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Zusatztext It’sa rare book that can discuss faith without verging into the preachy and contemplating the nature of God while acknowledging some people’s lack of belief—all in the voice of an earnest! honest twelve-year old girl. Scanlon manages it in this story of Ivy Green! whose world has turned upside down following her mother’s sudden departure with a holy rolling preacher! elegantly and non-judgmentally addresses belief and non-belief while keeping its focus squarely on the power and mystery of human relationships. When narrator Ivy andher classmate! the science-minded Paul! concoct a plan to leave their small Texas town and track down Ivy’s mother in the Florida panhandle! Ivy struggles to confront the complicated emotions that arise within the intricate bonds of family and friendship. She also learns about herself and her own strength ofcharacter! and the sympathetic and engaging portrayal of Ivy avoids advancing a moral and instead celebrates her personal revelations. Heartfelt in content and authentic in tone! this will resonate with kids questioning their parents! God!or both. Informationen zum Autor Liz Garton Scanlon is the author of numerous celebrated picture books, including One Dark Bird; In the Canyon; Happy Birthday, Bunny!; the Caldecott Honor recipient All the World; Thank You, Garden; and The Family Tree. Liz is an adjunct professor of creative writing at Austin Community College, and her poetry has been published widely in literary journals. She lives with her family in Austin, Texas. Visit her at LizGartonScanlon.com. Klappentext Twelve-year-old Ivy Green, whose mother may have run off with a charismatic preacher to Panhandle, Florida, and classmate Paul Dobbs, who wants to see a Space Shuttle before the program's scrapped, team up for a summer adventure that's full of surprises.The Great Good Summer Chapter One God is alive and well in Loomer, Texas, so I don’t know why Mama had to go all the way to The Great Good Bible Church of Panhandle Florida to find him, or to find herself, either. Daddy says she went to get some of the sadness out of her system. He says it like it should be as easy as getting a soda stain out of a skirt. A little scrub, a little soak, one quick run through the machine—good as new and no big deal. Every day since Mama left, Daddy’s been trying to convince me that things aren’t all that bad, even though Mama’s become a Holy Roller and has disappeared with a preacher who calls himself Hallelujah Dave. Meanwhile I’ve been trying to convince Daddy that things are truly and indeed all that bad. Hallelujah Dave, for goodness’ sake. “I promise I’m not just being sassy, Daddy, but explain to me again how lying around on the ground speaking in tongues is gonna get anything out of Mama’s system?” “We don’t know that she’s really lying on the ground, baby,” says Daddy. Which, you have to admit, is a minor quibble. And you’ll notice, he doesn’t mention the speaking in tongues. What he does do is pour me a big bowl of puffed rice and hand me a banana from across our kitchen table. For my whole life Mama’s always cooked breakfast—something hot, like eggs or oatmeal—but I don’t mention that ’cause it’s not Daddy’s fault that we’re here all alone with cold cereal, no eggs, and no Mama-in-her-own-mama’s-apron. It’s not his fault, but I’m not used to this way of doing things, and I don’t really want to be. Until the wildfires in the spring, everything was perfectly great-good enough here at home in Loomer. I mean, we’ve got more churches than Quik Marts. Way more. And we have Advent Oil and Lube, and we have Heaven Sent Hair Designs, and we have Creation Concrete. And we pray in school, which the science club doe...
