptive language provide an absorbing narrative.

Social Sensitivity

The Birds of Summer addresses complex and mature themes such as the single-parent family, drugs, and teenage sexuality with great sensitivity. Summer and Nicky share a developing awareness of their sexuality, yet they decide to wait until they feel ready for romantic involvement. Although the teenagers discuss sex openly and frequently, the issue is not exploited. By the end of the book Summer and Nicky become closer friends for having confronted their concerns in a mature and mutually respectful manner.

Some readers may find the novel's portrayal of a single-parent family disturbing and should be reminded that Snyder does not present Summer's situation as a typical example of such a family. Oriole's lack of responsibility stands in stark contrast to the increased needs her children experience as a result of not having a father. Her failure as a parent culminates with her involvement in a drug gang. Snyder clearly depicts the negative aspects of drugs, and Oriole pays dearly for her poor judgment. Teachers will want to assure students that many single-parent homes do not end in such catastrophe and that parents cannot always be blamed for their misfortunes.

LIBBY ON WEDNESDAY (1990)

Elizabeth A. Belden and Judith M. Beckman (review date September 1991)

SOURCE: Belden, Elizabeth A., and Judith M. Beckman. Review of Libby on Wednesday, by Zilpha Keatley Snyder. English Journal 80, no. 5 (September 1991): 86.

Until now, Libby has been schooled at home by her father and grandmother [in Libby on Wednesday ]. She is irked when her actress mother demands that she be sent to school to be socialized. Teased by other students because she is small and smart, Libby becomes a loner until she wins a writing contest. Then she and four other "misfits," at the behest of their teacher, reluctantly become members of Famous Future Writers. Here a boy with cerebral palsy, a pink-haired punker, an airhead, an angry young man, and Libby meet and share writing.

This sensitively written story concentrates on the development of precocious, spirited characters rather than on plot. Middle schoolers seeking their own identities will recognize the roles these talented teens assume to blunt the pain of the real emotions they keep hidden inside.

SONG OF THE GARGOYLE (1991)

Margaret A. Chang (review date February 1991)

SOURCE: Chang, Margaret A. Review of Song of the Gargoyle, by Zilpha Keatley Snyder. School Library Journal 37, no. 2 (February 1991): 84.

Gr. 4-9—An imagined, idealized medieval backdrop is the major fantasy element of this well-paced adventure story [Song of the Gargoyle ]. Eluding the visored knights who kidnap his jester father, Tymmon, 13, flees the kingdom of Austerneve, taking refuge in the vast Sombrous Forest. Frightened and bitterly longing for the knighthood his lowly station prevents him from attaining, the boy is befriended by a creature he believes to be a stone gargoyle come to life, although it passes as a large ugly dog. The animal identifies itself as Troff and accompanies Tymmon on his travels. In the walled city of Montreff, Troff displays an unexpected talent for singing while Tymmon plays the flute, enabling them to make a decent living as street musicians. Hints dropped throughout the story concerning the identity of Tymmon's parents are fleshed out by a mysterious old man, whose tale sends Tymmon back toward Austerneve, bound to rescue or avenge his father. An appealing hero, as impulsive and warmhearted as Taran in Lloyd Alexander's The Book of Three (Holt, 1964); a setting reminiscent of a medieval tapestry; and a satisfying plot make Snyder's latest novel a solid addition to fantasy collections.

FOOL'S GOLD (1993)

Journal of Reading (review date December 1993)

SOURCE: Review of Fool's Gold, by Zilpha Keatley Snyder. Journal of Reading 37, no. 4 (December 1993): 337.

Rudy has volunteered to babysit his two younger sisters for the summer [in Fool's Gold ]. He calls them the M & M's (their names are Moira and Margot), and they are constantly fighting. What possessed Rudy to volunteer for this torment? It is the only way he figures he will be able to avoid entering Pritchard's Hole, an abandoned mining shaft, with his friend Barney. It seems that Rudy has an advanced case of claustrophobia. What begins as an amusing story of a brother dealing with impossible younger sibs ends up exploring the larger issues of responsibility. Rudy learns that telling the truth can help conquer unreasonable fears.

CAT RUNNING (1994)

Mary M. Burns (review date March 1995)

SOURCE: Burns, Mary M. Review of Cat Running, by Zilpha Keatley Snyder. Horn Book Magazine 71, no. 2 (March 1995): 196.

Zilpha Keatley Snyder has the felicitous gift for writing a page-turner with depth of characterization and insight into social concerns. Cat Running is no exception. Cat Kinsey, the fastest runner in her school, is strong-willed and imaginative—qualities she needs to cope with the intransigency of her family, the jibes of her classmates, and the demands of her own conscience. She longs to be as up-to-date as the other girls in her sixth-grade class and wear slacks for racing—it is the 1930s—but her father finds such garb unseemly. Rather than give in, Cat simply refuses to run, sublimating her disappointment by furnishing a secret grotto she has accidentally discovered. The situation takes an unexpected turn with the arrival of the Perkins family, refugees from the dust bowl who disrupt Cat's tidy world. Zane, barefooted and undernourished, threatens her position as champion runner; the younger children discover her prized hideout; and Cat becomes aware of the effects of poverty on once-proud people. The dramatic resolution builds on Cat's growing empathy for the "Okies," as the townsfolk call them, and her skill at running. The narrative is always consistent with Cat's point of view; the author's ability to suggest the multi-dimensionality of secondary characters without slowing the pace of her story is truly remarkable.

THE DIAMOND WAR (1995)

Sarabeth Kalajian (review date August 1995)

SOURCE: Kalajian, Sarabeth. Review of The Diamond War, by Zilpha Keatley Snyder. School Library Journal 41, no. 8 (August 1995): 144.

Gr. 4-5—The prize in this "war" is a verdant vacant lot near the neighborhood known as Castle Court [in The Diamond War ]. Sports enthusiasts Carlos, Eddy, and Bucky want to claim the spot for a baseball diamond and chop down the trees. However, Kate, Aurora, and Athena believe the grove is a perfect haven for unicorns, and they expect to see one any day. Alliances are formed and plans are made as the youngsters choose to attack or defend the precious plot of land. A meeting to "talk about it" is arranged, but when the girls plant a pet boa constrictor to frighten the boys, diplomacy fails. An eleventh-hour end to the war comes when the death of a horse loved by all the children unites them in their sorrow and gives the boys a place to play ball. The issue of using a pellet gun is argued and, although no shots are fired, the scene in which the gun is aimed by a child at a child is frightening. The kids of Castle Court are a lively, diversified group, representing many cultures, interests, and ages. The central characters are well developed, and other youngsters readers might expect to meet in future series entries are introduced. Both the situations and dialogue are humorous. The action is fast-paced, with end-of-chapter teasers guaranteed to keep the pages turning. Readers who enjoyed Phyllis Reynolds Naylor's The Boys Start the War (Doubleday, 1993) will find another satisfying feud here.

SECRET WEAPONS (1995)

Linda Wicher (review date May 1996)

SOURCE: Wicher, Linda. Review of Secret Weapons, by Zilpha Keatley Snyder. School Library Journal 42, no. 5 (May 1996): 116.

Gr. 4-6—In this latest entry in the series [Secret Weapons ], the Castle Court Kids squabble among themselves as they try to keep their science projects hush-hush. Everyone is most curious about genius Web Wong's project until something more compelling attracts notice: two strange-looking men in a black van have been lurking in their neighborhood for several days without a legitimate reason. The A.T. (Anti-terrorist) club members sound the alert and foil the bad guys' attempt to foul local drinking water for monetary gain (a developer's scheme). This story has a comfortable suburban setting and an array of middle-class, multiethnic characters with whom many kids will identify—and just enough twists in the plot to keep the pages turning.

THE TRESPASSERS (1995)

Ann W. Moore (review date August 1995)

SOURCE: Moore, Ann W. Review of The Trespassers, by Zilpha Keatley Snyder. School Library Journal 41, no. 8 (August 1995): 144-45.

Gr. 4-7—The trespassers are Cornelia (Neely) Bradford, 11, and her 8-year-old brother Gregory (Grub). When they climb inside the open window of an old, formerly grand estate, they find a dusty nursery, fascinating toys, a mystery, and—perhaps—a ghost. Then relatives of the original builder, including troubled sixth-grader Curtis, move into the house. Although now a welcome guest, Neely discovers that she must protect Grub from an unexpected enemy. As in Snyder's books about the Stanley family, particularly The Headless Cupid (1971) and Blair's Nightmare (1984; o.p., both Atheneum), The Trespassers is a rich blend of fantasy and realism. Snyder's evocative descriptions of Halcyon House bring the place alive and leave readers as captivated, and as curious, as the Bradfords. Some of the characters veer toward stereotypes (the dysfunctional rich family; the beautiful, odd little brother), but Neely is unique—a bright, confident, caring girl anyone would love to have as a sister or friend. The book is tinged with enough suspense to keep the pages turning, and the ending is both hopeful and satisfying. The Trespassers is a well-written alternative to mass-market thrillers, appropriate for youngsters who like to shiver—but not too much.

THE GYPSY GAME (1997)

Sybil S. Steinberg (review date 20 January 1997)

SOURCE: Steinberg, Sybil S. Review of The Gypsy Game, by Zilpha Keatley Snyder. Publishers Weekly 244, no. 3 (20 January 1997): 402-03.

Having laid to rest the enactments of ancient rituals described so unforgettably in the 1967 classic The Egypt Game, Snyder's charismatic crew of five sharp middle-schoolers (and one precocious 4-year-old) trade in their robes and headdresses for colorful jewels and decide to become Gypsies [in The Gypsy Game ]. But before they have a chance to convert their favorite meeting place, the shack behind the A-Z antique store, into a Gypsy camp, the most distracted member of the gang, Toby, who professes to be "one-quarter genuine Gypsy," suddenly disappears. Laced with mystery, this sequel has much of the allure of its predecessor. Again, the darkness of the adult world overshadows the children's play: Toby's snobbish grandparents want to take him away from his unconventional father; and Toby, thinking he needs to protect his father, evades his grandparents in a dingy section of town. The plotting is not quite as tight, with the author taking a circuitous route around the mystery to allow for the discussion of social issues like homelessness; and Toby, a central figure here, is not developed quite as compellingly as April in The Egypt Game. But these are differences of small degrees, and the work continues to offer Snyder's well-nigh irresistible combination of suspense, wit and avowal of the imagination. The book's gratifying denouement leads the way for a third installment for readers to eagerly await. Ages 8-12.

Jennifer M. Brabander (review date March-April 1997)

SOURCE: Brabander, Jennifer M. Review of The Gypsy Game, by Zilpha Keatley Snyder. Horn Book Magazine 73, no. 2 (March-April 1997): 204.

It's been thirty years since the publication of Snyder's Newbery Honor book The Egypt Game, but the sequel [The Gypsy Game ] picks up right where the first left off; and for April, Melanie, and the others, not a second has passed. The sequel features Snyder's familiar cliffhanger chapter endings, with the suspense this time involving Toby and the threat of an impending custody battle, prompting him to run away. Readers who thrilled to the magic and mystery of the costumes, ceremonies, and pharaohs' curses in The Egypt Game will find themselves drawn to and intrigued by the jewelry, colorful clothes, and fortune-telling in this adventure. As might be expected, though, the friends unearth the less romantic facts about Gypsies, too; through the girls' research, they eventually learn the history of persecution. Depressed by these facts, the kids lose their interest in the Gypsy Game, and the book ends—nineties style—with the group planning how to help the homeless people who befriended Toby when he ran away. Themes from The Egypt Game —ethical dilemmas, blaming the innocent, deceptive appearances—reemerge here, and while the sequel is less well constructed and more meandering than the first book (and does not stand on its own), it will nevertheless be of interest to fans of the first book.

GIB RIDES HOME (1998)

Janet Hilbun (review date January 1998)

SOURCE: Hilbun, Janet. Review of Gib Rides Home, by Zilpha Keatley Snyder. School Library Journal 44, no. 1 (January 1998): 114.

Gr. 4-8—Gib is six when he arrives at an orphanage in the early 1900s [in Gib Rides Home ]. He dreams of having a family, but discovers that the older he gets, the less likely it is for him to be adopted, and that most of the older boys are "farmed out" as cheap labor. At 10, that fate befalls him when Mr. Thornton takes him to help with his farm and his horses. Gib, who remembers very little of his life before the orphanage, is surprised to recognize the hired man as someone he knew as a small child. Despite having been warned not to ask any questions of the Thorntons, the boy slowly begins to piece together his early childhood as a neighbor of the family. Although the work is difficult, Gib is well fed, comfortable, and happy; he loves caring for the horses and has an amazing talent for working with them. Not everything is perfect, though. Mrs. Thornton is crippled and often ill; her husband is extremely cold; and their daughter resents him. Slowly Livy and Gib become friends as he teaches her to ride, but when Livy decides to ride the high-strung horse that caused her mother's paralyzing fall, Gib is blamed and returned to the orphanage. Kinder and gentler than Susan Beth Pfeffer's Nobody's Daughter (Delacorte, 1995), this story has the pathos and hopefulness of Joan Lowery Nixon's "Orphan Train Quartet" (Delacorte). In a book inspired by the life of the author's father, the novel delivers an engaging glimpse of history as well as a compelling story. With well-drawn, complex characters and a touch of mystery, it has surefire appeal.

Susan P. Bloom (review date March-April 1998)

SOURCE: Bloom, Susan P. Review of Gib Rides Home, by Zilpha Keatley Snyder. Horn Book Magazine 74, no. 2 (March-April 1998): 224.

Both the hardships of life as a ward of the state and the exhilaration of working with horses imbue the life of ten-year-old Gibson Whittaker [in Gib Rides Home ]. No one ever returns to Lovell House Home for Orphaned and Abandoned Boys once he has been adopted by a family, but the boys sadly learn that adoption is too often a euphemism for being farmed out—and mistreated—as indentured servants. When Gib leaves Lovell House and its new cruel headmistress to live on the Thornton ranch, he dreams of becoming part of the family, but also bears in mind the harsher possibility. Snyder has enlisted all the elements of an upstairs-downstairs family melodrama in her portrayal of the Thorntons: a home full of "disagreement and unhappiness," with a hard, unlikable overlord; his kind wheelchair-bound wife, paralyzed in a riding accident; their angry and sullen daughter; a crippled hired hand; a good-natured cook; and a seemingly severe governess—all of whom know the family secrets, many of which center on Gib's entrance into their lives. Naturally, it falls to Gib to tame Black Silk, the unruly mustang responsible for Mrs. Thornton's paralysis. Though the book teeters on the brink of sentimentality, Snyder invests her characters with enough dimension not only to save the story but actually to have us cheering her happy resolution.

THE RUNAWAYS (1999)

GraceAnne A. DeCandido (review date 1-15 January 1999)

SOURCE: DeCandido, GraceAnne A. Review of The Runaways, by Zilpha Keatley Snyder. Booklist 95, nos. 9-10 (1-15 January 1999): 879-80.

Gr. 4-8—No one actually runs away, in this story [The Runaways ], though 12-year-old Dani O'Donnell spends a lot of time and energy planning how she will do it. She hates the desert town and misses Sea Grove, the California town she and her mother left when they inherited an old ranch in 1951. The ranch has neither electricity nor plumbing, so they rent a place in town, where Dani's mom works in a bookstore and loses herself in reading. Dani is angry at her mother, at the bleak town, at the relentless weather, and often at Stormy, a nine-year-old dyslexic boy, who hangs around them. Then a geologist couple burst into town with odd daughter Pixie and set up shop—and a generator—at the O'Donnell spread. Pixie boldly insinuates herself into Stormy's and Dani's lives and proclaims her own reasons for wanting to run away. There are too many strands in this occasionally overwrought story, which paradoxically moves rather sluggishly: child abuse, a professional couple who can't quite get the knack of child raising, a wicked landlord whose son is the local bully. But Dani's pal Stormy is a richly drawn character with few words and rough gestures, an unforgettable portrait of a child whose life is heartbreakingly complicated.

Susan Oliver (review date March 1999)

SOURCE: Oliver, Susan. Review of The Runaways, by Zilpha Keatley Snyder. School Library Journal 45, no. 3 (March 1999): 215.

Gr. 4-7—Three memorable would-be runaways are determined to escape parents who do not meet their emotional needs [in The Runaways ]. Dani instigates the plan; she is a focused and imaginative 12-year-old who wants only to return to the California coast she and her mother left to claim an inheritance in a dusty, desert town. Her intentions are discovered by her friend Stormy, a needy nine-year-old who can't read well but has a voracious appetite for stories. Dani has grudgingly become his reader and, as she becomes aware of the growing abuse he suffers from his mother, even more grudgingly agrees to include him in her plans. Then Pixie and her wealthy geologist parents move onto the property Dani and her mother had inherited but found uninhabitable. As much of an outsider as Dani and Stormy, she pushes her way into a friendship with them. Neglected by her distracted though well-meaning parents, Pixie also wants to escape. An exciting desert drama results when the three attempt to put the plan into action. The book is set in the 1950s, and the dying town and desperate people are very real and touching. The plight of these creative and neglected children will keep readers turning the pages. Dani is the force of this novel, but Stormy is the heart, a boy who just can't be knocked down. The ending may be a bit contrived, but these characters deserve a "happily ever after" conclusion and readers will be glad they got it.

GIB AND THE GRAY GHOST (2000)

Lauralyn Persson (review date March 2000)

SOURCE: Persson, Lauralyn. Review of Gib and the Gray Ghost, by Zilpha Keatley Snyder. School Library Journal 46, no. 3 (March 2000): 242-43.

Gr. 4-8—This sequel [Gib and the Gray Ghost ]to Gib Rides Home (Delacorte, 1998) begins as the boy leaves the Lovell House Home for Orphaned and Abandoned Boys and returns to the Thornton's ranch. Set in the western plains in 1909, the somewhat meandering plot revolves around the mysterious appearance of the beautiful but badly mistreated gray horse of the title, interspersed with Gib's sometimes rocky relationship with Livy Thornton and the students at school, where he experiences the stigma of being an orphan. Overall, the central question from the first book is still with him: will he ever find a real, permanent home? Actually, the author concludes this story in a way that seems to leave the door open for a third title. Gib is a sympathetic and appealing character, and his story is told in a smooth, relaxed manner. The elements of mystery are intriguing, yet this book lacks the outstanding dramatic tension of the previous title. Horse lovers and fans of the first book will be its primary audience, but anyone expecting a ghost story will be disappointed.

Beth Warrell (review date April-May 2002)

SOURCE: Warrell, Beth. Review of Gib and the Gray Ghost, by Zilpha Keatley Snyder. Book Links 11, no. 5 (April-May 2002): 42.

Gr. 4-7—Based on the childhood experiences of the author's father, this companion title [Gib and the Gray Ghost ] to Snyder's Gib Rides Home finds 11-year-old Gib returning to the home of his foster family, the Thorntons, after a troubled stay at the Lovell House Home for Orphaned and Abandoned Boys. The previously tense Thornton household is calmer, but whether or not Gib will be officially adopted or simply kept on as a farmhand remains in question. In the meantime, he is able to go to school and see old friends, and to take advantage of his gift with horses when an abused thoroughbred is found on the farm during a snowstorm. This engaging story will especially appeal to horse lovers.

Susan P. Bloom (review date May-June 2000)

SOURCE: Bloom, Susan P. Review of Gib and the Gray Ghost, by Zilpha Keatley Snyder. Horn Book Magazine 76, no. 3 (May-June 2000): 321.

In this companion [Gib and the Gray Ghost ]to Gib Rides Home, the likable but insecure twelve-year-old Gib struggles to be other than an orphan farm-out at the Thornton family ranch. Snyder spends some time filling the reader in on events of the earlier title to allow this book independence, but one needs its predecessor to understand completely Gib's desperate need to belong with the Thorntons. Gib already does belong with the horses he understands so well, especially Black Silk, the horse he tamed in the previous book. Gib's gentle voice in conversation with his beloved horse brings freshness, sparkle even, to this otherwise old-fashioned story. The unpredictable eleven-year-old Thornton daughter Livy, who spends her time eavesdropping on adult conversation, adds some snap as well. But the book's main excitement revolves around the Gray Ghost of the title, a severely abused horse with whom Gib identifies and both rescues and tames. Since Gib's story draws on the author's own father and his life as an orphan farm-out, Snyder can be excused some sentimentality; the emotionally corralled reader will be won over by Gib's decency, sweetness, and extraordinary horse sense.

SPYHOLE SECRETS (2001)

Shelle Rosenfeld (review date 1 May 2001)

SOURCE: Rosenfeld, Shelle. Review of Spyhole Secrets, by Zilpha Keatley Snyder. Booklist 97, no. 17 (1 May 2001): 1612.

Gr. 4-7—Following her father's death, 11-year-old Hallie's life has gone topsy-turvy [in Spyhole Secrets ]. She dislikes her new town and school; misses her father and friends; and her faith in God has wavered. Seeking a hideaway, she discovers a small window that looks out on a new apartment building. Soon she finds herself spying into the lives of her neighbors and grappling with an intriguing mystery. This complex, appealing novel combines edgy Hitchcockian suspense with an insightful exploration of a young person's coping with loss, and the conversational prose intimately illustrates the effects of personal tragedy. Hallie is a likable, dimensional character, whose actions and thoughts subtly shift away from self-absorption as she regains her footing and faith. The ending is both vague and a bit jarring, but this is still an absorbing book with many intriguing issues.

Ellen Fader (review date June 2001)

SOURCE: Fader, Ellen. Review of Spyhole Secrets, by Zilpha Keatley Snyder. School Library Journal 47, no. 6 (June 2001): 156-57.

Gr. 4-8—Miserable in her new middle school and angry with God for her father's accidental death, Hallie becomes fascinated by the view from a nearly boarded-up window in her attic [in Spyhole Secrets ]. Through the spyhole, she gets intriguing glimpses into the apartment of a possibly dysfunctional family. She coincidentally meets nine-year-old Zachary Crestman, the boy who lives there, at the public library. Without divulging her continuing compulsion to spy on his family, she eventually learns that the object in his apartment that she thought was a gun is actually an electronic notebook and that his sister, whom she thought was tragically distraught because of being forbidden to see her boyfriend, is actually just fine and dating a new boy who meets her father's approval. Snyder takes her time setting up the story—Hallie doesn't meet Zachary until about the middle of the book—but, in the end, the plot seems rushed. If readers are not distracted by the red herrings (Are there really ghosts in the attic? Why do the people who live downstairs act so strangely? Why were the mysterious Crestmans written about in the newspaper?), they may find that the clearly explained theme has merit: getting involved in the lives of others (looking outward through windows) is more effective than dwelling on one's hurt (looking in mirrors). This is not Snyder's strongest work, but the suspense related to the mysterious goings-on in the neighbor's apartment will keep readers turning the pages.

THE GHOSTS OF RATHBURN PARK (2002)

Diane Roback, Jennifer M. Brown, and Jason Britton (review date 21 October 2002)

SOURCE: Roback, Diane, Jennifer M. Brown, and Jason Britton. Review of The Ghosts of Rathburn Park, by Zilpha Keatley Snyder. Publishers Weekly 249, no. 42 (21 October 2002): 76.

Veteran novelist Snyder (Spyhole Secrets ) offers up [The Ghosts of Rathburn Park, ] a contemporary mystery more satisfying for its wonderfully delineated cast than, perhaps, for its plot. Matthew Hamilton, a gawky 11-year-old, has just moved to Timber City, where his dad has been hired as city manager. While his older brother and sister almost immediately start making friends, Matt is more solitary. A story about ghosts appearing near Rathburn Park, home to an old mansion and, also, before a deadly fire swept through it, the original site of the town, prompts Matt to investigate. He meets a girl in oldfashioned dress (who dons white gloves and a hat held in place with a hatpin), and he is thrilled when she introduces herself as Amelia Rathburn—and stymied when, shortly afterward, he learns that the only Amelia Rathburn on the premises is almost 100 years old. Those who have read E. L. Konigsburg's Jennifer, Hecate, Macbeth, William McKinley, and Me, Elizabeth will know exactly what's coming; those who haven't will probably be able to guess the fleshand-blood identity of the titular "ghosts." While this isn't Snyder's most suspenseful tale, her gifts for fashioning lifelike and sympathetic characters are as pronounced as ever, as is her understanding of family dynamics. The payoff here is the storytelling itself. Ages 8-12.

Janice M. Del Negro (review date February 2003)

SOURCE: Del Negro, Janice M. Review of The Ghosts of Rathburn Park, by Zilpha Keatley Snyder. Bulletin of the Center for Children's Books 56, no. 6 (February 2003): 250-51.

Eleven-year-old Matt is adjusting to life in Timber City, a town rebuilt in its present location after burning down in a terrible fire some generations ago [in The Ghosts of Rathburn Park ]. His explorations (triggered by a community picnic and local gossip about eerie doings) bring him to the ruins of an old church, where he meets Amelia Rathburn, an oddly secretive girl dressed in old-fashioned clothes. Amelia has an uncanny knowledge of the ins and outs of the local terrain, from booby traps in the church ruins to secret ways into the Palace, the old Rathburn Mansion that is all that remains of the pre-fire community. Matt visits Amelia when he can, copes with being the youngest kid in his family, and tries to stay out of trouble. His small adventures are sometimes aided by a mysterious white dog, a dog that may well be a ghost. Snyder can't seem to settle on a primary plot—is the novel about Amelia and Matt and their explorations in the wood? Or about the family tensions and problems resulting from Matt's rebellious teenage brother and dramatic older sister? Or is it a gentle ghost story about a devoted dog? Overall, the novel's pace suffers from the lack of focus, but eerie settings and promising characters will keep pages turning, and the occasional bit of melodrama spices up the action. The conclusion, in which Matt gets a friend and a dog (that just might be a descendant of the ghost dog), will satisfy readers looking for happy endings.

THE UNSEEN (2004)

Carolyn Phelan (review date 1 March 2004)

SOURCE: Phelan, Carolyn. Review of The Unseen, by Zilpha Keatley Snyder. Booklist 100, no. 13 (1 March 2004): 1190.

Gr. 5-8—Twelve-year-old Xandra Hobson feels like a changeling, growing up alienated in a large family of self-absorbed overachievers [in The Unseen ]. Her parents are rarely home, her siblings seem intolerable, and her position in the seventh-grade pecking order makes her reluctant to be seen with the one girl who interests her, Belinda. In the opening chapter, Xandra saves the life of an injured egret, which leaves her a feather that she believes to be magical. When Xandra learns that the magic is real and that Belinda and her father understand its power, she befriends them but later unthinkingly betrays them. Snyder masterfully portrays Belinda's sensations and emotions in the alternate world she enters with the feather's aid, and she shows how the experience subtly changes the girl's later actions. The novel is too realistically written to let the betrayal of Belinda go without consequences, but neither does the author leave readers without hope. Though less convincing than the magical episodes, the family scenes at the end bring this well-grounded fantasy to a satisfying conclusion.

Publishers Weekly (review date 29 March 2004)

SOURCE: Review of The Unseen, by Zilpha Keatley Snyder. Publishers Weekly 251, no. 13 (29 March 2004): 63.

[In The Unseen, t]welve-year-old Xandra, the next-to-youngest member of the large Hobson family, feels ill at ease and resentful among her prodigally talented "siblings," the term she prefers ("There was something warm and cozy sounding about 'brothers and sisters' that had very little to do with the way Xandra felt about [them]"). Lacking their gifts, she knows that she is nonetheless in some way special, even "enchanted." So when she rescues a majestic wounded bird from hunters and sneaks it to her secret basement animal refuge, she is not altogether surprised when the bird heals overnight and mysteriously disappears, leaving her a feather. Xandra knows instinctively that the feather must be magical. The weird girl at school, Belinda, tells her it might be a "key," whereupon Xandra's challenge becomes getting Belinda to show her how to use it. Snyder's (The Egypt Game ) characterization of Xandra ranks among her most penetrating and psychologically true, and the author performs a rare feat in getting readers to identify straightaway with a not especially admirable protagonist. However, the realistic underpinnings impede the fantasy elements. When Belinda does teach Xandra to use the key, the result is nightmarish but very brief—and yet gives rise to dozens of pages of Xandra's review, speculation and almost repetitious efforts to learn more. These rhythms may be lifelike, but they distend the pacing. This story is better suited to readers whose taste runs to the ruminative, rather than those seeking a fantasy adventure. Ages 9-12.

Saleena L. Davidson (review date April 2004)

SOURCE: Davidson, Saleena L. Review of The Unseen, by Zilpha Keatley Snyder. School Library Journal 50, no. 4 (April 2004): 162.

Gr. 5-8—Xandra Hobson likes to escape from her family, where she feels like a complete failure in the company of geniuses, and to embark on imaginary adventures involving magic [in The Unseen ]. One day, while in the woods, she encounters real magic when she rescues a bird from some hunters; the next day, it is gone, leaving a feather in its place. A classmate, Belinda, sees it and realizes that it is a key to the unseen world and that with it, Xandra can enter a reality no one else can see. The girls become friends as Belinda and her grandfather attempt to explain the mystical world of the unseen to her. Xandra is terrified by the horrible creatures that surround her and the physical wounds that they inflict on her, unaware that they are of her own making and fed by her anger and hostility. When she breaks her ankle and is stranded in the woods, her family comes to her rescue and she realizes that her siblings aren't perfect and that she is loved. This book is a wonderful ride into fantasy, with a lot of realistic touches to think about and relationships to ponder. Readers will see, even though Xandra does not, that her perceptions about her family are all wrong. They'll also see that being so wrapped up in yourself can cause you to miss what's right in front of you. This perceptive story is not to be missed.

Krista Hutley (review date April 2004)

SOURCE: Hutley, Krista. Review of The Unseen, by Zilpha Keatley Snyder. Bulletin of the Center for Children's Books 57, no. 8 (April 2004): 350.

Twelve-year-old Xandra Hobson has a secret place in her basement where she takes abandoned infant or wounded animals to nurse [in The Unseen ]. After she rescues an unusually beautiful white bird, it disappears from the basement during the night, leaving behind one feather. Xandra is used to pretending that the world is a magical place, but she's sure that this time she isn't pretending, and that the feather is enchanted, a gift from the bird for saving its life. With the help of Belinda, a school outcast who seems to know more than she's telling, Xandra learns that the feather is a Key, and she learns to use it to open her eyes to the creatures of the Unseen. At first, the Unseen resemble the animal friends that she cared for, but soon, dark and dangerous creatures began to appear. Then Belinda warns Xandra that the Key isn't safe for her to use anymore. What does Belinda know that she isn't telling? Readers will most likely guess before they are told that the problem with the Unseen is actually a problem within Xandra, as Xandra is revealed to be self-centered, jealous, and angry. The mystery of the Key is drawn out too long, and it is never fully solved; the undeveloped concept of the Unseen is disappointing in its vagueness, and it's used more as a vehicle to facilitate Xandra's transformation from nasty to nice rather than a magical element in its own right. However, this transformation is carefully handled, as Snyder manages to make Xandra recognizable (and likable) as a nice girl whose anger at the rest of her family is out of control, and Xandra's positive development as she is unwittingly drawn back into her loving (though busy) family is believable. Both fantasy readers and kids who dream of escaping from their family into another world will enjoy Xandra's story.

THE MAGIC NATION THING (2005)

Don D'Ammassa (review date May 2005)

SOURCE: D'Ammassa, Don. Review of The Magic Nation Thing, by Zilpha Keatley Snyder. Chronicle 27, no. 5 (May 2005): 259-60.

I've enjoyed several of Snyder's earlier young adult fantasies, and this one [The Magic Nation Thing ]is no exception, although it's aimed at a slightly younger group than the previous ones and might not hold most adult readers' attention. The protagonist is an eleven year old girl, descended from a line of witches although she doesn't like to acknowledge that fact. Her mother runs a detective agency and is proud of her witchy heritage, although she doesn't understand how powerful young Abby's talents are. Abby has psychometry, the ability to hold an object associated with a person and ascertain knowledge about that individual. When Abby uncovers clues to one of her mother's cases, she is forced to come to terms with her own special talents. Light weight but amusing, and Abby is an interesting and likeable character.

Betsy Ruffin (review date August-September 2005)

SOURCE: Ruffin, Betsy. Review of The Magic Nation Thing, by Zilpha Keatley Snyder. Library Media Connection 24, no. 1 (August-September 2005): 77.

K-5, 6-8—Preteen angst gets a twist in [The Magic Nation Thing, ] this latest novel by three-time Newbery Honor writer Zilpha Keatley Snyder. Abby is dealing with the divorce of her parents and her mother's new career as a private investigator, but that's not all. According to her mother, there are psychic abilities in the family line, and Abby seems to have them—a power she doesn't want. When she admits to her best friend that she might have helped solved a case this way, more uncertainty comes Abby's way via the friend's well-meaning but misguided attempts to make use of the powers. The ending is happy, with Abby's parents reuniting, but questions about Abby's powers remain. The story is well written, with a good mix of humor, question, problem, and action. The characters are well developed and likeable, coming across as very real. The title refers to Abby's misunderstanding of an early grade teacher's response to the story of Abby's visions. Abby realizes later that the teacher was saying imagination and never quite decides herself whether it is psychic power or imagination. The reader can decide, making for a good writing prompt or class discussion. Recommended.

Timnah Card (review date September 2005)

SOURCE: Card, Timnah. Review of The Magic Nation Thing, by Zilpha Keatley Snyder. Bulletin of the Center for Children's Books 59, no. 1 (September 2005): 45.

After the divorce, Abby's dad moved to Los Angeles and her mom started a private detective agency in San Francisco, claiming that her second sight (supposedly inherited from a gifted ancestor) would help her solve cases [in The Magic Nation Thing ]. Twelve-year-old Abby, suspicious that her mother's professional aspirations broke up the marriage, solidly resists her mother's encouragement to cultivate her own extrasensory talents until one of Abby's vivid impressions results in the rescue of a kidnapped child. Soon Abby's flighty best friend, Paige, has all kinds of plans for the application of Abby's newfound powers (which the girls refer to as Abby's "magic nation," playing on an elementary teacher's explanation of the imagination), most of which get the two girls into trouble. The disappearance of Paige's little brother, Sky, gives Abby a chance to use her powers in a way she respects, and the event finally gives Abby the ability to say "no" once and for all to Paige's madcap schemes. Abby and Paige are stock characters, but they're likable, as is nearly everyone in this undemanding novel; the story's strength lies in the fact that Abby's visions and the logic behind them are credibly described, and Abby's amicable power struggle with Paige offers readers many humorous scenes seasoned with dollops of danger. The overall arc of the story is fairly shallow, but the tale is nevertheless an engaging quick read that will likely satisfy middle-grade appetites.

FURTHER READING

Criticism

Baez, Felipe. Review of The Unseen, by Zilpha Keatley Snyder. ALAN Review 31, no. 3 (summer 2004): 43.

Offers a positive assessment of The Unseen.

Baskin, Barbara H., and Karen H. Harris. Review of Heirs of Darkness, by Zilpha Keatley Snyder. In More Notes from a Different Drummer: A Guide to Juvenile Fiction Portraying the Disabled, pp. 426-27. New York, N.Y.: R. R. Bowker Company, 1984.

Evaluates the strengths and weaknesses of Heirs of Darkness.

Bauermeister, Erica, and Holly Smith. Review of Cat Running, by Zilpha Keatley Snyder. In Let's Hear It for the Girls: 375 Great Books for Readers 2-14, p. 132. New York, N.Y.: Penguin, 1997.

Presents a critical reading of Cat Running.

Additional coverage of Snyder's life and career is contained in the following sources published by Thomson Gale: Authors and Artists for Young Adults, Vol. 15; Beacham's Guide to Literature for Young Adults, Vol. 1; Children's Literature Review, Vol. 31; Contemporary Authors, Vols. 9-12R; Contemporary Authors New Revision Series, Vol. 38; Contemporary Literary Criticism, Vol. 17; Junior DISCovering Authors; Literature Resource Center; Major Authors and Illustrators for Children and Young Adults, Eds. 1, 2; St. James Guide to Young Adult Writers; Something about the Author, Vols. 1, 28, 75, 110, 163; Something about the Author Autobiography Series, Vol. 2; and Something about the Author—Essays, Vols. 112, 163.