Debut novels are special, particularly for authors who went on to become famous. What was that first published effort like from a storyteller who eventually set the world on fire with her writing? What does a lifetime of pent-up creativity look like when it finally spills onto the page for the world to marvel at? Though Erin Entrada Kelly's second novel attracted favorable reviews and her third (Hello, Universe) won the Newbery Medal as the most distinguished American juvenile book of 2017, Blackbird Fly in my opinion is superior to both, comparable to some of the best children's books of its era. I consider it on the same level as Clare Vanderpool's Moon Over Manifest, Marion Dane Bauer's Little Dog, Lost, and Peter Brown's The Wild Robot, all legitimate Newbery candidates in their respective release years. Blackbird Fly is a raw, emotional journey for twelve-year-old Analyn "Apple" Yengko that the reader is sure to identify with. The exhilaration of being swept along by a narrative like a rushing river is part of this book's DNA, making it a pleasure to read even when the story's events are as uncomfortable as the low moments of real life. It's an extraordinary artistic achievement.
Apple has lived in the United States ever since she and her mother immigrated from the Philippines when Apple was little, after her father died. Her mother is strict, insistent that nothing get between Apple and a serious education. This puts a crimp in Apple's social life; kids aren't comfortable hanging out at a friend's house where not only is foreign food served, but the mother has no sense of humor. Apple is fortunate to have Gretchen and Alyssa as friends at school, two fairly popular girls who eat lunch with her every day. Apple's strongest personal ambition is music-related, in honor of her late father. It was his love of the Beatles that Apple clung to when she arrived in America. She listens to the band's albums over and over, memorizing their songs and imagining herself playing guitar and writing blockbuster music. Apple begs her mother for a guitar, but she delays the decision or refuses every time. Academics are important, she chides, not music. Apple should search for fulfillment inside the classroom.
This uneasy balance between dreaming and studying has held steady so far, but the calm waters of elementary school turn choppy as sixth grade begins. Alyssa and Gretchen are fixated on popularity and being attractive to boys, and Apple's reputation takes a huge hit when she's put on the "Dog Log", a consensus ranking of the least-attractive girls in sixth grade. Apple never considered herself gorgeous, but she never thought she was ugly, either. Why do the boys consider her one of the ten least-appealing girls in their grade? Is it her slanted eyes or light brown skin? Alyssa and Gretchen suddenly seem nervous at being associated with Apple. In a matter of days, she goes from a girl with friends to an outcast. It stings badly when the boys call her a "dog-eater" because of her Asian heritage and bark at her in the halls, but Alyssa and Gretchen's cruelty hurts a lot more. How did sixth grade become such a nightmare?
Dropping to the lowest social level with Heleena, the most overweight girl in school, wasn't Apple's plan for middle school. Shunned by everyone, Apple fantasizes about running away to New Orleans, learning to play guitar, and setting up shop as a street performer. No one there would have any idea what a Dog Log is. Then a new kid enrolls in Apple's school, having just moved here from California. Evan Temple has quirks, but he's harmless, unlike the girls Apple recently considered her friends. Evan is a voracious reader, and doesn't mind hanging out with Apple in the library at lunch. Neither of them have friends to sit with, anyway. Evan is observant and witty, but he's a little too counterculture to fit in with the cool kids, and he's okay with it. He had a Filipino friend in California, so he doesn't see Apple's ethnicity as weird, and she doesn't have to beg him to believe she doesn't eat dogs. He's even comfortable with her mother, whose foreign traits have always put Apple on edge when her friends were around. What if they resented Apple because she doesn't have a typical American mom?
With Evan stoking the flame of Apple's creativity, she musters the courage to speak to Mr. Z, the school music teacher, about giving her guitar lessons. Apple never would have taken the chance of rejection without Evan's encouragement; she doesn't even own a guitar, and knows her mother is against her getting one. How can anyone master an instrument without having it in their hands? But Mr. Z surprises Apple, as Evan had a hunch he would. He's willing to lend her a guitar. At long last, Apple has the opportunity to follow in her father's footsteps and learn what richness music can add to her life, if she can keep her borrowed instrument out of her mother's sight. Strumming the sweet strings of her guitar sets Apple's soul free, but it's more than the blissful acoustic harmony that eases her pain. Just as important is having a friend like Evan, who cares more about the shape of her personality than the shape of her eyes. Evenings on the front porch discussing music and life have a different energy in the company of a fun, reliable friend. Apple's future in middle school and music may be uncertain, but her story isn't turning out too badly after all.
When you're a pariah among your peers, you'll try anything to downplay the differences that drive them away. Apple has been known by that nickname most of her life, but now she tries to convince everyone to call her Analyn. Would not sharing a name with a round, red fruit help her popularity? Even Apple is skeptical. "But what was the point of a new name when everyone knows who you really are?" Her physical Filipino characteristics are clear to see, and everyone in school knows about her inclusion on the Dog Log. A fresh name won't change the way people already look at you. Releasing the music in her heart would be a better way to prove herself an interesting person, but her mother shuts down Apple's attempts to get plugged into music. She's a woman of caution, which shows in a saying she's often repeated. "When you say something out loud, it makes it a big truth. Best to keep it in your mind and keep it small". Apple's mother has tried to forget the life they left behind in the Philippines, afraid the grief over her husband's death would haunt them both. She ignores Apple's argument that she can't be happy without finding out if she has musical talent, preventing her daughter from discovering the person she is becoming. Apple recognizes that earning good grades in school is important, but music would nourish her intellect, not steal from it. Having a well-rounded life and mind means delving as deeply into art as academics, and neglecting that balance won't bring Apple an optimal future. We all need a variety of interests to spice up life, a palette of many colors to paint our story. The closer Apple gets to finding her potential in music, the happier she is.
The potency of Blackbird Fly is in Apple's swift, surreal descent into being despised almost universally at school. The narrative always stays a step ahead of where we think it is. When you're suddenly hated by people who liked you, it's a nightmarish feeling, and this book cultivates it impeccably. Whether or not you did anything to provoke the disdain, the shame is intense, and even enduring Apple's alongside her is uncomfortable. Evan is a crucial release to the pressure valve, a bright spot parting the clouds. His opinions are honest, thoughtful counsel for Apple in these trying times. Once, she asks him why he stood up to a boy who was harassing her. The kid was a lot bigger than Evan; wasn't he scared? "No," Evan says. "Why would I be? He might be bigger than me, but he's dumb." When Apple points out that dumbness wouldn't have shielded Evan from harm, he shrugs and says, "Let's say he broke my nose. Big deal. My nose will recover, but he'll still be dumb." That simple truth is the key to peace when you're accosted by a confederacy of dunces. They may inflict damage, even grievous damage, but you'll heal in time. Long after you've recuperated, they'll still be prisoner to their own ignorance. When he said those words to Apple, I think that's the moment I first loved Evan. He's one of those rare characters who lift the reader's spirit even after the book is finished. Evan again demonstrates his earnest wisdom when Apple says he can't understand being an outsider like she is. He can, though; he points out a few facts that show how out of step he is with his peers. But why don't their barbed words bloody him as they do Apple? Evan sees why. "I don't listen to anything they say, because I know that whatever they think about me is wrong...But you think they're right." It's very hard to not believe the crowd when they bellow that you're no good, that you're ugly or a thief or destined to be a failure. They shout down our responses, delighting in the emotional lacerations they cause. But there's only so much harm they can do if we refuse to believe their lies about us. We know who we are at our core, and if we can hold to that in spite of the shouting, we'll be okay. The opinions of the hateful never paint a truer picture than what we know about ourselves. Coming to terms with that is the biggest test Apple faces.
Of Erin Entrada Kelly's first three books, Blackbird Fly was, to me, far and away the worthy Newbery Medal recipient, a novel I would have been overjoyed to see bear that shiny gold sticker on the front cover. I definitely rate it three and a half stars. The themes are rich and complex, the writing fast-paced and efficient, the characters all realistic vessels for the sparkling narrative that flows through them. Apple's feelings are universal to people who have ever been rejected and reviled, reminding us we're not alone however extreme our circumstances seem. Evan Temple is one of my favorite characters I've read about in years, a fascinating kid whose vocabulary and self-assurance are impressive, but not too good to be true. Most authors miss that mark when dreaming up a character like Evan, but Erin Entrada Kelly scores a bullseye. Thank you for this insightful, deeply felt book, Ms. Kelly. I love it.