The books of a Newbery Medal winner all somehow seem to have more shine after the award has been won, whether the author has been published for decades or is only starting out in the business. For Clare Vanderpool, striking Newbery paydirt in 2011 for Moon Over Manifest meant achieving the highest honor possible in her first effort as a published author. There were no other books of hers sitting on the shelves to suddenly be imbued with the soft, glowing halo of Newbery success, transfusing them with an instant legitimacy they hadn't previously been regarded with by the public. All those other books would have to roll off the presses with the glow already emanating around them, the product of a mind capable of writing a book good enough to earn the most coveted prize in American youth literature. Clare Vanderpool assured her long-lasting place in the pantheon of kids' writers as soon as the Newbery Committee declared Moon Over Manifest the most distinguished offering of the year, but what she came up with next would determine whether her award winner was a fluke of creative energies sparking at the right time, or a sign of consistent greatness to follow for however long her career would last. In Navigating Early, I believe we're given as resounding an answer to that question as Clare Vanderpool could have provided: she is a bona fide master of shaping stories that patiently follow an intricate path of human emotion, and the payoff at the end of the book is extraordinary. Stories as powerful and life-changing as Navigating Early come along almost as rarely as an author like Clare Vanderpool, reinforcing for dedicated readers the truth behind why we read. We read because every once in a while we find a book like Navigating Early that blows our doors off and gets in behind the shields we put up to guard our emotions, affecting us at our heart, where few writers are skillful enough to reach. With a cast of faultlessly genuine characters, each one special and capable of setting up a permanent home in the reader's heart, and an exceptionally nuanced story full of surprising moments and little mysteries tucked like nesting dolls, each one in succession a wholly unexpected development, Clare Vanderpool is the coxswain directing the narrative with flawless care and ability toward the finish only she can see coming. And it is a doozy of a finish, capping a book that, in my opinion, is even more worthy of the Newbery Medal than Moon Over Manifest. If Clare Vanderpool had anything to prove after the artistic acclaim heaped upon her debut novel, she proved it all and more in her second book. It is a marvelous piece of literature.
Thirteen-year-old Jack Baker may be reaching adolescence soon, but that isn't why his life has been so rough lately. When his mother died this past summer, a trauma that gave no warning to Jack or his military father, the two of them began having an even harder time relating to each other than usual. Jack's father wanted to scrub clean the memories from his mother's leftover possessions, scouring and sanitizing until all was in order and they wouldn't have to run across her things around the house anymore. But Jack is more like his mother, a collector and saver, and he wanted to keep everything she owned, even if being surrounded by her treasures brought back painful memories. A clash of coping mechanisms between father and son was inevitable. When eighth grade starts in the fall, Jack's father is called to important business with the armed forces, and Jack is sent from their home in Kansas to a boys' boarding school in Maine, far from his father. Now Jack is without either parent.
Jack doesn't know any of the boys at school. None are mean or intentionally ostracize him, but he still feels left out of the loop. Jack might be the most unpopular kid at the academy if it weren't for Early Auden, who comes and goes as he pleases and rarely speaks to anyone. The events of Early's life, as Jack learns from the other kids, mirror the recent sadness of Jack's in some ways. Early, too, has had a parent die, and his older brother, Fisher, was killed in combat during World War II, which is just ending as Navigating Early begins. Early skips in and out of class as he sees fit without protest from the teachers, vacating the room when something one of them says agitates or angers him. The first time Jack witnesses this is in the case of Pi, when the math teacher puts forth a new theory being vetted that the sequence of numbers after the decimal in Pi may be gradually tapering off, and contrary to what people have believed for millennia, Pi could actually have an end. When a coincidence of fortune brings Jack into proximity with Early, "that strangest of boys" vehemently explains to him that Pi isn't dead, he can't possibly be dead, he's only lost and wandering around in the wilderness and it's up to Early to find him.
Dead? What is he talking about? Early insists the numbers in Pi tell the story of Pi's life for anyone who will listen, a story about a boy on a journey who returns to where he came from and finds his home destroyed and his family and neighbors gone. And so Pi heads back out on the longest, loneliest part of his odyssey, guided only by the great mother bear constellation in the stars, hoping her ageless maternal instinct will be enough to guard his life from the hardships of a world that doesn't care. Jack listens to Early's stories, but can't make heads or tails of the kid. What kind of boy spends most of his time in a room by himself drawing sequential numbers on a chalkboard, sitting in silence (or to the strains of a record player spinning a highly specific lineup of albums) while the other kids at the school play games and enjoy spending time together? Yet every time Jack thinks he's had enough of Early's weirdness and decides to leave him alone, that strangest of boys says something to rein in his attention again, and he's back listening to what Early has to tell him.
"Don't go putting your hand in a honeypot till you make sure it's not really a bees' nest."
—Navigating Early, P. 181
Fixing up a boat for the school races is the start of Jack's tangible partnership with Early Auden, but their teamwork doesn't and there. Even as Early's idiosyncrasies continue to confound Jack, such as his penchant for methodically sorting colored jelly beans when he's upset or working out a complicated problem, or becoming suddenly angry over silly matters such as Jack siding with the math teacher on the idea that Pi is probably going to come to an end, Jack can't help but be drawn to Early by the parts of the boy that remind him of his own mother. Early calls him Jackie right off the bat, like his mother used to, though no one else has ever called him that. Early also uses amusing, revealing philosophical expressions like the ones Jack's mother had for every occasion, and they stop Jack in his tracks every time. It's as if there's a shard of his mother's soul at rest in Early, a piece of the person he needs more than anyone else in the world but can't have ever again, and the closest he feels to her now is when he's around Early.
"That was the nature of being lost. You had the freedom to go anywhere, but you didn't really know where anywhere was."
—Navigating Early, P. 91
When a series of crossed wires during holiday vacation leaves Jack alone in the school without his father coming to pick him up as the plan had been, and only Early is still skulking around the dark halls of the academy, is it any wonder Jack joins up with him? Is it any wonder that he follows Early even as that strangest of boys prepares to set out in his deceased brother's legendary boat to find the great black bear that has been stalking the area, an animal for whom a huge bounty has been declared? But Early's ultimate goal isn't the black bear or the bounty on its head. The bear is but the guide for their journey just as the great bear of the stars kept Pi safe during the saddest part of his story, and Early is going to follow the bear and prove Pi is still alive. Because Early has much more of Pi's story to tell Jack as they take Fisher's boat down the river toward their final destination, a story engraved in the hearts of two boys who have lost too much already; a story told and retold for all time in the stars above that aid them in navigating rough spots literal and metaphorical. There is more to Early and his winding, perceptively detailed story of Pi than Jack could have imagined when Early began telling it back at the school. The numbers that naturally make sense to Early's brain as a coherent narrative begin to make sense to Jack in some ways, too, as it dawns on him that Early's excursion into the Maine wilderness was never a spur-of-the-moment tangent set out upon thoughtlessly. Early knew what he was doing—doesn't he always?—and the way in which their emotionally revelatory journey's far-reaching circle is ultimately completed is the stuff of undying legends, of pairs and friendships that endure in the collective memory of literary consciousness for years and years and years. By the end of Navigating Early, a new friendship for the ages just may be born beneath the maternal guiding stars of the great bear, pledged to forever watch over young ones in distress.
It's so easy to feel Jack and Early's pain for the losses they have absorbed. I'm not sure why it's so easy, but I think we all feel the intense need to get up and do something after losing one precious to us, the urge to go questing if that's what's necessary to make things better, to do something other than sit steeped in melancholy and allow the grief to wrap us in its dreary embrace. Early stays active against the sadness in his own unique way, talking loudly and making up stories, performing complicated mathematical equations and conforming to rigorous routines that mustn't be upset. And because Early is doing something to counteract the loss, even if it feels to Jack like utter nonsense, he's willing to stick with him. Staying beside Early is like being close to his own mother and doing something about her loss, if anything could be done. Early's too-loud and constant talking is, for Jack, like the white part of the record that helps Early keep himself calm. When one finds someone who can dull the edge on the hurt, it makes sense to go to them, and for these reasons and others he can't fully fathom, Jack has decided to follow Early, that strangest of boys, wherever he may go. I don't think he could have made a better choice.
"If you don't know where you're going, you'll never get there."
—Navigating Early, P. 218
Navigating Early is an emotional powerhouse, charging up from a modest beginning to the splendorous reward of its conclusion, as beautiful a closing piece as I have read in years. But along the way there's so much wonderful content to share, and a review of the book wouldn't be complete without doing so. Early on, Jack recalls an incident years ago when a soap box car he'd built to win the big race was ruined by a night left out in the rain. Jack's father told him, "Well, son, you made your bed, now you'll have to lie in it", but his mother had other ideas. "Yes, you made your bed, but for heaven's sake, don't just lie in it! Jackie, if you don't like the bed you're in, take it apart and make it right." Isn't that so much better advice than taking circumstances as they come and figuring you'll do better next time? How many of us acquiesce to the thought that our bed is made and we can do nothing but passively lie in it, when in reality it would be smarter to take an active approach, disassembling the bed and making it again, better than before, so we're happy with where we're going to lie? That's what Jack and his mother do with the soap box car, putting in the work to craft a fly vehicle that ends up taking second place in the race. Who could shrug off the loss of a mother who would stay up all night helping her son do that? Jack's thoughts on page eleven of Navigating Early about the way he misses his mother are some of the most understatedly poignant words in the book, and speak powerfully for themselves: "My mother was like sand. The kind that warms you on a beach when you come shivering out of the cold water. The kind that clings to your body, leaving its impression on your skin to remind you where you've been and where you come from. The kind you keep finding in your shoes and your pockets long after you've left the beach. She was also like the sand that archaeologists dig through. Layers and layers of sand that have kept dinosaur bones together for millions of years. And as hot and dusty and plain as that sand might be, those archaeologists are grateful for it, because without it to keep the bones in place, everything would scatter. Everything would fall apart." I think everyone who has felt such an intimate loss will identify with these word pictures.
As Jack and Early trek through the wilderness toward a goal only Early is confident can be attained, Jack thinks about the long lives of the trees surrounding them, standing tall for centuries in solitude or human company just the same, but each one with a story to tell. "I knew that inside each tree, etched into its core, were circles, each ring telling the story of a year in the life of that tree and this forest. What kinds of scars and jagged lines would someone find in the life of a tree? I wondered. Did people have telltale signs like that? What would mine look like? I didn't need to see them. I knew they had been severed last summer. A gash had been cut into me, so deep that I felt I was at that tipping point, when the lumberjack is just about to yell 'timber!'" And when their odyssey winds its way to the end and Jack realizes everything he hadn't known while traveling down the river with Early, it all circles back to his mother, of course, and what she told him his entire life. "Connecting the dots. That's what Mom said stargazing is all about. It's the same up there as it is down here, Jackie. You have to look for the things that connect us all. Find the ways our paths cross, our lives intersect, and our hearts collide." And a few pages later, "My mom was right. Our stories are all intertwined. It's just a matter of connecting the dots." Early Auden had it right when he set out under the eternal guidance of the great bear, watching over cubs of all kinds on the earth below her. Two kids without mothers of their own, dependent on the maternal instinct of the great bear of the sky, would never be forsaken by her watchful eye as they paddled down the river in search of that which they each had to find. Jack may have lost his bearings temporarily when his mother drifted off to make her own design among the distant stars, a constellation too beautiful not to notice but too far away to touch, but Early would never forget for long to navigate by the stars. Theirs is a connection made whole by the emotions binding them together, despite the different ways they have of coping with sadness. Forever into the unknown together, beyond the next horizon and over the endless sea.
"There are no coincidences. Just miracles by the boatload."
—Navigating Early, P. 294
In a culture of sensory overload, stimulation available everywhere until it could fry our brains with evocative sights, sounds and values to be bought and sold, uncontrollable emotional reactions to books are not common. But it's hard to imagine anyone finishing this story without tears in their eyes; tears of reaction to the bottomlessness of grief, and the reassurance of having a friend to stand beside us as we fight through the worst of it; tears of joy for connections lost that are finally, finally restored, and the sobering transience of human life in any of its stages. It all lives and breathes in Navigating Early, one of the most deeply affecting stories I have ever read. A novel like this isn't hard to forget: it's impossible, and for that I thank the pliancy of memory, for without this book I would be lost, indeed. I would be more lost than I even know. The day will never come again when I so much as glance at Navigating Early without the overwhelming emotions of that first read flooding back, and this I see as my greatest gift from a book I'm sure will never let go of me. Four and a half stars? Yes, that's definitely the rating I would give Navigating Early if it were an option, and I thought hard about awarding it the full five. True transformative experiences in literature are rare, but I believe with everything I am that this book has one in store for you, as it did me. Just pick it up and find page one, and life will never be the same.